THE SAGA OF THE ORANGE JUICER.

Editor's Note: We're re-running one of Peter's most requested recent columns this week, "The Sage Of The Orange Juicer." We have also updated this week's "On The Table," "Fumes" and "The Line" columns. Enjoy! -WG

By Peter M. DeLorenzo

Detroit. When “No Particular Place to Go” came over my satellite radio this week, Chuck Berry’s ode to driving took me back a way. A long way back. Because lately, I’ve been thinking about those fleeting moments of my car life. It’s like my fuel-injected, Technicolor dream with a Kodachrome blur thrown in; plus, an accompanying soundtrack that never grows old. 

Our dedicated readers have heard many of my car stories; the Corvette and Cobra adventures riding shotgun with my brother; the surreal moments with GM Design legend Bill Mitchell riding in many of GM’s most memorable concept cars from the 50s and 60s; the racing years as my brother pursued his competition dreams; and on and on. But there are always more stories to regale you with, and this week seemed like a good time to share a few of them.

Only a few of my close friends know about the infamous Orange Juicer. I found an ad in the local paper (I was thirteen) for a Bug go-kart with a McCulloch Mac 6 engine. The kart was beat up and not running, but to me it was a little rocket ready to be brought back to life. The Mac 6 engine was a worthy motor that when right was capable of blistering speeds back then. So, I spent the winter stripping the kart of its ugly green metallic paint; I had my mom drive me down to Ruttman’s in Dearborn to drop off the engine for a rebuild and get some parts ordered, and I slowly but surely created a little jewel of a racing go-kart. 

And when it came time to decide on a color, I went with a bright orange that I applied myself using several spray cans. When finished, I loaded up the go-kart and took it to back to Ruttman’s and they did the final assembly on it. I had ordered a very trick butterfly aluminum steering wheel, a chrome gas tank that hugged the back of the seat, and Ruttman’s put all new front steering, aluminum pedals and brakes on it to complete the build.

When my friends and I unloaded it in the driveway – my mom went inside pretending that whatever was going to happen would be okay – we stood over it thinking it was by far the coolest thing we had ever seen. But starting it would prove to be, ahem, a bit problematic. The Mac 6 was race prepped, and to say it was reluctant to start was an understatement. We must have pulled on that cord at least twenty times, with only a few grunts from the motor to show for our efforts. But, finally, it snorted alive, and afraid it was going to stall out, I jumped in it and took off down the driveway and out into the street.

Now, back then our neighborhood was an endless series of wide, perfectly paved roads with switchbacks, hairpin turns and a few long sweepers mixed in. In other words, it was perfect for a go-kart with a race motor and kids too young enough to know better, or care. So, I gassed that kart for all it was worth, and as most enthusiasts will tell you, there’s nothing – nothing – like a go-kart for the sure thrill of what driving is all about. I was sliding it through corners and powering out of them in oversteer mode as I went screaming through the neighborhood – and I mean scream, that Mac 6 was LOUD – and then turned back so I could blast by the driveway for the benefit of my buddies. I turned around and headed back and saw the big grins on all my buddies’ faces, but none was bigger than mine. 

I hopped out of it and said that it felt really fast. And then I paused for a moment and announced, “I’m going to call it the ‘Orange Juicer’” and everyone stood there reverentially and pronounced it good. We then topped off the tank and checked the oil and found out the hard way that if cold starting the Orange Juicer was a bitch, trying to get it started when hot was damn-near impossible. Once we got it going again, I let my friends drive it, only this time we never allowed the engine to stop between driver changes until we shut it off for the day. And it survived that kind of beating just fine. We terrorized the neighborhood for several days in a row.

It turns out that little go-kart was blistering fast. My brother paced it one day with his car at 65 mph, and through the neighborhood of 25 mph speed limits at just two inches off the ground, believe me, that was fast.

Oh, there were a few incidents to be sure. At one point the chain snapped and almost took one of my buddies' right ear off. And another time an irate neighbor threw a rake at one of my other buddies as he blasted by, he was so pissed-off, but other than that it was a sensational time. 

Well, there was one more episode still worth grinning about after all of these years. After we had been running for hours in 85-degree heat and we were all covered in oil residue and sweat, a local township cop car pulled into the driveway at about four o’clock in the afternoon. We were ready to go out for one more run and he knew it. Stone. Cold. Busted. The young (thank goodness) officer got out of his car and paused for a moment. Now, needless to say, we weren’t supposed to be running the Orange Juicer on the street, but it was so damn addictive we couldn’t help it. So, the officer says, “Nice kart. Now you boys weren’t running it through the neighborhood today, were you.” We all answered in unison, “No, sir.” Then, with a big grin he said, “I didn’t think so.” And he got in his car and left.

We all laughed like a bunch of jackals knowing we had just escaped certain death, or at least trouble with a capital “T.” From then on, we took the Orange Juicer to a local elementary school a few blocks away to run it because it turned out it had a circular drive that if driven just right formed a perfect little oval track. Even my brother relished taking the Orange Juicer out for some laps back then.

Was there an Orange Juicer Mk II? Why yes, there was. But it was a bright orange Chevrolet panel van that was used primarily to move band equipment around in. That generated a whole new set of adventures, as you might imagine. 

Will there be an Orange Juicer Mk III? You just never know. I often fantasize about a bright orange early 70s Porsche 911. Or an Arancio Borealis Lamborghini Huracan or a Papaya McLaren, but there will never be another Orange Juicer Mk I. 

And maybe that’s how it should be.

And that’s the High-Octane Truth for this week.