Brian Coltrane

LaNative, thank you for posting that article. Much appreciated. I didn't expect any part of the new Dukes movie to turn into a civics lesson. But I do find it interesting that an effort is being made in the script to appease both the longtime fans, along with those who may find the flag offensive. I despair, tho', at the thought of the Dukes practically apologizing for the flag being on the car. Come on, now. Why not have them apologize for being white? Or for being from the south? Or for driving a car that is ecologically irresponsible because it's a gas-guzzler and doesn't have modern emission control equipment? If the movie producers want to include a short bit to "explain" the flag, great. Have someone ask the Dukes if they're bigots or Klansmen or whatever. And have the Dukes simply say NO. The ol' response, "It's heritage, not hate," works just fine. And then a handshake. End scene, on to the car chase. Now, on a good note - the new Dukes movie might accomplish something of a balance about the whole flag issue - which has been blown so far out of porportion the last few years, you'd swear there were no bigger concerns of the planet. WB simply needs to concentrate on the movie serving it's core purpose - to entertain, amuse, and make money. If , during all this, they can present the original spirit of the show, including the Duke's code of honor and morals, then the flag issue resolves itself. The behavior of the characters will speak louder than anything the car is painted. Brian

Merry Christmas, Cap'n! It's been a fun year, and we're so glad to see you and a buncha other folks settlin' in and makin' themselves at home. You all bring somethin' special to the place. Lookin' forward to a great 2005 ! Brian

Talk about terms of endeerment. I'm flattered, but there's no need to fawn over me like this. I'm not sure this is a good idea, anyhoo. There's Dasher, and Dancer, and Brian and Blitzen? Are ya'll crazy? Nevahmind, I know the answer to that one. Looks like I'm gonna be dashin' through the snow...pretty dang fast. Kiss mah whitetail ! Brian

For himself, Brian had taken the remaining cell at MaryAnne's gesture. He turned and faced her as the iron bars closed shut, his expression remaining a stone mask. There were no sympathies shown between the blue eyes and brown, the iron seperating kin as surely as the deeds. The lanterns burned down low and the jailhouse was soon empty, except for the incarcerated. Restless for the dawn, Brian paced the small confines of his cell, his spurless bootsteps falling quietly on the hard floor. And so he measured the minutes into hours, his black-clad shape moving wraithlike within the darkened cell. He indulged himself in a cigarette, the red ember glowing hot with the intake of his breath, dimming again as the smoke was expelled to linger in the moonlight. Only when the night was at it's darkest, and the dawn less than two hours away, did Brian stretch back on the wooden bench and put his hat over his eyes. The short sleep would ensure that he'd wake up crankier than hell. But the night's pacing had kept his muscles and his mind limber; he would be fit for the long ride in the morning. The direction of which, was only known to himself. No matter which way he was pointed out of town.... (Cue MaryAnne )

Is that any way to treat one of your esteemed peers? Tsk. You got the antlers, yer the reindeer! Just like the song goes...Doe, a deer, a female reindeer! Or somethin' like that. Yo, Temptest! Got any of those flamin' arrows leftover from Thanksgivin'? Muahahahaha!!

Well, who's evah "herd" of a reindeer shoot for Christmas? Just when ya think we can't sink lower. By the way, MaryAnne, I congratulate ya on your sportsmanship. Those antlers are gonna look great on ya. Brian

You'd make a great reindeer, MaryAnne! Everybody wants more doe around the holidays. Or a few extra bucks, but yer not suckerin' me into this one. Brian

Both?! I'm not sure we can handle that much merriment! You're not planning on a Reindeer shoot or anything this occassion, are ya? Brian

What?

I think the date n' time outta be set by Temptest or Cap'n Santa. But just to throw out some suggestions, either Monday the 20th, or Wednesday the 22nd would work for me. Traditionally, we have these thangs around 8 pm Eastern, 7 Central. Ya'll pipe up with what works for ya. Brian

Man, you can't say we ain't a friendly bunch here. I've been bad this year. Get me a 10-pound bag of Kingsford and we'll call it even. Brian

"Awright, you freeloadin', over-stuffed hamster. Sit back! Ree-lax! But if you gotta walk back to town from Chattanooga or whevah I end up, don't whine about it. 'Cause this ain't no zoo-mobile and there ain't no round trip." Brian put the car in gear again and drove through the alley, heading for the courthouse. His dark eyes flicked into the rear-view mirror. "Can you ride a motorcycle? Maybe I could getcha a career in the circus." (cue anybody)

"GAAH! A tresspasser! An un-author-ized hitchhiker!" Startled, Brian flattened himself against the inside of the driver's door, looking warily at the oversized varmint. "What the hell, no wonder my car smells like a wet dog!" Recovering himself, Brian leaned across the length of the front seat and popped open the glove box. He took out a small air freshener shaped like a pine tree and hung it from the mirror. "We ain't goin' nowhere, big cat. I'm tryin' to find Rosco so I can get some official business taken care of. You need to skeedaddle. What say I drop you off at Cooter's?" (cue Razor)

Having turned the key in the ignition within a heartbeat's time, Brian didn't immediately note the background noise. But as Diablo's motor turned over with it's usual vrrraaa-hoom, Brian listened to the engine critically. "Diablo, either yer way past a tune-up, or you're about to drop a muffler. Either way, hold it together for awhile!" Brian threw the Chevy into gear and gunned it, sending the car bolting from the curb. Deciding he'd better put Diablo through a quick check, he debated on taking a short run down a back road. But then, his ornery side got the better of him. He owed Cooter some payback...and there was one sure-fire way to tell if Rosco was back in town. "Hell yeah..." Brian muttered to himself, grinning. "KHEEHAAAA!" He yanked the wheel, hammered the gas, and held down the brakes at the same time. Diablo did a yowling, smoking shriek around the town square, the rear of the long Chevy threating to break free from the restrained torque. The revving roar of the engine, trapped in high gear while the brakes held it back, sounded like a low-flying 747. White smoke poured thick from the rear tires, while a burning track of rubber was carved into the asphalt. Over at the garage, Cooter looked up from pumping gas to see a white cloud of smoke, with the front of a black Chevy sticking out of it. Then he could see nothing at all as Diablo squalled past him, sending up thick wafts of hot smoke. Waving his hat and coughing, Cooter was forced to retreat inside of his garage, while the patron at the gas pump had to roll up the car window. Traffic came to a halt. Stores put up "Closed" signs in their windows and pedestrians scattered for shelter. Diablo fishtailed around the town square completely before ducking into an alley. Brian threw the car into park and patted the dashboard, laughing. "Kheehahaha! Oh man, that was beautiful! That was worth the tires! Not bad for wet streets, Diablo! Not bad at all!" (cue anybody!)

Brian watched Chance saunter out of the cafe. He gave a wistful sigh at her departure, wishing she didn't have to return to the clinic. Otherwise, they would have squandered the afternoon away in each other's breathless company. Brian picked up his fork and stabbed at the salad. While chewing away, he began daydreaming about his next physical, a private smile on his face. Cooter strolled up from the back of the cafe'. The Hazzard mechanic wore a toothy grin, and set down a plate of food at Brian's table. "I had the waitress hold your cheeseburger dee-luxe," Cooter chuckled. "Way I see it, you're gonna need your strength. That's a lotta woman you got there, ol' Bri. Heh heeeh!" Brian looked up from the salad. "You ain't just whistlin' Sweet Home Alabama." Cooter pulled down the brim of his greasy baseball cap in salute, and turned for the door. The mechanic was all grins as he walked out, literally singing in the rain as he strolled back to the garage. Brian wolfed down the cheeseburger, and as the waitress brought his bill, he discovered the reason for Cooter's good mood. Somehow, both Cooter's lunch and his own were on the same tab. Muttering, Brian dug out his wallet and paid up. "Nevah safe from a shuck n' jive in this town...ya think I'd learn." He left the cafe, and paused under the awning to zip up his jacket and flip up the collar. Walking quickly to Diablo, he opened the driver's door and jumped inside, pulling the door shut with a fast slam. He stuck the key into the ignition, wondering if Rosco was back from patrol yet.... (cue anybody)

Waaaait a minute heah. I do not have a Santa suit in my closet. I'm not jolly or merry and I'm a notably poor judge of character. I ain't qualified to tell naughty from nice. ( I've nevah figured it out for myself. ) So before we turn this into a Coltrane Carol, we outta consider some alternatives. I think Cap'n Redneck would make fine Santa. Or you, Tempest, since it was yer idea! Let's do this with some democracy. Vote for the night's rent-a-Santa, and then we'll name a date. Brian

It took Brian a moment longer to answer. MaryAnne's words had dealt him a sobering blow. I don't have any friends, she said... The law came first, as it must. Brian had always known it. Hearing it spoken aloud, however, unsettled him. MaryAnne was giving them better than they deserved. She had all the facts she needed to dispense ultimate justice. In allowing them to ride away, she was giving them a free spin of the wheel. And yet for Brian, exile was not a pleasant prospect. Hazzard had become his home. Going on the lam for awhile to live down a shenanigan was one thing; but knowing that he could never return upon pain of incarceration or worse, made him almost pick option 1. Almost. There was yet a purpose to fulfill; a destiny to answer. And then...he would return to Hazzard, truely fated to never leave it again. His purpose was in the stone-set of his jaw as he looked at Chet Duke. Brian's vow burned in his dark eyes, and his chest heaved as he thought of everything this errant Duke had cost him. Finally, Brian slowly turned to face MaryAnne. He met her eyes, acknowledged the blue flame within them...and nodded gravely. (Cue MaryAnne.....)

Chance's lithe figure stretching across the table did nothing to ease Brian's awkwardness. Her front torso nearly brushed the table, and her nearness sent an all-points-bulliten to his body. At her teasing invitation, Brian slowly lowered the menu from his face, gawking at her with no coherent thought present in his head. He tried to answer her, but being aware of the entire cafe' staring at them, he could only manage to swallow and give her a foolish grin. The waitress plunked the salad down at the corner of the table, startling Brian. Realizing that if the Doc stayed any longer, she'd miss the rest of her afternoon appointments, Brian offered a parting excuse. "I suppose I'd better tend to my lunch," he said with a nervous smile. "I don't want my salad to get cold....." (cue anybody!)

Chet's words caused a snarl on Brian's expression. His teeth were clenched with the effort of holding his tongue; his black-clad frame was stiff-backed and high-shouldered with tension. Yet silence held him. He would say nothing damning in front of his kin, the law.... ...but his dark eyes were cold with a terrible, silent vow. He stared at Chet Duke for several seconds, and Hell itself seemed to be in the shadows of Brian's eyes. Finally, he turned away, glancing at MaryAnne as he did so. And though he said nothing more....Brian's feelings were perfectly, utterly, and forebodingly clear. He had his own ideas of justice. ( cue MaryAnne...)

Chance's comment caused a few heads to turn in Brian's direction. The waitress looked at him with new appraisal; an old lady smiled at him, and from somewhere came a wolf whistle. Brian felt a slow flush of color rising up from his neck, and he grabbed a menu and hid his face behind it. He cleared his throat, and dryly remarked, "Doc, do you always share yer medical e-valuations out in public?" (cue anyone!)

Chet's arrogance infuriated Brian, and it was by sheer strength of will, and respect to the law's presence, that he didn't put an end to Chet Duke then and there. "You sidewindin', egg-hatchin', crosseyed polecat," Brian growled. "Hangin's too good for ya!!" He whirled to MaryAnne, fists clenched. "Cousin, let me n' him settle this the ol' fashioned way. I'll face this varmint in the street at high noon, if he's got the guts!! And I'll bet that a single bullet from mah gun, will be more e-ffective than that arsenal of hardware he drags around! Ah've nevah seen anybody that needed killin' so bad in mah life!" (cue anybody!)

Howdy, Bodebldr! Welcome to HazzardNet. The answer to yer question is gonna depend on your financial resources n' expertise. And not knowing what avenues you may have already searched, I'm just gonna spit out a few things and hope something helps ya. Try starting an online search at www.oldcartrader.com . Most of what you'll find here will be already-restored and big $. I did a quick search and found a '68 Charger for approx $15,000. I've seen some folks take a 1968 Charger and change the taillights n' such, to match the look of the General Lee. '69 Chargers are hard to find, you may want to look at modifying a '68 or '70. If you're looiking for something...middle of the road, pardon the expression, try a publication called "Old Cars Weekly." I think there's info about it at www.collect.com . This publication tends to be less pretentious than other classic car circles. ( In my quick check, I found a 1971 Dodge Charger for $8,500.) Local swap meets and car shows are a great place to network and get leads. I found a "rough" Dodge Charger at a midwest car show called "Spring Jefferson" ....for about six grand. Still wasn't cheap, but you can see how the prices get lower depending on where you search. If you're looking for the diamond in the rough, the elusive backyard bargain....this is the toughest search and your quest may take years. My recommendation is to spend a few bucks subscribing to some rural newspapers in varous locations in Arizona, Alabama, Georgia. There are folks out there who have no idea of the worth of what they have. Or in the opposite case, they are well aware of the value but must sacrifice and sell their project car fast, due to an upheaval in life. You do have to be in the right place at the right time. You can increase your odds of success by continually searching for your car everywhere searchable, whether or not you have "enough money" at hand. For example, I kept an eye out for a classic car for several years. Of course I would have loved to get a Charger, but I lacked the big money needed to buy one that was drivable; and I personally didn't have the expertise to rebuild a car. I wanted to find something unique, tho'. I finally did, while driving down a country road in my own stomping grounds. And since I spent years going to car shows, swap meets, and watching the ads, I knew a bargain when I saw it. I bought the '67 Chevy Impala on sight. It had been for sale for about 20 minutes; I was in the right place at the right time, and was able to make an informed and confident purchase decision. Awright, this was a long-winded answer, but I hope it helps anyone who is looking for their dream car. It's out there! Brian

Tell you what, cousin. I'll share my fifty percent of fifty percent of fifty percent with ya. Far as my hobbies go...they ain't as numerous as they once were, due to time constraints. But, I enjoy horsepower and horses. If there's a car show, horse show, county fair or shindig goin' on, I'm there.

The horse's muzzle explored the black coat and then zeroed in on the correct pocket. Damascus stuck his nose into the outer pocket of the long coat and helped himself. Imagining himself elsewhere and with fairer company, Brian gave a drowsy, half-concious smile. "Mmm....yer gettin' warmer....khee..." Damascus's answering whuff as he depleted the sugar cubes, caused Brian's eyes to slowly open. He blinked at Damascus in surprise. "GAH! Ah'm bein' robbed by mah own horse! Bad horse! Bad!" Damascus lifted his nose from the pocket and chewed the last of the sugar, looking smug. Brian sat up, groaned at the fading echo of pain in his jaw, and regained his senses in full. Or as many of them as he'd ever possessed. He asked a question to whoever was in earshot. "Awright, ah'm not surprised that I'm in jail, but...what'd the horse do?" (Cue anyone!)

"Hog club?" Brian blinked, and glanced down at his midsection. He then flagged down the waitress. "Miss? Fergit the cheeseburger dee-luxe, better just bring me a salad." (cue anyone!)