By Clayton Seams
One of my earliest Christmas gifts was a heavy book that profiled a century of American cars between 1899 and 1999. It quickly became my favourite possession, growing ragged and dog-eared as I carted that dictionary-sized volume to sleepovers, family vacations and even college. Wedged in that tired book was a sole sticky note, allowing quick access to the page of my favourite car – a yellow 1969 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray.
Before I could even drive, I knew I had to own one.
Years later, I had squirreled away barely enough cash to buy from the very bottom end of the 1969 Corvette market. My entire budget was what most Corvette owners would pay for a paint job. Yet I toiled night after night, searching Craigslist, eBay and Kijiji high-and-low for one I could afford. It was depressing.
It seemed like the only Corvettes I could afford had either been burned, crashed, picked apart by scavengers, or had spent 20 years rusting and rotting behind someone’s shed. After months of searching, my good friend and partner-in-crime Alex Reid sent me a listing that looked too good to be true – a running and titled Corvette Stingray sitting on a new frame with no rust for a paltry US$6,500. A closer look at the ad revealed why.