"Back in the 80's, the big show
was at the Costa Mesa Fair Grounds with Al Martinez. Back then, Dyno was
notorious for the "Nipple Twister", and also sneakin' up behind you and
tuggin' your shorts down to your knees!!!
Well, they had these gyro things that they strap you in and spin you upside
down and all around. They got Dyno strapped in and just before they spun him
up, someone ran up and yanked his shorts down. Dyno rode that thing out with
his pants down!!! Unfortunately for Dyno, he went "commando" on that day!!!"
--as recalled by Doug Berg
My friend had recently purchased the car, and became bored with the project, as it didn't run worth a crap and was taking up space. He offered the car to me. I had just purchased a Chevy dually from another friend for under two grand, which needed some attention and was right up my alley. In turn, I traded the dually for for the race car.
Not yet track worthy, and in need of plenty of TLC, I regularly just staged the car in the gutter at the end of my street and did third gear line lock burnouts, to the amazement of all my neighbors. On one of those days, I did not realize that I could be seen by a CHP officer, who was issuing a ticket just beyond my house on the freeway off ramp. He apparently radioed local authorities and reported witnessing perhaps the largest, smoking burnout he had ever seen.
Within moments, the Garden Grove police arrived at my residence, only to see me pulling the car into my driveway. After getting out of my car, I realized that I knew the officer standing at the car's door, and he said, 'If only I had gotten here a few moments sooner...". Of course, I asked why, and his answer was, 'I love VW's, and to see what the CHP officer described to dispatch would have made my day!'"
After working up an appetite doing some serious walking around the event, we thought it would be a good idea to get some of the track's famous chili, before the drag racing started. We hobbled over to the food shack and ordered up a couple of orders of chili, then went to sit down at the nearby picnic tables, where many others were enjoying their food.
We sat down at a table with a couple of others, and proceeded to eat our chili breakfast. As we were discussing how good the chili was, the two guys at the other end of the picnic table finished their breakfast and got up.
All of a sudden, our table flipped up (because of the new, lack of weight on the opposite end), and we dropped to the ground like a couple of lead weights. The chili bowls flew into the air, and landed squarely on top of us, covering us from head to toe with chili.
There we sat in our chili bodysuits, in front of dozens of onlookers. After recovering from laughing so hard, I turned to Dan and said, 'Well, if it wasn't world famous chili before, it is now.' I then suggested to Dan that from now on, we sit at opposite ends of picnic tables where chili is being served..."
I looked over in the shadows of the exit staircase, and saw the patron trying to hit the bouncer with a mug, as he was being escorted out. I excused myself to go help. Upon getting outside, I noticed that the entire street had been barricaded by police, to keep the hundreds of college kids out of the nightclub, who were there because of the popularity of the dancers that evening.
All hell broke loose as the bouncer broke one guy's jaw, and I followed suit by popping a few punks who were trying to sucker punch me. When we got back into the bar, we were met with a standing ovation from the patrons and dancers.
The moral of the story is to always make friends with the bouncer, as I got free drinks for the rest of the night, and lots of hugs from the pretty girls too!"
As we walked around the nearly empty upper level of the mall, an older couple suddenly approached us, and asked me if I was Dyno Don. I promptly replied that I was, and asked how they knew it was me. They explained that they would know my voice anywhere. The couple used to live in Orange County and frequently attended the world famous Bug-Ins, where they loved hearing me.
After saying our goodbyes, Steve turned to me and said, 'Are there no limits to your fan base??' We laughed about the odd, chance encounter for the next few days..."
I took the Notch out for a brisk drive one morning, and forgot to secure the sunroof. After hitting third gear and picking up speed, the sunroof literally took off like a rocket from the launch pad, and went flying into traffic where a motorist ran over it, rendering it useless.
I picked the mangled sunroof off the street and decided to go get some gas, and drive off a little heartache. I filled up the tank and followed the same route as I had during the sunroof mishap. While making some speedy progress down the road, I shifted into third gear, and the hood suddenly FLEW open.
I scrambled to stop the car, as I could no longer see out of my windshield, and was in traffic with onlookers on both sides of the street wondering what had just taken place.
My cowling and hood were damaged because of the fact that I was still miffed about my sunroof, and forgot to latch the front hood after getting gas. All this happened in less than a half hour..."
I called and made quick conversation with my new client, made an appointment, and gave him directions to my place. After arriving in his Ghia convertible, the customer gets of his car to introduce himself. I immediately recognized the driver, but couldn't figure out exactly who he was.
We started talking and relating stories when I made the connection! It was the bouncer from the nightclub in Vancouver, Canada, who I'd befriended before a bar room brawl some 20+ years ago..."
About two weeks after my new appliance purchase, I decided to take my Notchback out for a romp in the streets, and enjoy the sunny weather. A couple of friends came by to visit while I was in the garage, and wanted to go for rides in my car.
I jumped in the Notch, started her up, and let her warm up for a bit. When I thought the car was ready, I revved it up, and quickly let out the clutch. The car jerked forward and took out my brand new washer and dryer.
I then realized that the car was in first gear, and not reverse..."
After a few hours of work, the car had deep and brilliant show car shine, was detailed from top to bottom, and ready for R.K. to show up. Upon arrival, R.K. outlined the details of the shoot at Larry's shop in Costa Mesa. We were all jazzed to get rolling.
Larry hopped in the car, gingerly drove about 50 feet , then suddenly put the pedal to the metal, and revved the brilliant black beast to over six grand. He let out the clutch, lit up the rear tires, and the passenger side suicide door came unlatched. The door flung open and smashed the entire rear quarter panel of the car.
We all had tears in our eyes after witnessing what seemed like the worst carnage you could imagine. Despite some serious depression, we all agreed let R.K. Smith perform his magic, positioned the car just right, and R.K. finished a beautiful the photo shoot, with no one but us the wiser.
At the end of the session I turned to Larry and said, 'I think I know why they call them suicide doors now...' ".
After going through his line up of road warriors, I decided to buy a '67 sedan with a spare-parted, 88mm slip-in, Kadron carbed motor. When I embarked on the long trip back to Orange County, I was all smiles driving another '67 back home.
I kept the throttle mashed the whole way home, listening to the drone of the Kadrons, and the sounds of detonation caused by the paper thin cylinders which were warped beyond repair. I must have averaged 75-80 MPH on the trip home and got a modest 28 MPG. I arrived at my casa in record time, followed by a cloud of smoke which was wafting out of the engine bay.
Happy to have made it home with no major mishaps, I parked the car and went inside for a few cool ones. About an hour later I came out to see a dark pool of oil under my car. Upon inspection, I found that the case had cracked completely through, from the top all the way to below the number three cylinder area.
Later that month, I traded the soon to be non-running '67 for my very first, and most famous, Notchback..."
I went to Art Saffel (driver of the 'Mad Pineapple' race car that was crashed at Bug-In) for a close ratio trans. Art was a cool guy, but was not known for getting things done quickly. We worked all night and into the next morning, getting my first close ratio tranny buttoned up and installed in the car, so that I could drive it to work.
The trans worked flawlessly, but on the way to work, I noticed that the engine was down on power and couldn't figure out why. I made it to work, with the typical bags under my eyes because of lack of sleep, and parked my car where it would sit until lunch time.
A co-worker had heard the story of my devilish 1600 beating his boss' Weber equipped 1835 ride, and wanted a to sample a ride in my car. We loaded our bodies into my car and went for a quick ride around the block, the long way.
I took my car through all the gears, the car suddenly shuddered violently. At about 65 MPH, it locked up the wheels, resulting in a smoke screen that would rival a John Force burn out. Much to our dismay, our journey was cut short, and my car had to be towed back to work.
Later that day, I found out the reason for the loss of power and sudden lockup. A certain someone had forgotten to put gear oil in his snazzy, new tranny..."
Immediately after purchasing them, I set out to install these prime wheels onto my pride and joy. I spent the most of the day polishing the magnesium to a brilliant shine (whew!). I mounted the tubes and tires onto the rims by hand, then put them on my car later that afternoon. I sat back and admired my handiwork; the car looked awesome with it's new look.
It was getting late and I figured it was time to go for a ride and show my friend my new wheels. As I rolled out of the driveway and into the street, I noticed a faint but audible scraping noise, which sounded like it was coming from the brakes.
Not too concerned about the strange new sound, I continued on the trip to my friend's house, a few blocks away. Upon arrival, my friend was jazzed about my car's new look. He offered to buy some beer, if i would take him to the store. I quickly obliged and we ventured to the nearest store of spirits.
After stocking up with a good supply of liquid refreshments, we pulled out of liquor store lot, and into the traffic of Westminster Avenue. All of a sudden, all hell broke loose. Apparently, in my haste to get things done, I had not paid attention to the placement of the studs in the drums. I screwed them in too far, and the studs eventually ripped off every one of my brake shoes, leaving us stranded in the middle of the busy street.
I turned to my friend and said, 'Well, I guess I don't have to worry about that scraping noise anymore...' "
Many of the locals were there with their red hot machines, ready to wage war on one another. I had just installed my freak 78x90.5 engine, that had an Engle 125 cam, 42 DCNF Webers, an inch and a half exhaust, and a worn out set of Berg heads that were cut beyond belief.
I was doing burnouts in my Notchback to entice someone, or ANYONE, to get things going. Suddenly, my friend Von Rollings drives up with his Bug-In racer that Terry Shepard used to drive, and asked me if I wanted to run. Von's car sounded wicked with it's large two liter engine, 48's, an FK89, and monster heads. The car had run low 12's at Orange County Raceway.
My adrenaline was pumping, as I accepted the challenge, and asked for two car lengths. Von was loaded for bear with slicks, versus my trusty radials.
We lined up and the starter waved us on. Von was immediately at my door as he stuck to the ground, and I spun to a slow start with the radials. We finished the race and went back to the start area, where a mass of people swamped our cars.
Upon opening my engine lid, to the amazement of the crowd, an onlooker yelled out the fact that a 42 Weber car almost beat a full-on, race prepped IDA car. Von looked over to me and asked how they could be, since he never saw me. I replied that it was, '...because I was at your quarter panel the whole time!!' "
I drove to Fullerton to see my friend, Randy Jones of the Superbug shop, and outlined my upgrade plans. Randy hand ported the single port heads with his trusty Dremel tool, installed an Engle 100 cam, balanced & blueprinted everything he could, then put the 1600cc motor back together. The motor sang from 800 to 5500 RPMs in a blink, with just a touch of the throttle. I was pleased, to say the least!
My buddy Dennis Hardesty and I took the new and improved 1600 out for it's maiden voyage. We'd been driving for about twenty minutes, and decided to pull over to cool down at the doughnut shop at Magnolia and Orangethorpe, in Fullerton. All of a sudden, we heard the bellowing sound of IDA's, coming from across the street.
Dennis and I looked at each other and said, 'Why not??' We packed up our late night snack, got into my car, and went out after an early VW sedan that now waiting at the stop light. We wanted to see what the Dyno machine could do against a raging, Weber powered car. We pulled up next to a cool early looker, and gave the driver and passenger the 'You want to run it?' look.
The light turned green and I was off like a rocket, not even looking over at the other car, as I banged second and third gears. We got up to about 75 mph and began to run out of power (stock 30 PICT1 carb). I finally looked back to find that we had waxed the 48 powered VW, but could hear the ferocious sound of the IDA's and the motor pulling like a freight train. I decided to back off the throttle, happy with the performance of my engine.
The other car was next to us in a millisecond, with the passenger hanging out of his window, waving us over. As we pulled off to the side of the road, the passenger of the other car got out first. This guy was HUGE; about six feet tall and 265 pounds, with a look like he was going to tear both of our heads off. The smaller driver got out and walked up to my car, behind his big friend.
We both acknowledged the cool race. Having said that, I couldn't resist the temptation to ask him, 'So, what are you runnin?' We walked to his car and he opened the deck lid to show us what we had suspected - a pair of 48 IDA's sitting in the engine bay. The driver then told me it was an 1835 with an Engle 140 cam and big valve heads. Upon hearing this, my friend Dennis looked at me with the most sheepish grin, knowing what was to take place next.
The passenger then asked me what I was running and I replied, 'Just a stock 1600!!'. Both of the other guys went nuts and said, 'No way! Lets look at your engine." I cheerfully obliged, opened my decklid, and watched their jaws drop to the pavement in total disbelief. I showed them that indeed, they had just been waxed by a stock looking, single port engine.
Upon saying our goodbyes, I realized that I had just blown the doors off of Mark Rosevear, who was the son of the owner of the famous Auto Haus company. I later went on to work at Auto Haus, as a result of our chance meeting..."
I had just completed the tune up and was finishing the oil change, when Jere started talking to me about some photo ideas. I went about my business, double checking everything on the top side of the engine, put the oil in, and continued talking with Jere. I noticed a sudden expression of bewilderment on Jere's face. I soon learned why, as we both stood in awe and watched several quarts of oil drain past our feet, and down the driveway.
It seems that with our bantering back and forth in conversation, I forgot to put back the oil plug in the strainer plate..."
With the help of my friend, Don Knight, I assembled and installed a 74x92 engine with 42 DCNF "Berg Specials" carbs, and Engle 125 cam, and 9:1 compression. The engine ran hard and I regularly beat the living crap out of it. One day I started hearing an odd but inconsistent click, and thought that it may be time for a teardown and inspection. I was afraid that the rods were getting loose, and when the roller cranks let loose, you don't want to be around!!
I called Don, let him know that I thought it was time to tear down the engine, and would be coming his way soon. When I entered Don's neighborhood, I saw this young kid who loved it every time I drove by with a cool VW. I waved, started to make a turn to go to Don's house and thought, 'Why not?? One last burnout for old times sake on the engine wont hurt...'
I stopped, preloaded the tranny with the emergency brake, brought the RPM's up to about 5500, then I dumped the clutch and let 'er rip. I did one awesome burnout for about ten feet, until the engine let loose with a loud bang. I limped down the road to Don's house and pulled into the driveway, with an oil slick following me that would have rivaled the Exxon oil disaster.
Don said he could hear me coming from a block away, then suddenly couldn't hear me. He suspected something had happened. After I got out of the buggy, we walked to the rear and noticed that the top of one of the pistons, still clinging to what was left of the rod, was embedded in the fiberglass (along with various other shrapnel).
We looked at each other and laughed at this giant hole in the top of the now exposed engine case. Referring to my almost making it there without any mishaps, I turned to Don and said, 'Missed it by that much!!' "
I went to see the car with my friend, Keith Ranch, who drove me there. Upon pulling up to a million dollar mansion, I saw the car sitting there in its glory, on a beautiful brick and concrete driveway. I looked over at my friend Keith and said to him, 'I don't even care if it runs, I'm buying it !!' After a quick two block test drive, I laid down some serious cash and became the new owner of the car. After all, it did push my big cheeks back when it was up on the boost!
I began the journey back home with my new car, from Pasadena to Garden Grove, taking the local freeways along the way. It was a long ride, as the car had about 8.5:1 compression and detonated at the slightest touch of the throttle, so I had to baby this thing the whole way home.
As I pulled into my driveway, I realized that the car's idle was a tad too high. I went to turn off the engine, as I would on a normal high compression engine, clicking the key off and then back on again to prevent run on or dieseling. Suddenly, I heard a loud explosion as some raw gas was ignited. The turbo kept spinning and eventually blew the biggest fireball into and around the entire engine compartment, engulfing everything in sight.
My friend Keith was in awe as he viewed this from directly behind the car. I immediately got out and pulled up the engine lid, only to find a campfire that I hadn't planned on. Everything in sight was melting! I tried to put out the flames from the carb with my hand, and caught my shirt on fire. I ripped off my shirt and threw it on the ground, then eventually put out the engine fire.
As we took there taking in the magnitude of the fire, and everything that was burnt to a crisp, Keith informed me that I was bleeding. It turns out that the top of the carb air horn had punctured my hand several times, while I was trying to put out the flames.
We started laughing hysterically when we noticed my former shirt, which had laid on the ground as it burnt into ashes. In doing so, it left a perfect imprint of my upper body on the lawn. This "memory mark" would remain in the grass of my yard until the next spring.
I then turned to Keith and said, 'Well, I got my wish. It definitely doesn't run now!!' This all occurred within a half an hour after I'd purchased the car..."
Near the end of one day, Rudy (in his strong German accent) asked me to do a lube and oil change on a customer's car, that needed to be finished before closing. It had been a busy day and things were piling up. Not wanting to piss off the boss any further, I grabbed the oil stand/bucket to do the oil change.
When trying to move the oil stand/bucket under the car, I found that it was being a little stubborn. I persisted in trying to position it correctly, when all of a sudden, the top of the oil container began to tip. At that time, I had realized that the oil bucket had not been emptied earlier, and watched helplessly as twelve to fifteen quarts of rank, dark, dirty oil splashed onto me from head to toe, flowing like Niagara Falls.
Looking rather dumbfounded and a bit embarrassed, I then wiped off what i could and stripped down to my birthday suit. I walked out to my car, which was on the busy corner of the station lot. I got my extra clothes, went back into the shop, and changed clothes like nothing at all had happened. I then finished the lube job and oil change.
Rudy later nicknamed me, 'Crazy Don'..."
At that point, I knew I was hooked and came back the following event, Bug-In 11. I finished with another second place win, after a hard fight through a dozen or so rounds of competition. I moved on to first place finishes at Bug-In 12 and at Bug-In 14.
I loved racing at the Bug-Ins..."
One day, I wanted a custom turbo muffler job done on my buggy. Steve made some time for me on the rack, just about noon time. As usual, he did a fantastic job, and made a nice setup for me. I asked him how much the damage was going to be, and he told me to just take him for a ride. I said, 'Get in!!'
We ventured out to one of his customer accounts, a GM dealership just down the road, to pick up a car that needed some work at the muffler shop. The newly designed and installed turbo muffler sounded great on my 1835, that had an Engle 140 cam, Street Eliminators, and was topped off by a set of 48 IDA's.
Upon entering the driveway to the dealership shop area, Steve just gave me that look like, 'DO IT!!'. I rapped the motor up to about 4000rpm where the cam loved coming alive, dropped the clutch, and we were revving seven grand in a split second. We shot into the service area, smoking the tires for the entire length of the driveway, and filling every square inch of the facility with a cloud and the sound of dual 48's on a healthy motor.
Every mechanic either dropped their tools where they stood, or watched in total awe as i stopped shy of the last bay ,waived to the guys and turned slowly around the driveway. We were met by a huge gentleman, who walked directly out in front of us and the buggy, and looked at us like, 'What the hell do you think your doing??' That gentleman was the service manager, who'd grown to hate VW's, because they regularly spanked him and his V8 machinery at the race track.
Steve and I were full of giggles, as the guy told us this and that, the mechanics were flipping him the bird behind his back. The mechanics couldn't stand the guy, and we had to bite our lips to keep from laughing out loud. The dealership cancelled their account for service work at the muffler shop for the next 6 months.
To this day, when reminiscing about the incident, Steve just smiles and says, 'It was well worth the lost business...' "
One day I visited a local
VW shop (CB Bug Repair) to shoot the breeze with the guys, and they wanted
me to do one of my patented burnouts. I proceeded to rev to about 6500rpm,
popped the clutch, and laid down an outstanding 60+ feet worth of rubber, with
much applause from the shop crew.
I then decided to do a burnout in reverse and lost control of the car. It
smacked into the steel structure of the building with such force that it
collapsed the rollup aluminum door, snapped the steel support for the shop,
smashed the steel reinforced office door, and ripped the drivers seat from
the mounting brackets. When I finally came to a stop, I was turned sideways
in my seat.
I got out of my car, laughing uncontrollably. I saw the heads of the shop
employees pop up one by one like the three stooges, as they peered from the
shop, observing the carnage. When the owner returned from an errand, he wondered what the hell had happened.
He called a board up service to close the shop, then graciously handed me the $1700 dollar bill from the repair of the building..."
I got angry and threw the can in disgust. It came to rest about twenty five away, leaking onto the asphalt. A few moments later D.K.P. member Art Alvarez came whipping into the parking lot in his bitchen '67, with the rare Walker wheels, a built 1700 engine and a Holley two barrel carb.
Art thought the newly leaked oil was water, and put the pedal to the metal, revving the screaming 1700 to about six grand. The tires spun madly and the engine nearly floated the valves. After dragging through the oil slick and hitting a section of dry asphalt, everyone at the shop heard what seemed like the loudest bang ever. It turns out that Art blew the spider gears clean up.
To this day I remember the poor old car limping away from the station, with a loud "CLUNK, CLUNK, CLUNK" that could be heard for two blocks..."
After a long day of drinking the devil's spirits, I loaded up my car with a bunch of guys and went driving through the park. When I came to a bend in the dirt road, I mis-negotiated the turn and went through some brush and came to a sudden stop. We all looked at each other in disbelief as we were three to four off the ground, hanging by the pan, on top of a large drainage pipe that extended out into the riverbed.
Laughing hysterically, everyone got out one by one, stumbling into the riverbed, and lifted the car from the drain pipe back onto the road. We drove off into the night with an experience that we'd rehash for years to come..."
I found that the seats were stuffed with horse caca from the upholstery shop in Mexico that the previous owner was proud to have gone to..."
After going for about a hundred yards down the freeway, I smelled smoke and looked back as my back seat was engulfed in flames from the hitchhiker sitting on the battery side (6 volt with no battery cover) and the springs making contact with the battery. Needless to say, the passenger wanted OUT.
I left him on the freeway and went about my way. The hitchhiker sat on the side of the road with the still smoldering seat..."
On one of those nights, I had taxi duty and got a call from dispatch to pick up a passenger who was intoxicated and had been detained by the local police for a ride back to Los Angeles. I was ecstatic because I could easily pay my line fee for the shift on that ride alone, so I picked up the fare and he soon went out like a light in the back seat of my cab. I was in the vicinity of the track and thought what the heck, I'll blow off some time with my friends.
I entered the track with no lights on except the yellow light on top of the car. I went into the field like a Baja bug in my '69 Plymouth taxi, bouncing the two of us all to hell as I grinned from ear to ear with no worries. I parked and shot the breeze with some friends for about an hour and half, then drove away like a veteran off road racer, bouncing the whole way out of the parking lot to deliver my passenger back to Los Angeles.
My passenger awoke upon arrival, after about an hour of travel. He thanked me for a safe and quiet ride home and gave me a nice tip! On my way back to the Santa Ana office, my dispatcher asked if I was a good boy, then informed me that I had just delivered the chief of police!!!"
Bob would goose the gas with his turbo injected combo, trying to steer straight as he made nine second passes; boiling the tires in forth gear and through the lights. Awesome!!!"
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