Hey there, I’m Andrew (that’s where the A in Big A comes from… capital A, uppercase A… Big A).

I’m not a mechanic, racer or car builder. Thanks to my dad I’ve had a lifelong interest in old cars and most things mechanical, and thanks to my mom I’ve got a really weird sense of humour (yep, I spell like a Canadian too).

I’m not a writer or illustrator, this book is my first attempt. I’ve got a background in graphic design and I’ve spent most of my working life slogging away in the advertising mines while wishing I was in my garage.

I own a fairly rowdy, flathead-powered ‘31 Model A hot rod, a highly customized ‘51 shoebox sedan and a ‘41 Ford coupe that… oh nevermind, I just sold it to finance this book.

I’ve spent years crawling around garages, pits, paddocks and tracks from Atlanta to Mo-Kan to Austin to Wendover, smiling and nodding, having a big ol’ time and generally marvelling at the sometimes mystifying, sometimes downright hilarious stuff that flies out of the mouths of hot rodders. I started making some notes and some doodles and here we are. A dubious little book about the secret and strange language of the greasy tribe called gearhead.

You’ve made it this far, buy the book, I’d really appreciate it. If I make the NY Times bestseller list I might be able to buy my ‘41 coupe back.