Enjoy Season 2 stories, opinion, and features from across the car world - Hagerty Media

Seven-year-old Sean McLaine could hardly wait to show this car to his soccer coach. Sean’s dad, Keith, had driven them to the local fields that day for Sean’s practice and now stood leaning against the 1969 Mustang Mach 1 at the pitch’s edge. Sean came running up to the Mustang, dragging his coach along with him.

“You’ve gotta see this,” Sean exclaimed, as he tugged open the passenger door. Once inside, Sean began cranking the windows up and down by hand, grinning to his coach at he reveled in the novelty.

By this time in 2008, Keith McLaine had owned the Mach 1 for about four years and the car was as much a part of his son’s childhood fabric as their home and Sean’s classmates. From the time Keith first brought the Mustang home, Sean was entranced.

“It was my dad’s car, and I’d see it in the garage and I was never allowed to touch it,” Sean recalls. “It was always a little bit mysterious to me.”

Sean is now 18, a high school senior and young adult. Gone are those days when he was not allowed to touch the car. Indeed, a weekend morning is now likely to find father and son on some lonely Arizona backroad, pulling over so that Sean can slide into the driver’s seat while Keith rides shotgun for a stretch.

1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 driver name
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 3/4 front high
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1

1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 3/4 rear
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 drivers steering wheel interior
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1

“He’s a great driver and I feel really comfortable sitting in the passenger seat with him,” Keith says. “He’s one of the only people I feel comfortable driving my car.”

Keith spent his own teenage years driving a Mustang—specifically, a red 1965 coupe that also makes its home in the McLaine garage. In the early 2000s, however, his thoughts began drifting toward fastbacks from the late 1960s. At the time, his wife’s co-worker owned this Mach 1, and when that owner started thinking about selling, Keith wasted little time in making the man an offer that made him the car’s third owner.

By the time Ford introduced the Mach 1 for the 1969 model year (part of an effort to compete with the Camaro and Firebirds coming off the GM line), the Mustang had evolved into a dizzying array of available models: a ’69 customer could also choose the Boss 302, the Boss 429, the Shelby GT350, and the Shelby GT500. As if those options weren’t enough choice, no fewer than seven variations of the Ford V-8 engine were available between 1969–73.

1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 hood scoop
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 seats
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1

1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 3/4 front flowers
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1

Keith’s Mach 1 originally in Candy Apple Red paint with a flat black hood and a two-barrel 351 Windsor engine. The previous owner repainted the car in its current color scheme in the 1980s, and the engine has since been rebuilt and upgraded to a four-barrel Windsor.

Yet, while Keith has personalized the car to fit his taste and lifestyle, he nevertheless strives to keep it true to period. He lowered the car via a so-called “Shelby drop” (by lowering the front control arms by about an inch from Ford’s original placement) for better handling through the Arizona mountains, though the stock drum brakes continue to demand the driver’s alertness. By far the most beneficial improvement, however, came in the form of a five-speed Tremec transmission, which Keith installed last year in place of the original three-speed FMX transmission.

“It’s a completely different car and so much more fun to drive,” Keith says, “especially on those long stretches of highway, when you know the engine is not going to explode going at highway speeds with that three-speed automatic.”

1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 taillight detail
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 hood and scoop on road
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1

 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 front wheel detail
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 hand on the wheel
1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1

Finally, in a nod to the record-setting Mickey Thompson land speed cars (based on 1969 Mach 1 platform), Keith added the gold steelie wheels. The Mach 1’s paint, now plenty pockmarked from its age and use, is far from perfect, but Keith notes that several friends have threatened grave harm should he ever repaint the car.

As much as this Mustang ties Keith to his own history, however, it is more valuable as a means for enjoying the present moment with his son.

“Sean’s been in this car since he was two or three years old and he just feels comfortable in it,” Keith says. “Sometimes I’ll look over as we’re going through some twisties and he’s just be fast asleep. This car is like a second home to him.”

The significance of the car is not lost on Sean either. “This car has come to symbolize the time my dad and I spend together,” he says. “When I was little, I didn’t really recognize that but now I see what a blessing it really is.”

With every mile of Arizona backroad, the McLaine men continue to rack up the memories.

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In the years following World War II, anyone buying a Willys CJ (for “civilian Jeep”) could choose from a wide range of factory options, including a mould board plow, a spring-tooth harrow, a cultivator, a 300-amp arc welder, a hydraulic lift, and a hydro-grader and terracer. After having carried allied troops all over Europe and beyond, the Jeep became something akin to a tractor that farming families could drive to church each Sunday.

For that reason, anyone buying a Jeep tended to see them as utilitarian machines and often viewed with suspicion any feature that did not directly contribute to getting through the the day’s chores. Features like, say, power steering. That creature comfort cost $81, a princely sum back then, and given CJ buyers tended to be Spartan in outfitting their vehicles, it usually went unchecked on the spec sheet.

That explains why Cy Schmidt must put a little muscle into steering his 1967 Willys-Kaiser Jeep CJ-5. To call his CJ Spartan is to risk overstating its features. The dash has precisely two knobs—one for the choke, the other for the headlights—and a single gauge that conveys your speed, fuel level, and engine temperature. Anyone needing more information when this Jeep left the factory in Toledo should have bought a Lincoln. Vacuum hoses power the windshield wipers. Pull a little knob at the top of the windshield and, if you are going downhill, they do a passable job. If, on the other hand, you’re headed uphill, well, there can’t be much worth seeing anyway.

This simplicity extends to the Jeep’s drivetrain. If the 225 cubic-engine Buick Dauntless V-6 engine ever acts up, Cy and his son Steve have no OBD port or check engine light on which they can rely for a clue. They must simply dig in together and figure it out.

1967 Jeep CJ-5 grille
1967 Jeep CJ-5 mud splash

1967 Jeep CJ-5 seat detail
1967 Jeep CJ-5 steering wheel

“It gives us a lot of projects,” says Steve. “A lot of phone calls of, ‘Hey, I tore this apart, and I don’t think I can get it back together; I need a hand.’ You end up coming over and BS-ing for a little bit and working on something. Next thing you know, one hour turns into five.”

The suspension showed equally primitive sophistication. The rigid steel ladder frame rode on solid axles mounted on leaf springs.

“It drives like a 1967 Jeep,” says Steve. “It’s pretty rough compared to anything today, but it’s really more of an old school four-wheeler or something like today’s quads or side-by-sides. It’ll go anywhere.”

Cy bought the CJ-5 in 2004 after his Mercury Cyclone was damaged in an accident and he found himself without a vintage vehicle with which to explore the Ohio countryside around his home. This Jeep, of course, offers a completely different type of fun for the Schmidts. “Bare-bones fun,” as Steve calls it.

“You take it out in the sun, or you get caught in a rainstorm, so be it, it’s a Jeep,” says Steve. “We’ll often stop and pick up a couple of buddies when we go out. When the top’s not on, they can just hop right over the side and jump in the backseat. So there’s not much to this thing, but what’s there is fun for everyone.”

1967 Jeep CJ-5 engine
1967 Jeep CJ-5 rear 3/4

1967 Jeep CJ-5 front 3/4

While Cy and Steve also love taking the Jeep out for drives through the woods near their home in Ohio, they avoid subjecting it to the abuse Jeeps were designed to take—and often endured. The CJ-5, which is nearly all-original, now wears a coat of Ford Wimbledon White paint (a close approximation of the Jeep’s original “Glacier White” paint) and the Schmidts see no need to embark upon another paint job.

“We’ll take it out and head over to a friend’s house that has some farm land, go through the field, go up through the pastures, down some fun trails,” says Steve. “You can do all that and not beat it up too much. By the time you get home, you’ve used three gallons of gas and had 10 gallons of fun.”

Ten gallons of fun, apparently, came standard with every Jeep CJ.

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Go ahead, ask. Tyler Hauptman loves this question. Of all the possible Porsches to inspire his passion, why on earth is he so enthusiastic about the 914?

“The 914 has always been one of my favorite cars because of its mid-engine, air cooled, horizontally opposed motor,” Hauptman says with grin. “When you look at the history of Porsche, and all the cars that they’ve produced for racing, in particular—the 550 Spyder, the 904, 906, 907, 908, 910, 917—all the coolest Porsches are in that configuration. That’s why I love the 914.”

Co-developed with Volkswagen and originally intended as a replacement model for the four-cylinder Porsche 912 and VW Karmann Ghia, the 914 has spent much of its life as the much-maligned kid brother of its air-cooled older sibling, the 911. The Karmann-built body invited ridicule almost from the time it debuted and despite some respectable performance bonafides (especially by the hopped-up 914/6 models), for many years the 914 suffered insults that it was just a tarted-up Volkswagen. In recent years, however, rising prices for vintage 911s and 912s have prompted enthusiasts in search of an air-cooled experience to look with new eyes on the 914.

1974 Porsche 914 3/4 front driving
1974 Porsche 914
1974 Porsche 914 door tool belt
1974 Porsche 914

1974 Porsche 914 steering wheel
1974 Porsche 914
1974 Porsche 914 3/4 rear driving
1974 Porsche 914

Hauptman, for his part, was flogging 914s on California’s rural canyon roads long before anyone else thought they were worth a moment’s thought. He bought his first one, a 1973 model, for $1200 two decades ago and proceeded to teach himself how to drive a stick shift on the roads of Malibu. From there, he found a quiet stretch of twisty road and set about learning the intricacies of vehicle dynamics.

“I just went through one corner, over and over again, until I got it right,” Hauptman recalls. “From there I learned heel-toeing, matching the revs, and how to treat the car mechanically.”

Any given weekend is still likely to find Hauptman pushing a 914 through the Malibu canyons. Now, though, the car is a little green 1974 model with big fender flares framing the rear wheels, a remnant of the car’s time as a Porsche Owners Club race car back in the 1980s. Hauptman stumbled across the car 2014, rough and haggard from its many track days, in Arizona. An engineer by trade, he has worked tirelessly to upgrade the car’s mechanics, even as he has kept it as raw and unrefined as ever—just as he prefers it.

1974 Porsche 914 3/4 front mountain background
1974 Porsche 914

“Everywhere I go, I bring the ruckus,” he says. “The car is loud, it’s obnoxious, it pops, it makes people startled and unsettled. But at the same time has a pretty lovely charm, being green and so low to the ground. Everybody loves the car.”

Once was the time when finding anyone who loved a Porsche 914 was a tall order. Times, however, have changed, and public opinion might finally be catching up with what Hauptman has known about these plucky little cars all along.

1974 Porsche 914 fixing on the ground
1974 Porsche 914
1974 Porsche 914 rear driving mountain
1974 Porsche 914

1974 Porsche 914 sunset
1974 Porsche 914
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For most people, cars exist merely as a means of conveyance, something to be given no more mind than, say, a dishwasher until it breaks. For the enlightened however, automobiles are a hobby, even a passion. A fortunate few, like Dan Walters, turn their lifelong love into their livelihood.

His love affair started in 1950. Walters was just eight years old when his father brought him to the Henry Ford Museum and Greenfield Village in Dearborn, Michigan. The hook was set. He bought his first car, a 1931 Ford Model A, for $110 at 13, having spent four weeks delivering newspapers to earn the money.

“A driver’s license, when I got one in the mid-1950s, was a rite of passage. An escape,” says Walters, sitting in an armchair in his living room in Ann Arbor, Michigan. “When my friends were all 18–25, we raced one another on the streets, and drag strips, too. Then I discovered [SCCA] road racing, where you could really drive like a lunatic. Although the state deemed it fit to take my license a number of times, I just made my own rules.”

He knew early on he’d earn his living in the car business. Over the years he worked at a gas station, a garage, and a Ford dealership and its attached collision shop, before owning his own body shop in Ann Arbor. Along the way Walters earned a solid reputation as a road racer, shade tree mechanic, and amateur restorer.

why i drive mercury hood detail
why i drive bolts and nuts

why i drive mercury 3/4 front

“Cars have been good to me. My income has been commensurate with the brainiacs in school, and I don’t feel frustrated that I wasn’t one of them, even though many became my friends. I have no formal training, and the phrase ‘self-taught’ sounds awfully pretentious, but I guess that’s what I am. I know how to fix things, how to do lots of stuff with cars. I learned it by reading a lot of books.”

At 76, Walters has long since quit spending his days working. But he doesn’t like the word “retired.” He keeps busy doing things like restoring a 1906 Ford Model N for the enthusiasts at the Early Ford Registry. Well-worn tools and archaic machines fill his garage, which is littered here and there with metal shavings cast off by his lathes and anvils.

Past the garage, Walters shepherds us to a building he calls the museum. As he pulls the door open and flicks on the lights, the name makes sense. Automotive ephemera, from vintage posters and signs to a plaque from his road racing days, line the walls. Just inside the door sits a row of historic motorcycles, including vintage Harley-Davidsons and Indians that wouldn’t look out of place in a real museum.

“I like bikes because they don’t take up much space,” Walters says. “Every nut and bolt is visible, which means you can access everything, but if you’re restoring it there’s nowhere to hide. And when you ride a bike like that, it makes the juices flow. Get going fast and you just feel cool. As long as you survive—they’re dangerous, of course.”

why i drive model t
why i drive red model t

model t engine detail why i drive
why i drive tool box

Classic cars fill the rest of the space. A Lincoln Continental from the ‘40s. A 1963 Ford Falcon. A 1906 REO, and a Ford Model A. Walters loves old cars, especially pre-war ones, because tinkering on them and driving them requires a kind of focus that tells you not only what the car is doing, but what it will do. “Sounds corny,” he says, “but that’s what lets you become one with the machine.”

Walters is especially fond of his 1950 Mercury Coupe, a car he loves for its timeless style. He remembers flying to Minnesota to buy the car in 1974, back when a ‘50 Mercury was another used car. “I drove it right home to Michigan—totally uneventful,” he says. “Even now, for a 70-year-old car, it’s very comfortable and doesn’t surprise me. I don’t drive it much around the city because of the non-power steering and need to shift constantly, but for longer drives I enjoy it. These flathead Ford V-8s are kind of fun. Pretty tough. Once you’re past their handful of idiosyncrasies, the engines are very reliable.”

Walters has owned a handful of ‘50s Mercurys, but this one’s a keeper. It’s been with him this long, he figures, and he sees no reason to change now. He’s happy with where he is and what he’s got. That’s not to say he won’t try something new. Just the other day, he got to talking with a flight instructor at the airport where he buys aviation gas. The conversation got him thinking that maybe he’d get his pilot’s license. Even at 76, his passion for anything with an engine burns brightly.

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Watching Brian Blain slide the old 1911 National around a dirt corner, it’s hard to believe that were was a time—back before he received “the trunk”—when he didn’t even know that these cars existed. Since then his life has never been the same.

As Hagerty’s Aaron Robinson first shared in October 2018, Blain found himself in possession of an old steamer trunk that belonged to family friend Harry Sprague, who passed away in the 1970s. Blain—already an avid motorcycle and car racer at the time—opened the trunk to find a treasure trove of racing memorabilia, including an old jersey that read “National.” That Sprague had made no mention of this trunk’s contents while he was alive made the trunk all the more intriguing.

classic driving suit
vintage race cars

classic race cars

Blain, the subject of our latest Why I Drive video, soon learned that National was an Indianapolis-based car company that made automobiles from 1900–1926, including cars that raced in the first Indianapolis 500 in 1911 and which won the second Indy 500. He was surprised to find that Sprague himself raced a National to victory (and to $1000 in prize money) in a Visalia, California, race in 1912. One can only speculate as to why Sprague never saw fit to mention this around the dinner table. The more Blain learned, the more obsessed he became.

Fast forward to present day: the Blain Motorsports Foundation now centers its efforts on finding, preserving, and restoring these pre-World War I race cars. Only about 20 Nationals are known to survive; seven of them are here at Blain’s shop in California’s Central Valley. Among these cars is a 1911 National that raced at that first Indy 500. It features a 450-cubic-inch engine that makes 100 horsepower at 2000 rpm.

“Anything beyond that,” Blain notes, dryly, “and big pieces of metal have a tendency to fly out of the engine.”

driving a vintage race car
driving a vintage race car

vintage race car in the fog
group of classic race cars

In the next stall sits a 1916 National. Powered by a 303-cu-in six-cylinder engine, it produces horsepower numbers comparable to those of its National stablemate. And next to that National is a 1912 Packard, believed to be the oldest Packard race car in existence. Its 420-cu-in four-cylinder engine—adorned with leather belts and brass galore—is limited to about 1800 rpm.

On any given morning, a visitor to the Blain garage will find Brian and his band of local volunteers suiting up in period-correct racing suits (with names like National and Packard and Simplex splashed across the back) for an impromptu “race” through the local pecan and walnut groves. Preparing themselves for the inevitable shower of mud and rocks and debris, the crew dons leather helmets, goggles, and gloves. Within minutes of going through the start-up procedure (itself no small feat with these cars), the men are sliding the cars through the dirt and executing passes as they dodge low-hanging branches. For this hour, they are racing through time, back to the earliest days of motorsports.

These cars, however, are difficult to drive, constantly in need of maintenance, and completely at odds with the modern world. You have to double-clutch every gear shift, if you don’t retard the spark you could break your arm trying to start the engine, and some days just end with a tow truck and there’s no avoiding it. So why go to all the trouble?

group of 1910's race cars
vintage car broken down

Group of vintage race cars

“We’ve saved a piece of history that might have gotten lost, and at the same time, we had fun doing it,” Blain says. “We got to restore a cool car, we get to drive them, we get to race them, we get to wave at the bleachers full of people as we go by, and it makes us feel like we’re heroes for a day.”

For Blain, a race car that simply sits in a museum is an affront to all he holds dear. The only thing worse, he insists, would be if the car had never existed at all. These cars were meant to race and that’s just what he intends to keep doing with them.

Brian Blain
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We told Davin we got him a gift, all he had to do was open the boxes. Inside was a gearhead’s ultimate greasy-hands LEGO set. A Pontiac 389 V-8 split up about just as far as one can be, with extra parts mixed in for a good measure of confusion. If anyone was going to get this engine back to its Tri-Power glory, our resident wrench would be the one to do it.

The story of this V-8 started with good intentions. A local Northern Michigan Pontiac enthusiast collected parts and tore down one engine with plans of assembling another. Time got away and in an effort to clean out the garage the boxes and bins made their way to Hagerty’s doorstep, begging to be rescued.

What rose from the pile was the parts for a 1966 389-cubic-inch GTO V-8. Most everything was there, but there were a few pieces that that were missing and others that were so far gone that new parts just made sense. Before those new parts were bolted on though, a trip to the machine shop was in order—including one of the larger machine shop bills we’ve had to date.

“This might be the first time we’ve used all the services our machine shop offers,” said Davin Rekow, our expert engine rebuilder. “The block had a hole in one cylinder so we knew it was getting a sleeve, but from the top down everything got touched. Even the crankshaft got cut this time around, something we typically don’t have to do.”

With all the freshly machined parts back from the shop and a fresh coat of paint on the exterior, assembly could begin. The honed cylinders were filled with custom JE pistons, replete with a Redline Rebuild logo etched right on the piston crown. When asked about custom touch, Davin said-

“I like 9.5:1 compression ratio on the street, so it made sense for a custom set to be made. JE Pistons made these for us and offered to put the logo on. Who are we to turn that down?”

Another small custom touch you can’t see in the time-lapse (and only an extremely sharp eye would catch at regular speed) is a 4/7 swap on the camshaft. This is a custom grind on the cam that alters the firing order, exchanging the #4 and #7 cylinders. A relatively simple swap, it promotes smoother running, thus longer bearing life and additional engine durability. Now we just have to remember that if the plug wires ever come off unlabeled….

What is next for this engine? Davin is being tight lipped for now, but hearing it on the run stand makes us hope it finds its way into an engine compartment soon. If it does, you’ll be sure to hear about it.

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If you haven’t watched the latest Redline Rebuild video, you’re missing out. Hagerty’s resident wrench Davin Reckow took a trip to Don Schumacher Racing to tear down and build up one of its nitromethane-huffing, 11,000-horsepower, supercharged V-8s. On the heels of the impressive high-octane time-lapse is even more good stuff in the latest Redline Rebuild Explained video.

If you crave for more information on what parts are absolutely unique and which ones are available at your local parts counter, Davin and videographer Ben Woodworth are here to talk it through. Davin worked with the team at DSR in rebuilding the engine, and he picked their brains for every scrap of information they were willing to share (and they chose to hold onto some secrets) so that we could give you all the juicy details.

Grab a notebook and a large bag of popcorn, because this rare look inside the billet aluminum and carbon fiber world of three-second quarter-mile engines is long. But at 80 minutes, that’s about what a class at your local community college would run, and you can watch this one from the comfort of your couch (and/or in your undies).

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When Hagerty resident wrench Davin Reckow called Don Schumacher Racing with the idea of doing a Redline Rebuild for one of its Top Fuel engines, we weren’t sure what the answer would be. So when Schumacher invited us to work our magic on one of its beasts at company headquarters in Brownsburg, Indiana, Davin wasn’t about to hesitate while the offer was on the table. He packed up his tools and did his best Tony Schumacher impression by stomping the pedal down and blasting straight to Brownsburg.

These Top Fuel engines make 11,000 horses and power the fastest-accelerating drag cars in the world. Of course, those output figures are extrapolated based on time, speed, distance, and weight, because there isn’t a dynamometer in the world capable of verifying those numbers. The engine runs on 90 percent nitromethane, which packs about seven times the potential energy of regular fuel. “Every team is trying to dump the maximum fuel it can into its motor,” says Davin, “but there’s a very fine line between burning and hydrolocking. These engines are right there flirting with the limits.”

As daunting as those engines are given the amount of raw power, at the end of the day they’re generally simple. Cracking open the 500-cubic-inch V-8 was more of a lesson in heavy-duty parts. The 426 Hemi-based engine block is aluminum, as are the supercharger, massive cylinder heads, and rods. Once inside, the billet steel crank and camshaft are no less imposing. A key attribute for a Top Fuel engine, as Davin points, was the use of oversized studs as opposed to longer bolts. Why? Because when you tear down a hot engine, studs mitigate thread damage after multiple disassemblies compared to bolts. He also noted that torque specs for the engine internals are much higher than in a stock engine—cylinder heads are ran down to 140 lb-ft of torque compared 85 lb-ft on a regular Hemi.

Both during the teardown and reassembly, Davin was impressed with the specialty tools and rigorous strategy that Don Schumacher employs to made each task just a bit easier and faster. “The team is always looking for efficiency. The tools aren’t expensive, but they are purpose-built by the team for one job only. With only 35 minutes or so between elimination rounds, any time they can get back by doing a task more efficiently is great.”

This particular engine lived long enough to earn itself a rebuild, while other less fortunate engines suffer catastrophic failures that force early retirement. The life of an engine of this sort is typically 11–12 runs in a dragster it is completely replaced, but after each of those passes it will be torn down and rebuilt. While many of the parts look brand new as they go back together, our rebuild showcases a balance of refurbished parts and new.

Once the engine was all buttoned up, Davin’s handiwork found a home in Tony Schumacher’s Top Fuel dragster chassis and headed for racing in Richmond. There it earned the #1 qualifier spot (to say he was a proud papa would be an understatement) before being knocked out in the second round. The next event was at Bristol where it was #2 qualifier and ultimately went on to win the Wally for the weekend.

Of course, between each run the engine received a thorough refresh that included pistons, cylinder heads, a new supercharger belt, and a full tank of specially brewed oil. (You can’t buy it, we asked.)

Be sure to check out the full, mesmerizing Redline Rebuild and our detailed explanation video for more information.

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It’s time to slow things down again and pull back the curtain on our latest Redline Rebuild. In this episode of Redline Rebuilds Explained, we start from scratch and dig into the nuts and bolts of our 1978 Kawasaki KE100 motorcycle top-end rebuild.

Follow along as Hagerty engine expert Davin Reckow and videographer Ben Woodworth hash through the nitty gritty of the project, which came about after a larger Hagerty rebuild project hit a snag and the guys went looking for an alternative. They didn’t have to look far.

Ben’s father-in-law saved this vintage Japanese two-stroke bike from the dump about 25 years ago. He was able to get it running again, but not well, and spent the last two couple of decades sputtering around in second gear at 20 mph. But no more—Davin came to the rescue (and Ben got his hands dirty too), giving it a clean slate for the future.

Watch the video for the full explanation, and keep an eye out for more Redline Rebuilds on our YouTube channel.

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In this episode of Redline Rebuild, veteran wrench Davin Reckow embraces his heart’s longing for two wheels by freshening up a Kawasaki KE100 just in time for summer trail riding.

The KE100 represents a quintessential small two-stroke dual-sport motorcycle. With just 99 cc of displacement, the air-cooled single-cylinder engine was known for reliability and spunky attitude. Featuring an oil injection system to eliminate fuel mixing and give a more precision fuel-oil mixture, the little engine is rated at just 16 horsepower.

After countless hours of work, requisite busted knuckles, and 40,000 photos, watch as Davin digs through the oily bits and get this fun little machine back on the road in only five minutes (thanks to the magic of time lapse). We even let him take it for a spin.

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