Club Cobra - A tribute to Hal Copple

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A tribute to Hal Copple

Those of us who have been on this forum long enough remember the wonderful stories told by Hal Copple of his experiences in The Great Stroker. I enjoy writing but I would never compare myself to Hal's great talent. Still, I thought of him after I spontaneously wrote a short story today. It is not about a Cobra but it does involve one of my cars and I hope some of you enjoy it.

Mano a Mano with an Exhaust System
By Tommy

Few will note or remember (or have the least interest in) the epic struggle that took place on a cold February day in a garage in east central Alabama. Like the epic battle between Alexander the Great and King Darius III at Gaugamela, this also involved a determined attacker and a strong, well entrenched foe. Only this time the attacker was a seventy five year old amateur mechanic and his foe was a two and one half inch diameter steel exhaust system.

The two foes had skirmished for days with the old man making slow progress at the expense of great losses in time, money and body aches. Evidence of both his progress and its cost was apparent in the piles of old and new exhaust pieces that had been either discarded or deemed unusable. The exhaust system’s strategy seemed less about winning than not losing. It wanted to make the cost of victory so high the old man would falter and turn the job over to another incompetent muffler shop as he had done decades before.

The weeks of struggle had revealed the strengths each was using to achieve its advantage. The exhaust system held the high ground, forcing the old man to expose his weakest elements - a pair of injured shoulders on a body with very limited endurance. The exhaust system also used its rigidity and stubbornness to great effect. But the old man also had his strengths.

Stubbornness comes down to resisting change and making those who would cause change pay a high cost. The old man countered that with persistence - the determination to keep coming back after every failure with a new and different approach. The new approaches revealed the old man’s other strengths - tools and intelligence. His garage was festooned with tools and he knew how to use them both as they were intended and in other “off label” ways. And while the old man was not as mentally sharp as he had once been, he was still noticeably smarter than the steel (which had never had an original idea of its own).

So, armed with tools to cut, grind, bend and weld steel, and a willingness to do whatever it took to get those damn crooked pipes snaked around the underside of the car and hook together, the old man mated the final two pieces of pipe on that cold February day. The exhaust system acted like it didn’t care that it had lost and the old man had won. But deep down they both knew he won . . . and it cared.

Tommy,

Here's Hal Copple's piece. I think it was written prior to 2006:

Quote:

Driving a Cobra Replica

"If you want to just gas and go, and never have to worry about replacing an alternator, or snuggling down the header bolts, or getting a wet leg driving in a rainstorm, or learning how to set your carb float level, or driving in traffic on a warm winter day with "winter gas" in the tank, get a Corvette. "

With a Cobra Replica you have to remind yourself that you are driving a hand made race car on the street. There is no compromise for anything other than pure speed. These cars are brutal and unforgiving, with all the refinement of a medieval battle ax. Like being in a relationship with an exotic dancer, you can never take anything for granted. These cars don't have millions of miles of testing refinement before you get yours. For any trip longer than an hour, you need earplugs, and goggles, and carry Advil and eye drops. You will need to learn to "read" the clouds for rain in your path, and have experience in unwrapping your frozen fingers from the MotoLita. You will experience lady passengers "wetting" the passenger seat when you merge into traffic from an on ramp, and then nearly burn their calf getting out of the car.

You will have all the invisibility of a burning Hindenburg, and flee from underground parking lots when uncountable car alarms are screaming your departure. When you shop, you will remind yourself that these cars get more attention than a dead body in a parking lot.

With a power to weight ratio better than almost every supercar, you will find your 1/4 mile times traction rather than power limited. On the other hand, when you stage, out of the corner of your helmet's visor you will see almost the entire audience lining up at the fence, most with cameras up. If you track on a road course with a Porsche club, owners of expensive German machines will come to the fence to watch you power out in smoking oversteer. You won't even try to start your engine in the garage, but push it out onto the driveway, else your loyal watch dog will croak from the exhaust fumes. If you idle next to other "sports" cars at a traffic light, by the green, their girlfriend will be coughing green phlegm into her hanky, yelling at her date to just go! When you refuel, you might as well prop the "bonnet" open, because you are going to have to show your motor to just about every other guy there. When you order your wings at Hooters, your waitress will whisper in your ear "take me for a ride." When you stop at the red light, the girl in the convertible next to you will invite you to "take my top off too."

When you slowly pass a troop of Harley riders, they will look over and give you thumbs up. When you want to ease out into traffic, other cars will immediately pause to let you go ahead of them. When your engine has its hot, crackling, intimidating exhaust sidepipe aimed right at the flank of the GTO, or the Z28, your exhaust pulsation's slowly unscrewing his lug nuts, the other car will remain motionless, as if the slightest quiver of his car will cause your car to stomp it dead. When you leave it open in a parking lot, and come back to find your sunglasses and cell phone still sitting on the tunnel, it is because your car has sullenly warned those who came over to admire it "touch me and I will rise up here and kill you dead."

When you put that tiny silver key into the ignition, and begin your start countdown, your car will whisper "take me for granted, and I will kill you."

When other drivers just hop in and snap up their belts while backing out of their parking space, you will still have two more minutes before you even get all the Simpson's properly on and snugged down. Pulling up in a Cobra Replica is like landing an F4U at an ultralite convention.

In summary, very, very few drivers want this kind of attention, or can tolerate all that a formidable Cobra Replica demands. These cars are intolerant mistresses.

But remember, there will come a day when you have to hang up your car keys for the last time. And perhaps you want to say then "I did it."

I remember Hal and his stories well. When I saw he had posted one that was the first thing I read.

Ron

Hal Copple, the greatest satirist ever to post on this site. I can honestly say I would look forward to ANY of his posts. Ah, the good old days. I remember them well, the wonderful verbal clashes in the lounge. It's a shame that has gone woke. But Hal Copple, a treasure. :)

John O

I remember Hal Copple's stories well. I seem to recall he had over 100,000 miles on his cobra... !