At the age of 71 years old, my grandfather Ken (the namesake of the Angry Grandpa Chrysler, by the way) was driving a 1989 Chrysler New Yorker that had the Mark Cross leather, the trick overhead console that told you things, the digital dashboard, and power everything. Ken liked his cars comfortable, smooth, and above all else, Mopar. He didn’t like the little four-cylinder Mustang my mother owned. He hated the 1972 Newport that my cousin raced around in everywhere. He especially loathed all of the jacked-up muscle cars that roamed around the city, big mag wheels sticking out from shacked-up rear axles and all. Too loud. Too noisy. Too fast for his tastes.
Bob Helms is about the furthest thing away from Grandpa Ken as you could possibly get. At 71, he’s got a 2,200 horsepower Lamborghini that is trimmed down, boosted, and race-ready. This isn’t the creepy old guy cruising South Beach, this is a guy who happily admits that he still has plenty of tuning left in reserve after he clenches the #1 qualifier spot at Texas Speed Syndicate’s Texas Invitational race. That 215 mile per hour blast was done in 1,500 feet. Just a tick over a quarter-mile, on street tires. Ken might have hit those speeds when he was flying in the Air Force, but he never saw anything like that behind the wheel!
That’s the twice the power of that VW in drag called the Bugatti Veyron!
But that evil Lambo doesn’t have a trick overhead console that tells you things. More poetry there Bryan – is there a collection of fine verse or even a novel waiting in the wings?
Bob is my hero on a number of levels! My hats off to you and your sweet black Lambo!