I'm in love with a rat rod racer

After twenty four hours in the vortex of fail that was Fan Expo, I had to get the hell out of the city and away from crowds for a while. Unfortunately I didn't have cash for the LeMans, which was running the same weekend at Mosport. But— bona auto fortuna— Oshawa's Autofest was running all weekend nearby and admission was a song.

For those that don’t know, Oshawa (or “the Schwa”) is arguably the capital of car culture in Canada, sometimes called “Motor City of the North” for its historic role in automobile production. Although its fortunes have been in decline the past few decades, next to Detroit, no North American borough has pumped so much metal onto the roads.

So it’s arguably the best place to go for a car show, in this part of Canada at least. With a locale like Oshawa, I figured that the many and varied car cultures of Southern Ontario would be on display— as well as a few secrets from local sheds. (There are so many vintage automobiles tucked away in Southern Ontario barns and garages that there’s even an exhibit for them at the Canadian Automotive Museum.)

Exhibit A: Dustbuggy

I talked the folks into going. While they don’t share my inexplicable rabidity for automotive engineering, we’re a car family. Not only that— they love anything that reminds them of the good old days. While the reality of that was more along the lines of mid-century lower middle class basics— large families, long work days, growing their own vegetables, walking a mile to school— it also included pivotal things like cars and A&W drive-ins and the music of each era... All of which were present in abundance at Autofest. In fact so many eras and genres were clashing in the same space that I couldn’t decide what decade I was in. One minute I was flashing to the fifties— the next, the seventies. Time itself was going for a spin.

I love that feeling.

Heaven on a Sunday afternoon

And that's what this Autofest delivered— a sensation that overcrowded and overhyped commercial car shows cannot. It was a wild assortment of vehicles, no two alike... over 1100 of them, parked in soft rows under the trees in the park by the lake. (All it needed to become the perfect summer scene was the scent of barbeque wafting through the air. That came later, I assume: with a thousand classic cars trying to leave at the same time you don’t go anywhere fast. Can you say classic jam?)

Walking through this field of (oh sweet cliché) automotive dreams, I was totally floored to find stylistically fantastic lumps of raw steel and aluminum amidst the chrome and tropical riots. Perfectly patinaed ingots of badassery, with finishes worked by time or just a hell of a lot of elbow grease...

Rat rods, half a dozen of them— the first I’ve seen in Ontario.

 

Anyone reading this from the American West coast is probably rolling their eyes right now. Keep in mind that Ontario isn’t California. While we have a massive car culture here, it’s not the kind spelt with a K. So you'll just have to believe me when I tell you that there aren’t many true rat rods in this neck of the road... woods... roadwoods. Whereas California rat rod purists are apparently getting tired of seeing watered-down versions of the same thing, anything along rat rod lines is still a revelation up here. Which is probably why I wasn’t the only person circling these vehicles with eyes bugged out, going holyfreakincool.

Aside: I knew about rat rods thanks in large part to frequent visits to Vancouver. (After MTV, this city on Canada's West coast is arguably the most influential filter of things-which-are-Californian-and/or-cool-beyond-reason to the rest of Canada. Witness: longboards, skimboards, downhill mountain biking, cruiser bikes, surfing out of season, etc.) In this particular case the direct vector was a clothing company called Ironhead, which has a single outlet in Vancouver. From time to time they make shirts which feature rat rod designs. I like things made out of iron so I have a lot of them. And I learned tattooing with a couple of Eikon irons— Green Monsters, the spiritual (ok, stylistic) brethren to Rat Fink.

A V8 Rat Fink collection at the Paris Fairgrounds

Back to Autofest, with its crop of one of a kind machines. They were all great, but one car was somehow exemplary: a heavily modified 1933 DeSoto belonging to Bryan and Karyn Mackell.

In a field of "do not touch unless you're nude" signs, it was the only vehicle on the lot with a DO touch sign. This was the rat that blew my mind.

The roof has been cut out and replaced with chickenwire that still had bits of chicken stuck in it. Industrial grade disposable earplugs dangled from the mesh for the passengers, along with a leather tanker's cap and aviator scarf for the pilot. The inside was a collection of rat rod memorabilia. Even the license plate ("ALL DONE") was a reference to the "never finished" ethic of rat rodders.

To give you some idea of the one-of-a-kind agglomeration of parts and labor involved, here's the dash list:

I think I walked around it for ten minutes, and didn't get any really good photos of the whole vehicle because I spent so much time soaking up the details. (This car also recently caught the attention of local mainstream media, which kinda suggests it stands out.)

Hood pornament

It was love at first sight. It was also the beginning of another education. As soon as I got home, I started reading up on the rat rod scene and allovasudden was learning things I never knew… about lead sleds and Kustoms and culture spelt with a K.

Another hood pornament.

...I also learned that it's still a new movement, as automotive trends go. Although some of the vehicles involved are pushing a century old, this particular style hasn’t been around that long yet. Most observers peg it to the mid nineties, which means that I’m pretty late to the party— but hey, at least I found the party this time. And I'm completely down with what's going on here. 

I think we're gonna need some more air fresheners for the road.

Here’s why: I’m one of those oddly wired people who likes abandoned things. Ruins, rust, and desolation turn my visual crank. I would downright freakin love to have the tools and technical skills to pluck one of the decaying sixty-year-old farm trucks from the family homestead and rebuild it. To be able to describe my paint color as “natural”, nuture its patina for years with careful bouts of exposure or acid, training the oxidization the way compulsive gardeners train a bonsai tree. Add to that a back seat so big you can fit a Filipino fisher family in it? Sure thing. Carefully selected, hand-sawn and spot welded ornaments? Bring it on. And I get to drive it wearing anything from psychobilly to post-apocalyptic grease monkey duds?

You had me at rust. Cripes.

See, rust is like a living thing. Anyone not familiar with its wonders should check these flickr groups out. Thanks in large part to them I have developed quite the enhanced appreciation for it.

Wonders of Oxidization: http://www.flickr.com/groups/52239914863@N01/

Rusty and Crusty: http://www.flickr.com/groups/rusty_and_crusty/

Faux rust is nice too.

There’s something so perfectly perverted about taking a crusty junker and— instead of sinking megabucks into restoring its original color— nuturing the oxidization process until each vehicle becomes unique in its finish, or lack thereof. I love the idea of a vehicle that you polish with WD-40 and scotchbrite pads— eff the Turtlewax and chamois, seriously.

A beautiful hand buffed finish that looked like a cross-section of a meteorite.

But that’s only the surface. There’s so much more to love where rat rods are concerned.

1. Complete individual customization. That’s the freaking point. If your rat rod looks like everybody else’s, you’re doing it wrong.
2. Many of these vehicles embody a form of automotive recycling that is limited only by inventiveness and (to a lesser extent) part compatibility. You want to cheer for something eco-freako? How about the resurrection of vintage auto bodies and parts from the proverbial dust?
3. Lack of purism, rules or strictures. You want to put that Ford engine in this Desoto? Sure, if it fits, have at ‘er.
4. Elevation of function over form. (And you can bet that spot welded frankenride will turn heads just as surely as that 200K supercar— if not warm the cockles.)
5. More cars that are wearing their engines on the outside or going hoodless. (I can see your suspension. Sexy.)
6. Tying in other influences, not just by hybridizing vehicles using parts from different makers, across the ages. Rat rod culture (as it stands now, roughly fifteen years young) is a massive evolving agglomerate of generation-spanning influences: car culture, DIY culture, punk, rockabilly, chopper, hotrodder, skater, surf and tattoo cultures and all the art and music they embrace.

So. Don’t get me wrong. I still enjoy the hell out of a vehicle engineered to within a µm of perfection. Automotive purism most definitely has its place. I’m just one of those perverse types that loves monsters.

“…The spirit of the original Rat Rod movement: envision it, build it yourself, drive the hell out of it as soon as it can move under its own power. And most importantly, never claim it’s really ever finished.”

—From Autoculture’s series on the rat rod movement

I’m sure that this sudden fascination is all part of my continuing love affair with unobtainable vehicles.

I’ll be honest: at this point, somewhere about midway through my life, I’ve seen the writing on the wall. That writing says that I will never have enough money to afford one of my dream cars— or even a really nice one. And that's okay: creative realism works for me. I don’t have a testosterone pump in my crotch and a banker’s wallet, so I really don't feel any desire to have have the fastest car, or the best looking. I do want to have something unique, though... something that looks like hell just spit it out and time couldn’t kill it.

A rat rod… now that’s a reasonable goal.

Pushing the definition of “street legal” one hand crafted brake light at a time.

Thus began another education.

Update on Monday, September 20, 2010 at 10:10PM by hypersapiens

Looking through the photos a couple days later, I’m still amazed at how much I loved seeing a summer park full of beautifully restored vehicles. It was dreamlike. And since admission to most of these shows runs from three to ten bucks, it’s a transport of delight I can afford to indulge in pretty much anytime.

So I do.

Pic not related, but pretty damn hot. This cherry Impala was godlike.

As summer wanes and September reaches its full glory, I hit the car show circuit and visit a number of other events across Ontario. I'm on the trail of the rat rod racers. Although they are few and far between, I find some beauties.

At the Field of Dreams car show in South Huron, a 1929 Model "A" Ford rat rod owned by Moe Muir of St Mary's Ontario was on display.

In case there was any doubt about the rat rod part, his hood ornament is an iron rat nested in a vintage piston, mounted on a nose that appears to have been custom milled from aluminum block. (Check this article's header for a closeup of the detail.)

The following weekend in Paris, I check out the annual Kinsmen car show. It's a different crowd than the other shows I've visited; a bit more wheeler-dealerish, a bit more rough-edged and less less cruise classics. There's still an impressive range of eras and makes on display though.

At the Paris Fairgrounds

Among the hundreds of cars present is only one vehicle with a dash card calling it a rat rod. It's a fifty-something Chevrolet... a flat black primer jobbie with actual %@&* flaming skull decals stuck on its nose and tail. This deathly touch looks like a nine year old's idea of cool and makes me profoundly sad inside. (But it helps in another aspect: I understand some of the scene rants now. I won't embarass the owner by posting shots here.)

The only other vehicle that comes close to the iconic is a fantastic lowslung V8 rat-hot hybrid. It has no dash card, nor does it need one: its heritage is written all over it in a mad mashup of imagery. It's got a Rat Fink collection poised on its custom V8 grille and engine block, bits of black and white holstein hide on the interior doors, and twin hi-rise stovepipe exhausts offset by extra low-slung running boards. Every inch of available hot-cherry paint has been airbrushed by someone who favors skulls with a mishmash of themes, all swathed in smoke and flame: cowboy/boneyard/gangster/hot rod/voodoo/tattoo... I'm not a big fan of indiscriminate airbrushing, but I find myself drawn to the consistent insanity of this ride.

I'll keep hunting next season- trying to find Ontario's rat rod community. But from here on out, I will let the images speak for themselves...

A full set of images from the Paris car show can be found at: (flickr link tba)