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I remember trying to fix an old f100 with a 300 six with my dad in an unfinished garage under construction. It was a freezing cold Montana winter day and we had one of those kerosene jet heaters going. He had a tiny cup of gas he was dribbling down into the carb while I tried to keep it running in the cab. Next thing I saw the fireball backlash through the carb, made him jerk his hand back, spilling the rest of the gas down his arm igniting him up like a Phoenix trying to fly away. This the the Phoenix's secret, the faster he flaps, the bigger the flames get. Then he tripped over the larger open gas can spilling that and making a flaming puddle under the truck. I can laugh now becuase he wasn't seriously burned wearing winter clothes and gloves, but he ruined a jacket and scared the crap out of 13 year old me who figured it all must have been my fault somehow. The Phoenix, the fire dance, the glow under the truck, the jet engine roaring, it's all engrained in my head still today.
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