It’s true. At least for one weekend a year, in one specific location: a place called Wells, Nevada. Don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of it.
Wells is a tiny outpost town located on I-80 midway between Elko and Wendover. With a population of only 1,200 souls, there’s not much reason for passing motorists to notice it. Its quaint historic main street was damaged by an earthquake several years ago, and there’s been no money to repair or even demolish the crumbling buildings. It boasts a number of mid-century “motor lodges” — motels, to us younger road-trippers — but many are boarded up, their neon signs broken and swimming pools filled with dust blown in by the desert winds. About the only going concerns are the truck stops clustered near the freeway exits, a modest casino, a couple of restaurants, and of course the pair of legal brothels that are primly separated from the rest of the town by a railroad line (they’re literally on the wrong side of the tracks!). But whatever Wells may be lacking in amenities is more than compensated by the hospitality of its citizens, who once a year throw an incredible three-day party known as the Wells Fun Run.
While it’s ostensibly just another weekend gathering of classic-car enthusiasts — my parents participate in a half-dozen of those every summer — the Fun Run feels more like an old-fashioned, small-town founders-day celebration. In addition to the cars, there’s a parade, a fireworks display, a big barbecue hosted by the local casino, a community breakfast in the park, and a Saturday-night street dance. People pour into town from the surrounding ranches dressed in their finest western-style shirts and pressed jeans, giving the impression that this is the biggest thing that happens around these parts all year long. And unlike other shows where, frankly, there isn’t much to do, the folks behind the Fun Run organize actual events for the car people to compete in — drag races, “slow drags” (a ridiculous thing in which the object is exactly the opposite of a regular drag, i.e., you’re supposed to go as slowly as possible without stopping; the first one across the finish line is the loser), and burnouts. And it’s in these events — particularly the burnouts — that my dad has built his reputation. Well, he and his ’56 Chevy Nomad.
If you don’t know your cars, the 1955 through ’57 Nomads were essentially station wagons, but sporty ones, with only two doors and the same nose and tail styling as the eternally popular Chevy Bel-Air. Dad’s Nomad is even sportier than most, with a blue-on-blue color scheme that includes digital readouts in place of the original dashboard gauges, a purple flame job across the hood and fenders, and a monstrous 502 cubic-inch big-block V8 engine. Oh, and there’s also a nitrous injection system when he needs a little extra “umph.” To be honest, the Nomad is too much car for me, and I don’t enjoy driving it very much. But Dad has complete mastery over it; when he’s behind the wheel of this behemoth, he’s in his element, and at those times I can very clearly see the motorhead greaser I know he once was, back in his youth during the early ’60s.
Dad would no doubt scoff if he read this, but he knows how to excite a crowd, and between his innate sense of showmanship and the general awesomeness of the Nomad, he’s made a big impression on the citizens of Wells over the years. So much so that the organizers of the 2012 Fun Run granted him just about the biggest honor there is in cruiser circles: they featured his car on this year’s souvenir t-shirts. Which means that after last weekend, there are now several hundred people walking around with this image on their backs:
As I said, my dad is a bona fide rock star… he even has his own tour merchandise! How bloody cool is that?
He hasn’t made too much out of the t-shirt thing — Dad’s pretty laconic most of the time, in the spirit of all the great Hollywood cowboys — but I’ve seen subtle indications of his excitement. (He got the Nomad’s bumpers re-chromed before the show, for one thing.) And I’ve been very excited on his behalf for the past several months, ever since I first saw a lo-rez JPEG of this artwork. It might sound a little cheesy to say this, but what the hell… I’m very proud of my old man. I don’t go to many car shows any more — I got burned out on them a number of years back, and anyway, I’m pretty busy most of the time — but I made a point of driving out across the desert this past weekend for this one, as a show of support for my dad in his moment of glory. I’m glad I did, too; my parents and I had a good time together, and I think it made him feel good to know I was there. In addition to the honor of the t-shirt, I’m happy to report that he also took first place in this year’s burnout competition! I’ll be posting video of his burns in a couple of days, so keep your eyes peeled…
