|
With this being the first issue, and my first time writing anything besides college papers or sappy poetry for my ex, I really didn't know what to write about at first. I started thinking about back in the day, and how I fell in love with our hobby/sport/sanity/pastime. Alot of you can probably relate to my beginning. I was a young kid, 15 or 16, at the grocery store with mom because if I went, I got to drive. Because I didn't wanna be in public with mom... oh come on, you all did the same thing at that age... I headed for the magazine rack. Wedged in between the car audio magazines I lived on, I found a month-old copy of Mini Truckin'. It was the March '94 issue, and to this day I can tell you what features were in it, who owned them, what mods were done, rims, paint, everything. I couldn't wait for the next issue. About that time, my best friend Brian started working on his mini, an '87 Mazdog. He dropped it with a set of 1" blocks and a few twists on the torsion bars, rolling on a set of 14x8 sawblades with 185/60/14's... doesn't sound like much of a drop, but on those tires...stretched out so far... he dragged the leaf springs on EVERYTHING... He had to raise it back up and put the stock tires back on it, but that was just for a while.
|
I started noticing cool mini's everywhere. We used to hang out at the Taco Bell on Davis Highway, and I met this dude named Monkey. He was cool and he could buy alcohol, so we followed him for a while and ended up at a few mini club meetings downtown at Bayfront. There I was, 16 years old, carless, checking out some of the freshest rides circa 1994, with a 40 of Mickey's. I was absolutely blown away by this dude's 4-wheel air shocks. Ground effects and 205/50/15's were tha shiznit. Everybody's ride was something that you could build in a weekend. It was cool. Simpler times, man. It was a few years before I had the money to get my own ride, and it wasn't a mini. I ended up buying a very used and very abused Toyota Corolla hatchback. I had big plans for Project Thrifty Thrasher, but it had plans of it's own...like grenading a transmission on me at 2am in BFE. But that's another story. My point is this. No matter who's got the most colors in their paint, no matter who's got the fastest bags, the biggest body drop, always remember the roots of the sport. We all started somewhere...
|
