Yeah I've got one happened some years back. I'm heading home from the wrecking yard and driving my '63 Falcon gasser. BBC 468, with tunnel ram, twin Holleys, and a Super T10 4 speed. I pull up to a light and this guy and his buddy pull up beside me in a Subaru WRX. The passenger looks over and asks if I wanna run for $150? I told him, "No, that thing scares me." When the light turns green the driver hammers his WRX and I watch him race up to the next light. I pull up beside him, and just as I see the other lights turning yellow I mash the throttle and drop the clutch when my light turns green. The Falcon lifts the front wheels, I grab 2nd, and before I can think about 3rd I'm at the next light. The WRX pulls up beside me and passenger is chuckling. I look over and said, "I changed my mind, I think I will run for that $150." The driver wont look my way, and passenger is laughing his ass off. Light turns green and driver turns a quick left and drives away. I rarely do this sort of thing anymore, but just couldn't resist letting the Subaru owner know old cars can still keep up.
About 6 yrs ago or so, I'm in my 1950 F1. I am running 302 (4V & headers) with A0D trans and original 4.10 rear. I have it done up like Tow Mater: teeth, eyes, missing headlight, large air cleaner, fake wrecker beams, no hood, etc., etc. Subaru (one of the fast ones) is in far right lane taking pictures of my truck in the 3rd lane. Light turns green and I am Gone! I let off at about 50 mph or so and hear him screaming past me. I surprise a lot of people when I come off the line. Ron
It was all fun and games for me back then. One night my buddies and I was cruising the Oldsmobile when a really sharp 66 Chevelle pulls along side of us. My buddy sitting behind me is talking crap with the passenger. This went on for a few blocks, each of us was chirping the tires to agitate the other. We caught a red light sitting side by side. To my right side, in the 1st parking space on the side street was a cop. The cop and I knew each other from the gas station, and the cop was waving his finger no at me. My buddy and I'm sure neither guy in the Chevelle saw the cop. The 3 of them expected a race. When the light turned green, I drove away like an old man, my buddy was yelling at me, and the Chevelle was in full race mode. As soon as I cleared the intersection, the red lights on the cop car came on and it was after the Chevelle. About 6 or 8 blocks down the street, the cop had the Chevelle pulled over. I was cruising a little under the speed limit, but I slowed down just a bit more as we drove past the Chevelle. All 4 of us waved at them as we rode past. They looked pretty mad (I would have been), but if you played those games, you needed to be aware of your surroundings. Me and the boys called it an evening right after that event, even though it was a bit early that night. I have no idea what the cop did with the guys in the Chevelle, but I know at least it wasn't a drag racing charge. Knowing the cop, I suspect they got a good chewing and were sent home, but he would never tell me. I don't recall seeing the Chevelle before or after that night, maybe they came into town looking for something, but probably not what ever they got. It would have been the early 1980s before I cruised down town with a car fast enough to play those games for real. It only took a few years of broken parts and close calls to have enough of that excitement. Dirt track racing (which I was already involved in) was safer and less expensive! I sold my off topic fast car for enough money to pay the lawyer fees when we bought the house in the country.
I was just out for a little Sunday drive with my sweetie. Driving my trusty 57 Pontiac down Burnside street in Portland. I'd just changed engine to a 389 from a wrecked '59 Pontiac. Swapped out the clunky 3 speed to a Muncie 4 speed with Hurst linkage and stock 3.90 gears. This guy pulls up next to me in a 65 GTO at a traffic light and gooses it a bit while waiting for the light to change. We busted 'em off on green and I pulled away from him. Three blocks later and we do the same thing with same results and at the next light he hollars out asking what I got under the hood and I said, "Same thing you have" and idled away.
"Way Back Story" from early 1960s I had two cars,I had built myself for Miami Sr High School,(about 3000 kids in the school in 10/11/12grades =so big school. I lived in Coconut Grove/what had been a little town just out side of Miami Fl. but got over run as Miami got bigger. My first car was a hotrod 28a Roadster powered by 57 V8 Thunderbird,,,but It had no top,an not great in the rain,so I picked up a old used Henry J for rainy days. Could not stop myself from customizing the "J", added a V8 Olds Rocket 88 w Hydro, into the "J"along with a lot* of body custom stuff; lot of rake,ass up/nose down,nerf bars with rolled pan,Cady 59 Tailights, and lot of other stuff,,it even made Car Craft Mag. Point here ,is my full custom "J" had speed reputation, it didn't really deserve. Now an then,some one would come up be side my "J" going down the road ,an indicate they wanted to race. I would mostly nod my head,say,give me a sec. too get some tire heat first! At that point,put the big Olds hydro in SUPER and stand on it { didn't matter if we were doing 55 or less,the rear end of "J" would dance around some an rear fender wells would boil tire smoke so bad ass,the rear of"J" would almost be invisible in cloud. Then back right off,and look over at who ever. Most often,they had already dropped back some,or turned off,if we were near a turn. A lot thought "J" was way too fast. Never got a race in ,so no one knew that;;, my "J" was just too little weight on rear tire to bite ;The trick of super smoken tires ,was its only thing that just looked scary fast. Hole "J" was only 2400lbs any way,an the Rocket 88 was nearly all on the front axle line. Trick was, never actually race anyone w "J". Ok all these years latter to add mittMy 28A Hotrod was a lot faster. Didn't have to fake anyone out. The "J" was much better car for date nights.
Many years ago I had borrowed my dad’s OT Ford Courier to haul my stuff home after the school year ended. It was my 2nd year of teaching and I was still single. Dad had “Tokyo Rose” as a runaround pickup. He had installed a straight pipe sans muffler on it. It buzzed like a hive of bees at speed, and cackled like no other upon deceleration. Anywho, I was rolling through Dickinson and pulled next to a hot Ford Fairlane, iirc. I gunned it, and let it cackle. He smiled at me and did the same. Game over.
It's 1960. My Dad has purchased his 2ndcar from the local sheriff in Colorado Springs. The lawman had pulled a Lincoln 317 big Y Block and had stuffed it between the fender wells of a clean 1951 Ford convertible, and had it mounted to a Ford 3 spd with overdrive. Dad had it nosed and decked, wide whites with tri bar spinners. It ran single exhaust because there was no room beneath the hood!! The car was in faded yellow with primer spots and looked like a mild lowered mongrel. One afternoon as my Dad and a couple of buddies were headed home to Colorado Springs on the old highway they came upon a then-new 1960 Pontiac Bonneville. The Poncho was riding along at below highway speed and Dad pulled out to pass. As the old Ford moved alongside, the driver, adorned in his pork pie hat, pipe between his lips, glanced over and smirked. The driver turned and Dad could see him talking to the ocupants in theB-Ville. And when he glanced back at my Dad, the Pontiac began to edge forward with a soft vrrrooooom- coming from the 389 beneath the long hood. dad edged the throttle down and moved alongside, and the driver again gave the Pontiac the go pedal. "Hold on guys-" and with that, Dad lifted, pulled out the overdrive, slammed it into second and matted the go pedal- That torquey Lincoln woke up and with a pair of smoking tires at 60 MPH- Dad and his buddies shot out of sight of that Poncho.
Yup, way to many times. A little information to help make sense of things. My best friend from middle and high school was the local RCMP staff sergeant's son and most of the local RCMP knew him well and they knew me quite well, mostly because of my Grabber Orange '55 Ford. Anyway, one evening we were up on the highway north of town using the stop lights as our own personal christmas tree. Anyway, the RCMP somehow saw us racing off the lights and all of a sudden there were cops all over the place and everyone scattered. No lights, no sirens, we figured we got away clean; no such luck. I thought it was best to lay low for the rest of the evening so we headed to my parents home, where I still lived. We weren't there a minute and there were RCMP cruisers all over us. The two that were witnessed racing were very quickly in the back of a cruiser. One of the guys caught racing appeared to be very concerned about the consequences of his evening's experience. Turns out he was way more concerned about what his mother was going to do to him than anything the law could do. The cops took pity on him and no one got a ticket that night. I did get a ticket later that summer from one of the cops from that night. He was looking to find me without my friend in the car and finally got his way. Not that I didn't deserve it.
I was just saying that they are wicked quick. There are many flaws with the technology at this point, but I don't think this is an appropriate place to discuss it. Let's just say that if you come up beside one at the lights....... beware. Now let's get back to the excellent (and all 100% true I'm sure) stories.
I guess I have a story that fits better than the planned race in my first reply. Was when I was about twenty driving my first car that I actually did significant performance work to. Engine swap, beefed up rear suspension, wide tires, straight pipes, gutted interior. On an 86 cutlass (still have). Keep in mind when this took place the riced and ridiculous craze was seriously starting to catch on. Majority of the other "hot rodders" in that hick town were rocking stickered imports.....and none of them would race despite constantly talking smack about my overweight V8. Anyway got to bs'ing with a new guy in town driving a 68 C10 with a good wrench 350 and a Muncie four speed. We got to looking over both our rides and came to the conclusion they were relatively evenly matched.....at least close enough for a fun race. And since we were both bored we started at an even my hickish town about twenty miles away with the idea of racing to the swinging bridge at the edge of the first hick town. 2004 era back hills Arkansas wasn't exactly thick with cops. So we went to it. He had better takeoff but I had better cornering. So we stayed relatively even till close to the end. The swinging bridge i mentioned was chosen as the finish line as it was single lane. Basically work for a clear cut winner by who was on the bridge first. Last stretch I got a good run at the bridge and barely passed him. If course we weren't thinking about how hard a cable suspension bridge...... especially a small on...... would swing with two vehicles doing triple digits. Had to violently swerve to follow the road lol. Ended up being good friends with the guy in the c10 and was less antsy after Also neither of our rides were particularly hot. Like mentioned his was rated at a whole 260 hp lol. My engine was a cammed olds 350 with too much carb and not enough converter I got in trade for helping a buddy 455 swap his 72 cutlass. 350 olds was original engine to said 72 cutlass
One night after dropping off my girl friend at her dorm, I was heading home on deserted city streets. I was driving a 307 Nova and caught a light beside a Merc cougar. When the light changed I accelerated as fast as possible with out spinning a tire. I pulled a hole shot on him for the next two lights with out spinning a tire.When we got to the next light I pulled my RPM up 3000 and waited for the light to change. I got a good laugh as he smoked his tires and I just sat there with a big grin on my face.
Hello, Our 58 Impala was fast, but did not look the part. That was just part of the persona. If one listened to the motor as I did almost every day, one gets close to knowing what to do to make it better. Adjust this, change that, etc. But, it was not until one night coming from another drive-in restaurant outside of our own Bixby Knolls area that being a sleeper has interesting results. Oscar’s is another hot spot for teenage gatherings from the far Eastern portion of Long Beach. (Actually, the city of Lakewood) The majority of those kids went to another high school. But, if one drives down the main East-West highway that goes from the Los Angeles South Bay communities near the ocean to the LA River. Then it is still technically the same Carson St. but, now picked up in Bixby Knolls heading East. Oscar’s was located in the Eastern portion of the main street. We had just finished off one of these beauties… The street eventually changes is name to Lincoln, goes past Knotts Berry Farm area and ends at the 55 Freeway deep into Orange County. But, as long as it is, there were few stretches of it that remained relatively open and empty during the time. One could say opened plowed fields on both sides were ok as any acceleration would not bother anyone. Jnaki So, as we were headed home to Bixby Knolls late into the evening, up comes this black 55 Chevy 2 door post car rumbling up and looks over, as if we owe him something. At the light, he rumbles across the intersection as fast as legal. So, at the next intersection, it is the location where the Douglas Aircraft building group starts and across the street, a long golf course runs parallel to the highway. It is about a mile long until some form of commercial building start popping up. But the area was relatively empty with the golf course on the right side and the Douglas Aircraft Surplus Yard on the other side of the street. Now, the 55 Chevy was urging us to get involved, by revving up his motor and inching forward at the red light. Normally, this intersection during the day is packed full of workers, students at the nearby college and just residents shopping. But, the late night was almost empty of anyone, except for two black Chevy sedans idling at the light. So, with a nod, it was set. When the Green light came on, the 58 Impala was across the intersection and by the time the 55 knew any better, it was over. But, since he wanted to continue, we kept going away from him until he saw the 6 red taillights come on signifying the end of the race. The dark location was still dark and the street was still empty of traffic going both ways. All except for two black cars heading West. Once nearing the middle of the golf course, was a marker for the end of the quarter mile. If one started at the intersection. He did his best to stay with us, but the advantage the C&O Stick Hydro gave me at the green light was all it took to get out in front and stay there. Kudos to the cruiser against the big bad street racer in this location and time period. At least a Chevy won. Ha!
I did my share of street racing many years ago, but one story I was involved with always brings a smile to me all these years later. In HS my buddy had a cutlass? Or something, had air shocks, raised in the rear, big and little tire/wheels. Had side pipes, but the car was a slug, he knew it, he was “impressing the girls”. I was riding shotgun, some rumbling car pulled along side of us at a light. Raced its engine, etc. The driver of the car hollers out his window “what you running in that”” My buddy say “gasoline”. I still get a chuckle thinking about it.
In 1967-68, I built a 1929 Model A pickup. Fenderless. Pretty hot dual quad cross ram 327. 4-speed. Ladder bar Olds 4.56 rear end. Cheater slicks. I drove it to the last week of my senior year, 1968. Today it would be called a rat rod. Hell, I was 16-17 years old and didn't know shit about cars yet. But man, that thing would go! I débuted it at the local hang out, Custer's Last Stand, (Sadly it is a convenience store now.) about a week after graduation. All the street races were arranged there. There was a brand new 1968 GTO there that night. He walked over and checked out my hotrod. "Wanna race?" he says. That Goat was a 400 4 speed. Beautiful blue. I knew it was going to be really fast but figured that bragging rights would be huge if I beat him. $20. About as much as I made a week sweeping floors in a cabinet making factory after school. We head out to Troy Avenue out in the county where there was a 1/4 mile painted on the road. Custer's just about emptied, with everybody following out to watch. We lined up and we both let her rip! Got him out of the hole and never saw him. But just as I crossed the line my radiator support came loose, and the speed pushed the radiator back into the fan. Holy shit! Coolant everywhere. All over the windshield and couldn't' see shit. Pretty exciting! I won, but it was a little embarrassing. One of my buddies towed me home. Got it fixed and went back to Custer's the next weekend. The Goat wasn't there but the same guy was. But now he is driving a hot '57 chevy. He sold the Goat 'cause I beat it! "Wanna race?" he says. "Sure for $20!" Says I, with a little more confidence this time. He didn't win that one either. Toward the end of the summer, it started getting pretty hard to find a race. I did take it to the Bunker Hill Drag Strip at the very end of the summer. Best time of 11.34. Pretty hot in its day.
This is the truck just before we loaded up to go to Bunker Hill that day. Best picture I have left. The car probably should have run in C/Altered. They didn't have an altered class, and we ran in a class they called B/HR (hotrod). I still have the trophy I won that night, and the time slip is hung on it. You can't read it anymore though. That's OK though. I remember like it was yesterday, 56 years later.
I have another story to tell about that truck and the summer of 1968, if you care to listen. Right at the end of summer, I replaced the clutch in the truck and took it out for a test run. Country road heading home. I gassed it up and ran it through the gears. Well, I met a car coming towards me. The driver sticks his arm out the window at me, and I see the Sheriff's emblem on the sleeve. Unmarked car! UH OH! I ducked into our housing addition and wound through it. Got the truck into the garage, about took the back wall out. Got out and pulled the door down. We lived on a circle, and very shortly, the Sheriff rolls real slow around the circle as I'm peeping out the window. He keeps right on going past the house. I let out a big sigh of relief. Thought I got away with it. I was going away to college in a week, so I just never took the truck out again that summer. I went away to school and about 3 weeks later Dad's house got broken into. I came home from school for a weekend and was there when the Sherriff showed up to investigate. Dad showed him around the house. He led the cop to the garage. Dad out the door first, then the sheriff with me following close behind. The Sheriff looks out into the garage from the doorway. sees my hotrod and turns around and says, "It's a good thing I didn't know where you lived that day!" But he said it real soft so my Dad wouldn't hear. Just my luck it was the same Sheriff. That was the end of it. I sold the truck before spring. After that I went organized legal racing. No more street racing for me.
Back in 1968, I was 27 years old, an old man to the young guys. I was driving down the Berlin Turnpike in Newington, Connecticut in my younger brother's ratty, shabby, dirty, 1960 Corvette with a 301" SBC, and a B & M hydro in it. I pulled up to the traffic light near McDonalds next yo a young kid in a 1967 Oldsmobile 442. He looked over, revved his engine. When the light changed he found out how the hydro jumped out way ahead of him. He was embarrassed to be beat by an old man.
Got stopped for "Excessive display of speed" along with the guy driving an ot 71 Camaro I was following, fast and close. Cop walks up to me, gets my license and registration, walks up to the Camaro, same thing. Going back to his cruiser, he stops and asked me if my father happened to be the late orthopedic surgeon. Why yes, I'm his younger son, I respond. Oh fudge, I'm going to jail, runs thru my mind. It takes 40-45 minutes before he gets out of the cruiser and walks right past me to the Camaro. Now in Massachusetts in those days a pink ticket was a warning, and that's what the other guy got. Now I'm sweating bullets, and just know it's not going to be good. He sends the Camaro on its way, and waits until he's over the rise in the road ahead, before coming back to me. And proceeds to tell me about the time when he was a motorcycle cop, newly married and with a kid on the way. And got into an accident. Busted up pretty bad. And dad fixed him up. He told me he was never able to pay him for that before dad died. And he was letting me go with just a verbal "don't let me catch you doing this again in my town" warning, and that he felt he had finally been able to repay the debt. Of course I agreed! Then we sat by the side of the road, and he told me a few stories about my father that I would never have heard if this chance meeting hadn't happened. And I was only a little bit late for a date! It was worth the time...
Boy, you were one lucky guy that time! Regardless, that thing was crazy fast for the time. You must have had a pretty solid grasp on what it took to build a killer dual purpose ride. Always amazed me that during the muscle car era that most guys wanted to haul around 3,500 lbs. of (late model) iron, when the old cars were so much lighter. If I was of age then, I wouldda been putting a 427 into a Model A or something similar. But I was just a kid. Oh well.
I had a 67 Nova with a hopped up 327, 4 speed with a 3:08 rear and with tall tires on the back so it had some good top end speed. It would do 100 in third gear and peg the needle in 4 th gear. Coming home late one night I started to pass two guys in a 65 Impala when they decided to speed up. I hung with them to 105 MPH when they ran out of steam. They started hi 5 ing when they thought I was wide open. I blew my horn and waved goodbye . Would loved to had heard that conversation between the guys.
Brought to mind an incident on the way back to college. Had a 55 chevy, 292 w/ 3:70 gear. Friend pulled up beside in a 61 impala, unknown motor. We went top end, at around 105-110 I topped out, we were neck and neck but I was a teeny bit ahead--he killed his lights (this was at dusk) and I let off thinking he had trouble-gave me the 1 finger salute as he went past. Lesson 1--NO MERCY!
You guys are pikers!! 1980, I had a new Kenworth Cabover. Coming back to the Midwest from California with a load of indoor molding. Weight a legal 80,000 lbs. Between Lincoln, NE and Omaha on a Sunday afternoon, loafing along, I began to hear conversation between , later learned, two cattle haulers. One mentioned the company I was leased to. " Trashy +++++ truck" he said. When he pulled along side we were running the same speed. Just north of 95. I looked over at him and grinned, having never said a word! Then " put the pedal to the metal" and left him behind. Slowed back to 55. I guess his CB radio had died as I never heard him again. Ben
The Jalopy Journal
