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a 9-in. Ford differential with a 5.87 full-spool gear made by Richmond Gears; 14.5-in. slicks; a custom driveshaft; front and rear suspension by Chassis Engineering; a GM Powerglide two-speed transmission with TCI trans-brake; and finally, a screaming 600-hp GM V8.
After riveting on all the body panels, Terry found himself the pilot of the World's Fastest Volvo, a white-on-white Viking that could go from 0 to 120 mph in 6 sec. and run the quarter-mile in under 10 sec. Yumpin' yimminy.
Alas, Vikings were not known for their longevity. The car's 600-hp mill sucked in something unpleasant and died a warrior's death at an event last year. Terry installed a rather detuned version of the V8 in an effort to nurse the car through the season.
This motor-the one under the hood scoop when I arrived for a test drive-was a GM truck smallblock, bored to 355 c.i., fitted with a portedand-flowed 327 Chevy head. The engine runs at 12.5:1 compression with TRW pistons, breathing through one-piece stainless Manley valves actuated by Wolverine cams, springs and lifters. A Brodix high-velocity intake manifold and a Holley 4150 HP carb round out the oh-so-not Swedish machinery. The 2,400-lb car motors on a mere 425 hp.
We met at Beech Bend Raceway Park in Bowling Green, Ky., one cool fall morning. Terry was accompanied by Debbi, his wife. His crew chief is Debbi's father, Kenny Rickard. All and all, a scene of cozy domestic drag-racing contentment.
When Terry lit the car, it sputtered and churned for a few seconds, before settling into the typical open-header bombast of a drag racer-a sound simliar to lots of sewing machines being thrown down a ventilation shaft. The exterior of the car is remarkably stock, except for the smokedglass covers over the headlights and snowmobile-sized hoodscoop that said "VOLVO." Nearly bereft of sponsorship decals, it flies the colors of "My Classic Car" video magazine as a favor to Terry's friend Dennis Gage. Inside, peeking through the sheet steel and chassis tubes, race computer and fire bottles, is the old sunroof crank.
After filling up the fuel cell with 118 Sunoco racing fuel and draining the slicks to 7 psi, Terry took the car to the strip for his first pass.
For the burnout, he pinched the front brakes and raised the revs to around 7000 rpm. The car smoked the tires festively. The air was filled with the sound of caterwauls being cruelly slaughtered. The car caught second gear and Terry feathered off the brakes. Whoosh....
Once Terry was lined up, the tree went green, and the Volvo snatched the wheels off the track in a blurt of noisy acceleration. Ka-pow! The car squirmed halfway down the track as it finally got hooked up properly. Terry gathered it in nicely. Because the car is geared for the eighthmile, Terry was banging on the rev limiter well before the quarter-mile strip. He had to let off, coasting through the traps at 10.50 sec.
Okay, I think that settles it. Definitely the World's Fastest Volvo. Later, Terry strapped yours truly into the car for some passes. Ye gods.
The chassis builder, Bob Stephens of Indiana, is a rather diminutive person, and as I struggled to keep my knee out of my ear I noted that this isn't an easy car to drive. In order to hold the steering wheel my elbows must be touching as if I were assisting a breech-birthing cow. Even so, some of the old car's ergonomic virtues come through. Visibility through the side and back is excellent. Seeing the track through the massive hoodscoop is another matter.
Terry showed me how to flip the switches in the overhead panel, for fuel pump, fan, ignition, lights, etc. All except the delay box switch. "Don't turn that on until you are at the line," advised Terry. The delay box is a common feature of drag cars. It is essentially a computerized fuse of 0.9-sec. duration. Once at the line, the driver holds a button on the steering wheel down and ramps the rpm to redline
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