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At first blush, the title "World's Fastest Volvo" seems a profoundly dubious honor, something like "Most Ethical Arkansas Governor" or "World's Smartest Moron." After all, Volvo- the redoubtable Swedish manufacturer of supersafe cars for the chronically apprehensive- isn't exactly famous for meatballs-to-the-wall performance. This helps explain the slack-jawed, dumbfounded looks in the grandstands when Terry Coon draws his 1975 242 GL Coupe to the line (and, well, come on, it is a drag strip).
As the Amana-white dragster noses the timing lights, spectators spontaneously stand up and applaud. "They just can't believe it's a Volvo," and Terry. "In the paddock, my car draws flies, and not all of them are good. What could have possessed this twangy, booted, 44-year-old from Evansville, Ind., to convert MA and Pa Swenson's basic transportation into the "Box that Rocks"?
"People build drag cars out of what they have," he said with a shrug. "I had this." Thus began one of the looniest quests in motorsports marketing: Terry's attempt to get Volvo of America to sponsor a drag-racing program. For nearly five years, Terry has hammered at the gates of Volvo's New Jersey home, trying to get someone-anyone-to believe that the big V's corporate image would benefit from a connection to drag racing.
"Anything that gets this kind of attention, it's just got to open people's minds" said Terry, who notes in passing Volvo's more performance-minded advertising of late. "It doesn't matter what kind of car you own; when you see something like it being raced, you know, it gives you a thrill; it makes you feel good about your car."
Terry waved off the issue of demographics, that there can not be much overlap between the toothpi ck-gnawing nitroheads in the stands of NHRA events and the wine-and-brie buyers of Volvos. "You'd be surprised how many Volvoes I see in the parking lots of drag races." I would indeed.
He also forwards the unique argument that Volvo's safety-first image is compatible with drag racing, since it is the safest of all motorsports. (At this remark, your reporter reacted so incredulously that he may have sprained his eyebrows.) "It's just a theory," Terry said.
Like anyone looking to race on an OPM (other people's money) budget, Terry would take all Volvo might offer, yet his wish-list commendably modest.
Primarily, he wants a set of body panels from the new C70 coupe and a set of Penta V8 heads to play with. (Penta engines, used in Volvo's marine applications, are actually GM's 5.7-liter V8's with Penta-labeled valve covers.) Terry said Penta has a marine V8 that turns 300 hp at the prop. "I'd like to get a hold of some of those Penta heads and see if we can get them to breathe."
The response from Volvo of America has been enthusiastic silence.
In many ways, Terry is the unlikeliest of Goteburg's champions. Born and raised in Evansville, he got involved with cars as a "junkyard monkey," pulling parts for use in his brother's hotrods. After an apprenticeship in a foreign-car garage, Terry went independent, founding TLC Automotive Services 12 years ago. The drag car is an extension of a specialty of his: stuffing American guts into beautiful-but-balky imports. Terry's creations include a couple of vintage Jaguars wearing smallblock codpieces; last year, he implanted a 350 V8 and GM Turbo Transmission into a middle-school teacher's formerly diesel-powered 240-series Volvo with 300k miles on it. According to Terry, the car runs great and looks bone-stock; the only problem, aside from 11 miles to the gallon, is the car's tendency to smoke the 195/70 radials. "He needs a taller rear gear."
Similar surgery was on Terry's mind when his daughter Christina's '75 Volvo coupe began to leave her walking. He plopped a smallblock V8 in the car. Then, on a test drive, "The V8 sparked a flame," said Terry, who used to drag-race hi-po Beetles. "The flame wouldn't go out." He gave his daughter a spare BMW 320i and took the Volvo digging.
In 1993, he raced the 242 GL-his daily driver-in NHRA "Heavy' division, driving the car to the track and swapping the rear tires for slicks he carried in the trunk. The car ran a rather leisurely 8.50 in the eighth-mile-leisurely, but still fast enough to smite 5.0-liter Mustangs like the ugly end of Thor's hammer. Soon, Terry felt the urge to go seriously faster. He applied the time-honored formula of American dragracing: a tube-frame chassis;
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