Chapter 31: I’m the Only One Who Doesn’t Know My Reputation Is Growing
Chapter 31: I’m the Only One Who Doesn’t Know My Reputation Is Growing
Four in the morning. I automatically sat up without even needing an alarm.
Perhaps the sound of me stirring had awakened him, because Noah also sprang upright beside me.
“…I survived….”
“Obviously.”
A mattress with an R-value of at least 3.0 combined with a mummy-style sleeping bag rated to twenty degrees Fahrenheit, or minus six degrees Celsius, made cold like this nothing to worry about. At least, that was what I thought.
(Translator’s Note: R-Value — A measurement of resistance to heat flow. A higher R-value indicates greater insulating performance.)
“Ugh… Even so, I really never imagined we’d sleep in the bed of a truck without a tent.”
I had made the choice because I thought the cold rising from the ground would be worse, but it seemed to have been quite a shock for Noah.
“Jason, I think you’re a much stranger person than I thought.”
……
Last night, he had definitely called me a fun uncle.
In any case, judging by his voice, I could stop worrying about him catching a cold.
“Since you’re awake, let’s completely erase every trace that we were here and get moving. Sunrise is at five forty-five. We need to reach the Grand Canyon by then.”
Truthfully, I had already accomplished my goal of giving him new experiences, but we still needed a proper finale.
After driving for a little over an hour, we arrived at Mather Point on the Grand Canyon’s South Rim.
(Translator’s Note: Mather Point — A major viewpoint on the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park in Arizona. Located near the Grand Canyon Visitor Center, it is one of the National Park Service’s recommended locations for watching the sunrise)
A few cars belonging to diligent travelers waiting for the sunrise were already scattered around the parking lot.
Noah, Dusty, and I got out of the truck and headed toward the railing at the edge of the viewpoint.
“I can’t see anything. It just looks like a pitch-black cliff.”
Noah folded his arms and shivered as he spoke.
Instead of answering, I found a place and sat down on the ground.
No matter how dark it looked now, in my experience, the sun would rise in an instant.
Then, at five forty-five in the morning, the bluish darkness of the blue hour began to recede.
As the first faint ray of light sliced thinly through the darkness, the overwhelming silhouette of the Grand Canyon slowly began to reveal itself.
The layers of rock that had endured hundreds of millions of years were a work of God that my inadequate vocabulary could never hope to describe.
And finally—
The red sun broke through the horizon and rose.
The instant the powerful orange rays struck and reflected off the canyon’s towering walls, the entire valley was suddenly clothed in gold.
Beautiful shades of scarlet and gold surged through the ravines that had seemed nothing but dark moments earlier.
“My God… This is unbelievable….”
Noah barely managed to speak in a trembling voice.
The canyon’s layers rippled like waves in his eyes.
“…This really is beyond anything I expected.”
Faced with the unimaginable majesty of nature, that was all I could say as well.
As the sun gradually climbed higher, its light enveloped Noah and me.
“Jason, the sunlight feels warm.”
Noah spread his arms wide as he spoke in wonder.
“Well… that’s because last night was cold.”
I rose and stood beside him.
Noah seemed to mull over my words for a moment before the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.
There was something refreshed about his profile.
September, when the blazing sun was finally beginning to lose some of its strength.
At a large convention center outside Phoenix, Gary Thompson was sweating profusely despite standing directly beneath the cold air from an air conditioner.
Behind him hung a long banner reading:
NCRS Regional Judging
National Corvette Restorers Society
“Whew… It’s all right. This car can handle it.”
Gary took a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket and wiped his forehead.
Clunk—
At that moment, the door opened, and more than a dozen elderly gentlemen entered the exhibition hall.
“…Then let us begin.”
A thin, fastidious-looking man standing at the center of the group swept back his white hair and pushed up the reading glasses resting on the tip of his nose.
“Yes, sir.”
The moment he spoke, the other elderly gentlemen standing around him began walking toward the vehicles assigned to them.
Step, step—
“Please, anyone but Mr. Sullivan….”
Gary squeezed his eyes shut and muttered so quietly that only he could hear himself.
Stop.
The steady sound of dress shoes halted directly in front of him.
“Mr. Thompson. You’re here as a participant this time rather than a helper.”
It was a rounded, gentle voice.
Oh, thank God….
Gary cautiously opened his eyes.
Standing before him with a mild expression was Thomas, who had become an official judge relatively recently.
“Oh, hello—no, good morning, Thomas. Yes, I was fortunate enough to acquire this car a month ago. I look forward to working with you today.”
Normally, Gary and Thomas were close enough to have a beer together after events, but at that moment, they were undeniably a judge and a participant being judged.
“Hmm. First, it’s a 1963 coupe, and the body is original. The split rear window has also been properly preserved. Now then, shall we take a look at the interior?”
“Yes, sir!”
While Thomas wrote several notes on his paperwork with a ballpoint pen, Gary hurriedly opened the Corvette’s driver-side door.
During judging, judges rarely touched the cars themselves. As a rule, the participants were responsible for opening the doors, hood, engine compartment, and anything else the judges needed to inspect.
“Oh, the interior is even better. None of the metal has corroded, and the leather is in excellent condition. Judging by how little the seat cushion has sagged, this car must have extremely low mileage.”
For vehicles from this era, the mileage displayed on the instrument panel was not actually a decisive factor in judging.
Not only was it easy to manipulate, but it did not mean much in the first place.
Originality, component accuracy, assembly condition, and finishing details were considered far more important.
“Next, please open the engine compartment.”
Thomas slowly walked forward.
Gary, on the other hand, hurried around busily.
Clunk—
The hood of the C2 Corvette rose in the opposite direction from those of ordinary cars, revealing the jewel-like carburetor and engine heads hidden beneath it.
“…Hmm?”
The instant Thomas saw what was inside, confusion crossed his face.
“Mr. Thompson?”
“Yes?”
“You are aware that NCRS evaluates how closely a vehicle approaches factory-correct restoration, not a restomod with modern modifications, correct?”
(Translator’s Note: Restomod — A portmanteau of “restoration” and “modification.” It describes a classic vehicle retaining its period appearance while receiving modern upgrades to its engine, brakes, suspension, electrical system, safety, or comfort features)
“Yes, of course.”
Gary had worked as a helper for a long time and aspired to become an official judge. There was no possibility that he did not know that.
Thomas was even more puzzled because he also knew about Gary’s goal.
“Then… why did you install a brand-new engine that doesn’t match the body?”
Thomas leaned closer to the engine compartment, trailing off.
He had occasionally encountered overly ambitious participants who altered engine stampings to make them appear to match the body, but it was rare for anyone to install an obviously new engine so openly.
“What is happening over there?”
At that moment, a voice as sharp as a blade flew across the judging hall.
Step. Step. Step. Stop.
A precisely tailored suit, snow-white hair swept backward, and reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Behind the lenses, two eyes gleamed with terrifying sharpness.
It was Ray “Silverback” Sullivan.
“Ah, Judging Chairman.”
Thomas’s entire body stiffened when he saw him.
Gary was no exception.
Unable to control the sweat pouring from him, he pulled a second handkerchief he had prepared from his jacket pocket.
His nickname, Silverback, referred to the dominant male gorilla whose back had turned white. He was one of the founding members of NCRS and a legendary figure who had judged Corvettes for more than forty years.
There were even rumors that he had been an engineer at a Chevrolet factory during the 1960s, because there seemed to be nothing he did not know about Corvettes. His judging standards were just as severe.
People even said that getting assigned to Silverback meant beginning with an automatic twenty-percent deduction.
“Mr. Thompson.”
“G-good morning, Mr. Sullivan.”
Because Gary was not yet an official judge, he could not casually address him as Chairman.
“This is… a C2, I see. Is it yours, Mr. Thompson?”
“Yes. It’s a 1963 coupe with the split rear window preserved—”
“Mr. Thompson. The rules state that participants answer only what the judges ask. Surely you have not forgotten?”
The air around them froze so completely that the air conditioner seemed unnecessary.
What Sullivan had mentioned was one of the most basic rules, so Gary naturally knew it. He had simply panicked for a moment.
“I-I’m sorry.”
“Haa….”
Sullivan released an openly exasperated sigh, then slowly began circling the car.
Every tiny movement he made seemed to seize Gary’s heart and shake it.
“To begin with, portions of the body have been repaired, but the work was done properly. The paint is not excessively glossy either, so you followed the rules well.”
Sullivan’s cold voice cut through the hall.
Yet once the judging began, his actual assessment was not particularly bad.
“The interior is also textbook work. Shine a light back here.”
At Sullivan’s command, Thomas immediately pulled a flashlight from his belt and shone it between the rear wheels.
“…Oh? AIM, page fourteen, rear-suspension assembly. This was clearly redone, but you even reproduced the markings used by the original assembly workers. No… it looks as though you simply found the same type of marker they used….”
“Uh… yes, sir.”
Gary could not even tell whether Sullivan was asking him a question.
Moreover, even Gary, the car’s owner, had not known about such minute details.
“Ha. This is… remarkably good.”
Positive words continued emerging from Sullivan’s mouth.
Silverback smiled?
Goose bumps rose along Gary’s thick forearms.
Was it a coincidence? Or did that young man Jason really…?
Of course, Jason had explained it when Gary bought the car.
“I restored it according to the AIM.”
Jason was not particularly talkative, so Gary had assumed he had merely followed it reasonably well.
There’s no way he could have gone that far.
“The exterior, interior, and undercarriage are all excellent. The correct bolts were used in every location. Even the wiring clips are oriented exactly as they would have been at the factory. At this rate, you might even hope for the highest score at this judging event….”
The highest score!
To think such hopeful words had come from the terrifying Silverback himself.
Gary had reached the point where he could no longer conceal the smile leaking across his face.
“Now, let us examine the engine compart—ah.”
However, the instant Sullivan’s gaze reached the engine compartment, a quiet gasp escaped his lips.
“Tsk.”
It was immediately followed by an openly disapproving click of his tongue.
“A non-matching engine…. There is always one flaw. After doing everything so well up to this point, it appears someone lost focus at the end.”
Sullivan murmured in a deeply disappointed tone.
Thomas, standing beside him, quietly shook his head and lowered his gaze to the floor.
“Still, it must be evaluated, so let us take a look—”
Sullivan’s tongue froze.
No, for a moment, it seemed as though he had stopped breathing.
“…Mr. Sullivan?”
Startled, Gary examined his complexion.
Sullivan was already at an age when he needed to be cautious about things such as heart attacks.
But then—
“Thomas, the light!”
His breath suddenly burst out again.
At the same time, Thomas hurriedly aimed his flashlight at the right side of the engine compartment—more precisely, at the flat pad on the cylinder block behind the water pump.
[F0507RF]
“Th-this is impossible….”
The F indicated the Flint engine plant, 0507 meant the engine had been assembled on May 7, and RF indicated a 327-cubic-inch engine combined with an L76 and a manual transmission.
“A matching engine in this condition…?”
He suddenly dropped to his knees like a man who had lost his mind.
Then he flattened himself against the floor and crawled underneath the car.
“Thomas!”
Hearing his name again, Thomas likewise lay on the floor and shone the light onto the underside of the transmission.
[T10-1B]
That was simply the transmission’s model number.
Below it was:
[D 18 3]
D meant April. Eighteen meant the eighteenth day. Three meant 1963.
Since the engine was dated May 7…
Assuming the vehicle had been produced in May or June, the dates aligned perfectly.
Thud—
“C-Chairman! Are you all right?”
Sullivan struck his head while hastily crawling out from under the car.
“Gary… You said you bought this car a month ago? Was it already in this condition then?”
As though he did not care about his head at all, Sullivan seized Gary by both shoulders and shouted.
“Yes… that’s right….”
The sudden commotion instantly drew the attention of the other judges and participants nearby.
“The exterior, interior, undercarriage, and even the matching powertrain were clearly all restored. This is not a preserved vehicle…. So what in the world is this factory-build quality? Tell me at once. Who did this?”
“Uh… well, he’s a young Korean American man named Jason Kwon. His business is still new, and he doesn’t have a sign or even business cards, so I don’t know the name of his restoration shop.”
“…What? A young man operating without even a sign?”
Sullivan was one of the oldest of the old hands in the industry.
Most people believed he knew only Corvettes, but once someone reached a certain level, the fundamentals became much the same.
He also possessed an extensive understanding of other vintage and classic cars.
Naturally, he was familiar with nearly every prominent collector and restorer in the business.
But Jason Kwon?
It was a name he had never heard once in his entire life.
A newly established restoration shop without even a sign….
“…It seems a new wind is about to blow through this industry. No, perhaps it will be a storm.”
Sullivan slowly curled the corner of his mouth upward, his eyes gleaming with significance.
It was an expression that Gary, Thomas, and everyone else there had never seen before.