<VV> Yenko Stuff...Very long fictional story...but none the less a funny story about Corvairs

[Rick Loving]

This short story has been posted before, but it's been awhile and since
we were talking Yenko's I thought it was time....

I did not write this, and I am passing it along.  It's original source
is from the web but I don't recall the actual site.

HERE IS GOES..............................................

The formatting didn't carryover so the paragraphs all run together....

The True Exploits of a Yenko Stinger
by Merle Grabhorn
 
	After I had just graduated from college during the 70's, a
friend and I began search for a slow car to race in the lower AHRA
classes figuring that it would not be that hard or expensive to be
competitive. To give you an idea of how this story will go, let me first
tell you that my friend was an American Indian by the name of Charlie
Crazyhorse or CC for short. Because of his Native American ability to
live off the land and scout around locating elusive things like deer or
buffalo, he had this ability to find the damnedest things. In hunting
for the elusive slow car, he scouted up a gem! He found a Yenko Stinger!

You probably know that Yenko put out a series of super muscle cars, but
Yenko put out a few unusual ones too! A Yenko Stinger was a 1966 Corvair
that Yenko built primarily for SCCA road racing. The standard Corvair
164 cubic inch flat 6 was rated at a mere 110 to 140 hp. The Stinger
could be ordered at various Stage levels ranging from a mildly warmed
over Stage I up to a powerful 220hp Stage III version. When CC had me
come and look at the car, I nearly died. The Stinger came stock with
fiberglass decklid with rear spoiler, functional airscoops, headers,
sported a 3:89 posi, with a close ratio 4 speed transaxle. The car even
had a rollcage and plastic side windows. Even more amazing was the
carburetion set up. The Stinger had four 1 bbl carbs with two one barrel
carbs on the one side feeding one head of the engine and vice versa for
the other side. The owner had ordered the Stinger from Yenko, had
certification papers to prove that this was indeed a production car and
described in full detail all the options. 
This was the only Yenko Stinger I have ever seen. I have seen only a few
pictures of others in sports car racing magazines. The owner, who had
purchased it for racing, hadn't raced it for several years and his wife
was making his life miserable about it taking up garage space. He
offered to sell it to us for a mere $1,000. We bought it on the spot,
with me contributing every penny that I had to my name, exactly $500.
Boy, do I wish I had that car now. On the collector's market, I have
been told that a pristine Stinger is worth as much as 10 times that or
more. 
The class that the Stinger would go into was V/SO F-2 (pronounced Vee
Stock Optional-Formula 2) with a record index of about 17 seconds,
something we knew this car could do in a walk. Our problem was, we
didn't know beans about an air-cooled Corvair motor and were really
perplexed with the really complicated induction system. Neither of us
knew anything about Stingers and until this time I had only seen them in
pictures. We had no earthly idea how to synchronize 'em, tune 'em. etc.
The rest of the motor was equally mystifying. 
We managed to get the Stinger running although it really staggered and
kicked dense clouds of black smoke as it idled. There was no doubt that
the Stinger had a wild cam, but the carbs were really messed up and we
couldn't get them right. CC and I took it outside of town where street
racers had conveniently marked a quarter mile and made a pass. By CC's
wrist watch, we turned about 16 to 16.5, at least a half to a full
second under the index. And this was with two of us in the car with it
severely out of tune and pouring black smoke like a crashing airplane.
We knew we had a winner; we just had to figure out how to fix it. 
Since we were still in our early twenties we were not willing to let
well enough alone. We decided to *engineer* the car a little better. We
had that *need for speed* desire that overwhelmed everything else. In
looking back, I now realize the error in our thinking. The car was a
winner as it was, and we didn't take advantage of that simple fact. 
CC immediately went on a hunting party for some way to find a sponsor.
Of course, both of us being flat busted was part of the reason CC went
searching. And CC came through again, in the most amazing manner. 
CC got the name of a garage where the owner, named Bob Walter, had been
a Corvair Specialist for the local Chevy dealership for many years. CC
was told that this guy knew more about Corvairs than God himself. When
we drove up to this really ramshackle, unpainted shop, we thought we
died. In the weeds, behind this unpainted and run down shop, must have
been 20, 30, no, maybe 50 Corvairs. CC and I figured that this must be
the equivalent of an Elephant Graveyard, only for Corvairs. Also, what
was interesting was the total lack of customers at this garage. Tall
grass was growing through the cracks in the driveway. CC had been told
that Bob was a bit eccentric, but we didn't really know how eccentric he
really was until later. He didn't have any customers! 
We went in, and there was Bob and his helper. His shop was amazing, with
tons of Corvair parts, such as motors, fenders, transaxles, etc. stacked
to the ceiling. There were tiny, narrow, impossible, dark little trails
between these piles. It was like a junkyard, only it was inside. 
His helper, we immediately nicknamed Snaggle Tooth as he had exactly 4
teeth, sort of scattered at random in the front of his mouth. He also
had a glass eye that looked off into the dark corners of the garage or
at the floor or ceiling at the worse possible times. Only later would we
learn that Snaggle Tooth's glass eye would pop out from time to time and
go bouncing across the floor of the garage, giving CC and me terrible
nightmares. I was chased by that eyeball for years afterwards in my
nightmares. And Bob was not much better-sort of tall, unkempt, and
equally wild-eyed. We were to find out much latter that Bob, although
uneducated, was a mechanical genius and an inventor. He had invented a
good number of automotive tools and other things, got patents, sold them
to different companies, and was making a really comfortable living off
the royalties. Unfortunately, like many people of this nature, he was
eccentric. No, to be honest, he was flat out crazy. 
We told Bob what we wanted to do with the Stinger. He was fascinated by
our plans and decided that he wanted to help. Bob firmly believed that
the Corvair was the worlds ultimate car and that Ralph Nader was the
devil incarnate for destroying its reputation. Anything that could be
done to bring the *status* of the Corvair up in the world, Bob was
willing to do. And brother, let me tell you that this was only the
beginning. Bob was so disappointed that Chevrolet had decided to
discontinue the Corvair, he (meaning Bob) was driven to drink! CC and I
never realized that Bob was drunk until we saw him sober once! 
Being an inventor and a serious drinker, he had all sorts of unusual
friends who were also inventors, (and serious drinkers!) It seems that
certain types of personalities always congregate together and this was
the perfect example. Of course, CC and I, were not unusual in the least,
you understand. 
What CC and I wanted to do, as part of our hop up ideas, was build up
potential energy for the launch by installing a super heavy flywheel,
something that was O.K. in the rule book. Only problem was that we felt
we would not only burn clutches and pressure plates up, but we would
pound the main bearings out in a hurry. We also thought that the
transaxle would break under the severe pounding.  *No (expletive
deleted) problem* says Bob. *We'll (expletive deleted) soak the
(expletive deleted) clutches in (expletive deleted) rubbing alcohol and
they'll (expletive deleted) grab like a (expletive deleted). I'll
(expletive deleted) change 'em every other (expletive deleted) pass.*
Bob had a very colorful but somewhat limited vocabulary that got even
more colorful as a function of his drinking. He volunteered to pull the
engine after every racing week end and replace the bearings-no small job
in a Corvair. He had transaxles to spare if we needed them. Even more
astounding was the help he got from his buddies. 
They would all meet at Walt's shop, get in a state of intoxication, and
theorize and design ways to make the Stinger go faster. These guys were
something else. Bob built us a flywheel that weighed well over 50 lb.,
maybe closer to 75 or even 100 lbs. One of his buddies made a pattern
for the flywheel, took it to a foundry and had it cast. He then built a
lathe at Walt's shop (I'M NOT MAKING THIS UP) to finish it. They even
worked out a way to get the ring gear on by cooling the fly wheel with
dry ice and heating the ring gear up in the oven. The fly wheel
contracted, they slipped the ring gear over it, and when the flywheel
expanded, it had an intense friction fit. Spot welding was the final
safety feature. (HONEST, I'M NOT MAKING ANY OF THIS UP-IF I TOLD YOU
SOME OF THE THINGS THEY DID YOU WOULD CALL ME A LIAR-THE STORY IS
UNBELIEVEABLE AS IT IS AND I WAS THERE!) They built up the springs in
the pressure plate, modified a truck clutch to work in the car, and in
general did wonders to the car. Since the Stinger engine was air cooled,
they fabricated pulleys to turn the engine fan slower and free up even
more horsepower. My God, they went through every inch of that motor and
custom fabricated individual pushrods, custom fit them for each cylinder
and valve, and on, and on, and on. They cast and hand fitted each
individual bearing to each main and rod journal out of babbit metal.
When they balanced the motor, they fought about differences as little as
a thousandth of a gram and where to remove the metal. They put as much
effort into this car as is put into Pro Stock Cars or Top Fuel
Dragsters. 
What we found was the racers dream. A group of mechanical geniuses who
worked for the pure pleasure of solving problems and they did it for
free. There was only one problem. Like many geniuses, they were never
satisfied with the final product and kept modifying and modifying and we
could never get the damn thing to the track. On the other hand, this
wasn't costing CC or me any money so we just sat back and watched. I can
even begin to guess what it would have cost to do what we were doing if
we paid someone to do it. AHRA rules were pretty loose on what you could
do to a class car to hop it up and these guys did it all. I think we had
the ultimate Corvair. 
CCs final hunting and scouting expedition found some 10" slicks on 12"
rims from a quarter midget race car that actually fit the rear of the
Stinger. A pair of tall skinny 4" wide tires were scrounged out of a
local yard for the front.  The stock Stinger tires were 13 inch Chevy
and were not anywhere as wide. When these were installed, the Stinger
looked about like a go-kart with these huge tires on the back. The
aspect of those midget tires was so small that the Stinger looked like
it was constantly driving uphill; however, it probably changed the 3.89
ratio up to about 4.11 or more. The 3.89 was the max you could get in a
Corvair transaxle and only special order. However, these guys were in
the process of building a mill and designing gear cutters to fix that
problem. That part was never completed due to what happened next. 
The Stinger, such as it was, was ready to race, about a half an hour
before the gates opened for tech on the very morning of the AHRA record
race so we never got a chance to test it except to start it at the shop.
It didn't take long to realize with that super heavy flywheel, and the
bumped up compression, the Stinger was not only hard to start, but it
took forever to build up rpm. 
When we got to the track with this car, we were objects of derision. We
had a really funny looking Corvair (covered with Bird Poop because it
was in Walt's Garage so long), and all sorts of strange doo-dads on it.
The carb's had carburetor heat shields and velocity stacks obviously
fabricated from K-Mart cookie sheets and alum drinking cups. The headers
had been altered and looked something like 6 tangled trombones wrapped
with asbestos. Stock Corvair exhaust manifolds pointed to the front of
the car with a small crossover pipe connecting them right before the
headers. These headers also pointed to the front but were bent into a
real basket of snakes as they twisted towards the rear of the car. Bob
and his buddies had determined the optimum lengths for each cylinder and
fabricated them. These guys should have been designers for Hooker. Also,
this was really before anybody thought of heat wrapping headers to help
exhaust scavenging, I might add-Bob and his friends were really ahead of
their time- AGAIN, I AM NOT MAKING ANY OF THIS UP. 
We passed tech, although barely. We got more head shaking and *I don't
know about this* and more questions as to *What in the hell is this?*
than you can imagine. We had the AHRA rule book in hand and we fought
about three hours to pass tech. Most of the time, all you did was fill
out a piece of paper and that was it. AHRA was pretty loose. It was only
by the grace of all the Yenko paperwork that we proved this was a
*production* vehicle. I think they passed us because they were certain
the Corvair would self destruct when we started it. 
We were set to go. CC and I flipped to see who got to make the first
pass and I won. Bob, and his friends, who came out with us in the
*Support Truck* celebrated by proceeding to commune with the Spirits. 
I started the Stinger and let me tell you, that six sounded as husky as
a small block V-8. It didn't have this high pitched six sound, but a
deep throated popping rumble-stumble totally unlike a six. You know how
a wild cam and open exhausts sounds. Really, really sweet. If sound
alone was enough to win first place, we had it hands down. Oh yeah, this
was a bad boy, really, really baaaaad. 
I finally staged the Stinger and built up rpm, figuring that there ought
to be plenty of power in this Corvair... 
There was! 
When I dumped the clutch at about 7500 rpm, the Stinger launched like a
Top Fuel Dragster!!!!! With a Corvair front to back ratio of 60% rear
and 40% front sitting still, the launch transferred even more weight
rearward causing the tires to really bite hard.  The extra traction,
coupled with the independent rear suspension, the short wide slicks, and
all that energy stored in the flywheel, the front wheels went about 2
feet into the air and the whole damn car leaped over the staging beams!
The ass-end of the car actually wanted to get out in front and lead. I
actually whiplashed my neck. The bolts holding the seats in the floor
broke, and I damn near flew into the back seat. I'm not kidding! I've
never felt a launch like that in my life and I've been in some 8.90
cars. I can only guess that this type of launch can only be felt in a
Funny Car or Dragster. 
By the time I hit second gear, the fan belt came off the pulley, freeing
up more horse power. Hell, the only thing I had to hang on to was the
steering wheel and that spindly Corvair shifter that I actually bent
when I went flying backwards. That Corvair went through the traps with
an E.T. of 12.2 and 110 mph, more than five seconds under the index! Of
course, by the time I hit fourth gear, the rpm was way down because of
the heavy fly wheel and the car was actually slowing down. In fact, the
Corvair was decidedly squirrelly at that speed and gave the feeling that
the back end really wanted to be in front all the time! 
I got back in the pits and Bob literally fell out of his truck, due to a
combination of drink and excitement. He pulled the welder out, and fixed
the seat, scorching wholly h*ll out of the seat and setting the carpet
on fire several times. He stuck his foot on the shifter and bent it back
into position. We were certainly high tech. CC made the next pass with
an equally astounding wheel stand and a similar E.T. (With the same sore
neck, broken welds, trip to the back seat and a bent shifter.) We had
turned in a time that was incredible for a Corvair and in fact would
have been incredible for some of the Muscle Cars at the track. We were
in ecstasy. 
Unfortunately, the officials were not. We got jerked immediately. First
order of business was to check the fuel. It was clean. They put us on
the scales. We were O.K. They put the jar on the cylinders to check
cubic inches. It went on and on until they finally said, *Pull the
heads, tear down the motor, you can't be legal.* That was the Red Flag
for Bob. The one thing that really got his goat was someone who doubted
his honesty. Of course, tearing down a Corvair is not something you can
do very well unless you have the engine out of the car. And, it doesn't
come out of the top, it drops out of the bottom. The officials knew
that, and Bob knew they knew it which made him madder yet. The
combination of being called a cheater, and being forced to due a
difficult task to prove that he was honest was it. Bob clearly told the
officials where they could go, how they could go there, and what bizarre
biological feats they could expect to perform on themselves, while on
the way. His being very well lubricated due to drink didn't help. 
We, of course, were thrown out. 
And that was the end for us and Bob. He wanted nothing to do with any
organization that doubted his integrity, particularly having to do with
Corvairs. Since this whole thing was our idea, we were responsible, and
were told to take the car and get the Hell out of his sight. He never
wanted to see us again! 
CC and I were despondent. We were busted. We had an outstanding car, but
no money, and we didn't have the knowledge, tools, or experience to keep
this car in top form. We couldn't take it out to the track because we
had been blackballed due to Walt's drinking. We could have run the car
in AHRA H or I Hot Rod Class or even E or F/Gas class and made it work,
but that was impossible due to being blackballed. We didn't have the
money or even a way to tow to another track. (We had used Walt's
homemade trailer and his truck to get us to the track-perhaps another
reason we were objects of laughter. You had to see his rig to believe
it.) 
However, a week or so later, a guy called us up and wanted to buy the
Stinger. He offered $5,000 cash on the spot, a 5 to 1 return on our
money. We took it. Our buyer had realized something that we didn't, the
car was an obvious sleeper for street racing if you made a few cosmetic
changes. A well known street racer bought it thinking he could make a
killing. Instead the car almost killed him. The flywheel let go in a
grenade like explosion that actually tore the back end off the car and
shotgunned the car beside him with shrapnel. The fuel line was cut and
the car flamed. It was gone. And, incidentally, I have not been back to
that particular race track since. I'm sort of afraid that somebody will
remember that Corvair and Bob. 
So, although you probably don't believe this story, I SWEAR EVERY WORD
IS TRUE. I just hope that your venture into class racing will be a
little more successful than mine. 
(Some names have been changed to protect Merle from having recurring
nightmares about bouncing eyeballs chasing him. -Michael)
--------------------------------------------- 
Michael:

Posted by Rick Loving, who often re-reads it at work and chuckles out
loud....only to have his co-workers mumble about insanity....