Trevor.

Trevor had a 1968 Nova SS with a transplanted 454 that had been breathed on by the automotive gods. Trevor was great with a wrench and (unbeknownst to us) better with a gas pedal. Trevor was a quiet kid, had a few friends, never got in trouble, never shot off his mouth, and never ever ever raced his car.

One night (in the spring of 1988 at the ages of 17 - 19) we all went out to the local abandoned, straight, farm road and had our very own American Graffiti style drag races. We invited Trevor; honestly believing that he would watch, drop the flag, and keep track of who beat whom.

About 1/2 hour into the shenanigans Trevor asked if anybody wanted to have a pass with him. My own car was a ‘65 Mustang Hi-Pro, my friend Drew had an IROC Camaro, Jeff had a ‘74 Corvette LS4, Colin had a Roadrunner with a Hemi &a 6 Pack. Jeff stepped up and said “I’ll go.” Trevor owned him.

And then, Trevor owned everybody.

If we had been racing for pink slips, Trevor would have had a stable of cars that night. It was epic. And for that evening, our quiet, gearhead friend Trevor, was King.