I was 14, and just out of the 8th grade - waiting to enter that exciting realm known as <fanfare> high school. I can't remember how many times I overhauled, rebuilt, repainted or customized my Schwinn bicycle. I was already working in my dad's service station during the summers - pumping gas, washing cars, changing oil and removing road tar. Our little town rocked and oiled the streets every spring, and it was a holy mess.

My only real hotrodding at the time was in my dad's ski boat, because I was old enough to drive that on the local lakes.

One of my dad's friends built a '32 highboy roadster with a Cadillac engine, and a guy up the street from my dad's service station won the NHRA nationals in the F dragster class with his flattie digger. He was a pretty nice guy, and we were able to hang around his dirt-floored shop while he built his motors and chassis.