Saga of a Nova

Once upon a time in the Autumn of 2003, I was sitting on the back steps of Wagon Wheel Bowl, on the phone with my Dad about a certain old muscle car he owned, discussing a growing dream I had of resurrecting it from the hayfield in Eastern Washington where it had been callously abandoned. He had bought the car in 1978 when he was 19 years old (it was 9 years old at the time, with 67,000 miles on the clock), two years before he got married, and that beautiful hunk of American Icon was the only family car we had until child number four, and it remained Dad's daily driver even after the Chevy van replaced it as the family hauler until the summer of '96. It was parked that year initially because the transmission needed new bearings and because the floorpan was rusted through in a bad way. It still ran fine, but there were just too many things on my parent's plates to give it the attention it needed. Seven-and-a-half years later it had lost it's mildly-built 307 CID engine to my uncle's boat project, and the mice and waist-high weeds had seemingly turned it into a piece of history. But my memory was alive with that particular green glow exuded by 1960s American dashboards, the throaty sound of a V8 with glasspacks, the certain little clicks and pops of the doors and locks that only this car makes, and most vividly, learning to drive in it at 9 years old on back country roads with two phonebooks behind my back, manual 3-speed and all.

In 2003 I was still college, but the vision of having it back on the road was strong, and that winter, with the help of Dad and a couple of friends, we hauled it from its muddy bed, cleaned it up, cut out and replaced the floor boards, and built up a motor for it. At that point I ran out of money, and needed to focus on my Senior Year of college, so it sat partially finished until Easter, 2006. I was in a position to work on it again.

With the transmission still going out and dry-rotted tires I headed for Southern California and a new job.

Then the real troubles began. The fuel tank sprang a bad leak, and it started inexplicably burning a ton of oil. The suspension was shot, as was the interior, and the trans wasn't going to hold up for much more than another oil change or so. My enthusiasm went it fits and spurts, and I bough some parts, but didn't get around to putting them in.

Then I met AC.

Two years later I had moved twice (hauling the neglected beauty behind me on a trailer), changed jobs twice, gotten married, fallen it love with old Volvos, and AC was pregnant. And it still wasn't street-able. Seemed all that work was destined to be wasted...

Now at this point I have to admit (with a degree of shamefacedness) that this car had lost a lot of appeal for me. I still had the memories and the nostalgic attachment, but I had been bewitched by the European sport sedan look, specifically the Volvo 140 series, and after years of dragging around that expensive dead weight I didn't really have the drive for finishing it anymore. Not to mention that I was tired of spending money on it. I was thinking very seriously of selling it exactly as it sat: sad and unfinished.

After talking with Dad about my thoughts and feelings concerning the project, I realized for the first time just how attached to the car he really was, and how painful it would be for him to see it finally go. I decided to get it going once and for all, and a combination of guilt and excitement spurred me on to the finish line.

October, 2008. With a huge sigh of relief and pride I am proud to announce that my father's 1969 Chevy Nova is happily rumbling it's way back to Washington under its own substantial power, signed back over to Dad less than one week before his 50th birthday. Roughly twice a week for more than 6 months I have been out at 'The Ranch' often working late into the night to bring it, finally, to this day of completion.

Here is a partial list of what has been done since the winter of '03: Performance-built 327 (twice: the shop screwed up big time on the first build, resulting in a ruined block. I did the building myself the second time.)---325 HP; 1993 Camero T5 manual transmission installed with a custom fabricated crossmember, clutch linkage and a shortened driveshaft; All new sport shocks, springs (lowered), wheels, tires, anti-sway bars; Professionally repaired fuel tank; Electric fan conversion; Headers and new exhaust; Completely red-done floorpan; And an endless list of misc. items that needed attention to make it safe and drivable. The interior is still terrible, and the paint is pretty bad, (though it looks pretty decent now after and polish and wax), but it runs well, drives well, and it is making Dad happy. And most of all, it has stayed within the family isn't sitting in field somewhere, dying alone and forgotten.

I guess I would say it has all been worth it. I wouldn't do it again, at least not like I did, but it is definitely something to be proud of.