A few years back, in keeping with the rulebook governing the average male's mid-life crisis, I purchased a 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z-28. Yes, it was as sweet as the picture that just popped into your head. One of my challenges, aside from avoiding speeding tickets, was finding someone that knew how to work on these no-frills, all gas and guts, non-computer assisted muscle cars.
I managed to find the perfect guy. He had worked as a factory trained mechanic at a Chevrolet dealership from the early 60's through the early 90's. He was as happy to be able to work on a “real” car as I was to put my trust in him. He knew how and why that car was built and knew how to extract every ounce of horsepower it had to give. No doubt, old school.

