Story By: Greg Hopkins, one-time owner of "Unknown Roadster" | Photos By: Tim Sutton Its easy to write about a car. You grab the facts. The who, what, where and when. The who, being key in it all. Then you throw in some fancy words and spin it to make it a good read. There it is. Then grab some artsy guy, and his snazzy van full of camera gear and make magic. You have a story. Or something like that... What happens when the story and the facts are not clear? What happens when the things written to date are not the whole and or complete history. How do you make it right? By now, most people in the know have seen and or heard of the "Unknown Roadster." It has become a known roadster for sure by now, taking up floor space at a pretty killer show out in the land of hot rods at one time. The funny thing about writing about a car, is that most of the time it's not by someone who is connected to the car, let alone the last owner of it. I was. The Unknown was and is the car of my dreams. I set out to build a copy of it, and that’s how I found it. It was the true-to-rights lost hot rod. It was a survivor; it was an epic story of hot rod legend. It was my chance to hold onto the brass ring of hot rod dreams. I did, and I let it go. You see there are a few things I want to make clear, the Unknown was its own creation. The history from 1967-2013 was published in a few things. Now the gaps are what I am looking to fill. Egos aside and bullshit with it. The car was started on the East Coast. It made its way to Cali, San Bernardino to be exact, with a young family, The LeLands. The brothers were very eager and excited about the hot rod. This was 1951. How do I know this? Al Roach. When the first story came out with the road trip of me tearing across the country in her, burning gallons of oil and not giving zero F’s. It was the show put on by The Rodders Journal that I met a man with the last name Roach. “I know your car.” Something I heard I time or two. “No, I knew your car back in the early '50s,” my ears perked up. Al went on to tell me about the battery rack in the trunk that no one who had not been under the car would have ever known about. He went on to give me names and dates and details about pushing it up and down the street due to the cam and charging system not being friends. Something in his words rang so true. A little digging, and the backstory came up, close to perfect. A young man who hailed from San Bernardino, who was transferred to Colorado for his time in the Air Force, owned the car. Shortly after the start of the '60s, it changed hands. It was worked on by an engineering student at The University of Colorado and it ended up with a nifty one-off overdrive set-up. Ed Koski photographed it in front of Bob Flaggers house. It ended up besides a rented farm house barn in or around the spring of '67 and there it sat for over 20 years. Eventually Bob Conners got it, then more storage. The Vahlings got it, and more storage. Then I got it. I drove it. Hard. The Motor was worn and tired. So I contacted Vern Tardel, and was lucky to get one of his last builds before he closed down his Santa Rosa shop. The rebuilt engine was shoehorned in with hours to spare before leaving for the aforementioned show. While there it spit out the number 2 plug, along with the threads that held it in. Lucky for me I met Tom and his lovely wife Penny, and their outstanding 1950 Buick Special. He tossed me a towrope and off to the kick-off party we went. A trip to an auto parts store with armed guards, not a good neighborhood I am guessing. Heli-coil and "poof," we were up and running again. 15,000 miles later, she was still running that same head with our quick parking lot repair the day she went over the auction block. Everyone asks why I let her go. Simple. History. I can not rebuild history. I can not bring back 1952. I drive my cars. The ones I built. I never wanted to be the guy that killed the Unknown.She gave me so much more then just a story. She gave me a chance to be a part of her history. Story By Greg Hopkins
