To All: I was just turned on to this board a few days ago by Groucho, when John Goms started posting like a Phoenix rising from the dead. I hope others will contribute their street racing stories to this thread, since I personally love reading them. I wrote the following story to give non-street racers a taste of what money street racing was like. I'm also using this story as sort of an introduction of who I am (or at least who I was back in the day). Now we all know that glorifying a sub-culture that engages in illegal and dangerous activities is not necessarily such a hot idea, but we're all adults here with full knowledge of the possible consequences of our actions. So don't do this at home. ================================================ This is what you might call an autobiographical sketch of a street race event. This is a true story, some names have been changed to protect the guilty. Just kidding, the statute of limitations has run out long ago! The story begins on Saturday night at the corner of Devonshire and Reseda blvd, in the San Fernando Valley. In this time period, this is where the street racers and groupies are meeting before they go off and race. Anyway I've got my white '72 Trans-Am out and I'm cruising the lot looking for somebody to race, which isn't as easy as it sounds since I have to find someone who doesn't know me or at least doesn't know of my car. That's the way of street racing, you can get races easily if nobody knows how fast your car is (Unless your car is maximum slow in which case you get more race offers than you can possibly win). But in this case my car is somewhat known but might have skipped the recognition of someone. So I'm walking between rows of cars asking the owners of various fast looking cars if they would "care to indulge in a speed contest." (That's the kind of ticket the po-lice give you when you're caught. A speed contest ticket). Most of the people I would ask to race see me making my way between cars toward them and shake their heads no before I'm within speaking distance. Anyway I'm becoming resigned to the fact that I'm probably not going to get an easy race tonight. So now I start thinking about "Stage two" which is giving up some car lengths. That means (for those of you not familiar with this sort of thing) a handicap start giving the slower car a certain number of car lengths distance head start into the quarter (each car length is equal to about 15 feet). Back to the story, I was just trying to figure out how many car lengths I could safely give different cars in the lot when I hear and feel a rumbling and a whine coming closer, the rumbling is just your standard over-cammed, headered race car but the whine is something that is not common in this area, a blower! I turn around and sure enough it's "Dean" in a Judge with a big block Oldsmobile motor and a 6-71 GMC supercharger sticking through the hood. Instantly I move in his direction. I want to get to him before anyone else has a chance to talk to him and maybe tell him how fast my car might be. Anyway I get to him before his car is stopped and hit on him for a race while he's getting out. His response is something about having no gear. I feel encouraged since he didn't actually say no! Having no gear means he doesn't have a low rear end ratio and therefore cannot leave the line (take off from a dead start) very well. So I think a bit, not wanting to let the only race I might have tonight slip through my fingers, I suggest that we "Go from a roll." He talks to a buddy of his then asks "How fast a roll did you have in mind." I'm feeling great now because when the race discussions get this far I can usually give up a few cars or be flexible on the money, or whatever, and get a race. Plus going from a roll is the kind of start where my car runs it's best. Back to the race discussion, I answer "What speed roll do you think is fair?" He confers with his group again and says "About 30 mph with a shortened quarter." I'm jumping inside itching to actually get to the race spot and do it, thinking that I couldn't ask for better conditions. But I control myself and ask for the "Go" (the one who gets to start first when that's agreed to). He says "No way". And I say but look at that thing sticking through your hood, that's ultimate horsepower". He comes back with "Some people have been talking to me about your car, and I don't know if it's such a good idea to race you". I get panic stricken, this is just what I was afraid of, I can just see the negotiations falling apart and me going home without having raced anyone. So I say real quick "You can have one of your people on the side start us by dropping his arm, that's fair isn't it?" He says "I guess so" and then asks "How much do you want to run for?" I say "Whatever you usually race for." He asks his buddy if he's got some money to put in. They talk some more and finally he asks "Is a hundred ok?" I say "Sure, where do you want to do it?" He says "How about Lassen and Winnetka." I'm thinking that the street he's chosen doesn't have very much shut down distance and I know we'll be going pretty fast since we are starting from a roll, but I don't want to rock the boat at this late stage. I know it wouldn't take much to have him back out of this race so I say "Lassen and Winnetka is ok with me." About this time the outer fringes of the group, (about ten deep) that had been surrounding the race negotiations from the start, start running to their cars. I then yell out "No caravans" which just means don't have a whole string of cars single file going to the race spot since the police either in cars or helicopters would know what's going on. I then start walking back to my car so I can leave but am stopped a couple of times by people asking what my chances are of winning because they want to make some side bets. I say something like "I think my chances are pretty good but then "Dean" probably thinks the same of his chances." But that was enough for them and they run off to their cars yelling "Side bets, side bets" at the top of their voices. I get in my car and hope my solenoids haven't been leaking because the engine might backfire violently when I go to start it and that would be a dead giveaway that I was using nitrous. I mean everyone "knows" I'm on the bottle (in fact my nick name is BottleBob) but as long as there is plausible deniability that this particular car is using nitrous there will always be a slight amount of doubt and I might be able to use that sometime in my favor. Anyway the engine starts without any mishap and I drive out of the lot going west down Devonshire. I turn left on Wilbur since there are a few racers in front of me and I don't want to "Caravan" especially since I yelled to everyone else about not doing it. When I get to Lassen I turn right and just while I'm turning I see, on the next big street south, what appears to be a black and white but I'm not too worried since almost nobody drove that way so I don't think he would be alerted. The rest of the drive to Winnetka is uneventful except right at the race spot. At the race spot there is the usual mass confusion of cars turning around to find a choice place to watch from, some cars dropping people off so they can watch the start, some being dropped at the finish, and so on with cars strung out all along one side of the street. There are a couple of newcomers to this particular race spot parking on the same side of the street that we're going to race on and almost simultaneously people yelling at them to move their cars while calling them idiots and worse. Poor guys just didn't know and probably don't deserve all that verbal abuse. But I've got my own worries. I drive up to the start area and Dean is already letting air out of his tires so I get out and start to do the same. (Letting out air makes more of the tires rubber contact the road for better traction. Even if we are only on street tires). When I'm done I go over to Dean's group and he picks someone to start us and I have him show me exactly how he's going to do it. Done with that I ask him who is going to hold the money he says "How about Bill" I say "He's in your group lets get somebody more neutral like Groucho." He says "ok, and lets speed this up I don't want to be here all night." While we're giving the money to Groucho to hold I say "We'll go on the other side of the light turn around and I'll match your speed until we get to the starter." he says "Ok lets do it." We go to our cars and get in. Boy am I excited now, I can't even find my keys, I'm checking my pockets but come up empty, OH! Here they are in the ignition! So I get it started and drive across the light and turn around. Dean is already stopped at the light which happens to be red. I'm back about 3 cars so I stop and put my foot on the brake and punch the gas (which makes the rear tires spin with the car standing still. That heats up the tires, traction aid). There is massive tire smoke, I can't even see the street behind me, I pull up to the light just as it changes and start to go across when about that time I hear this horrendous roar and blower whine rising almost out of my hearing range and see Dean's car pass by right next to me with smoke just pouring off his rear tires. Then he puts on his brakes and slows down. I'm thinking, THAT was a real obscene display of raw horsepower and that maybe this is going to be more of a race than I thought. As I'm thinking this I've pulled up almost even with him and am going about 25 mph. We're still about 100 feet from the start when he speeds up to about 30 mph and holds it there and I line up even with him. Now we're almost to the start, I'm gripping the wheel like I was going to squeeze it to death and I've got my thumb poised over the horn button ready to mash it on at any time. (The horn button is my nitrous switch. This particular nitrous unit is one of my own and is probably putting out 400 to 450 hp over and above what the engine is putting out. I call it my "4 pound banzai" because it uses 4 pounds of nitrous per pass). My engine is pretty strong, it's a Pontiac 455 block with a forged 428 crank which makes it about 440 cu. In., forged pistons, ported 455 heads with the largest valves that will fit in them, an 850 Holley that I spent days grinding and polishing the inlet and throttle bores. Back to the race, we're both even and going the same speed and I'm like in a trance staring at the starter's up-raised arm. At the smallest muscle twitch I'm going to hit the gas. Is that it? Did he move it? No not yet, there it is he's moved for sure. As I'm thinking this my foot has automatically stomped on the gas and my front end lifts at the same time as Dean's. My tires are spinning but not too badly. I hear Dean's blower whine start to rise in frequency until it's screaming and he's right beside me. A thought passes through my mind that if that blower explodes I could be impaled by flying shrapnel. I then short shift into second gear. (Short shifting is shifting before redline. I do it so I can hit the nitrous sooner. I can't hit it in low gear because with a unit that big the tires would break loose so bad the car would be uncontrollable). As soon as I shift he pulls ahead about half a car length. Should I hit the juice early I'm asking myself, no wait a little longer until the tires are hooked up better. Now he's about 3/4 car length ahead but I'm hooked up and hit the horn button. The revs instantly go to redline but the car is accelerating quicker than it was before. His lead drops to « car, then 1/4, then we're even but I'm moving forward faster. I put about half a car length on him and my motor is screaming so I get off the button and shift to third then get back on the button. (I can't shift with the button on, it puts too much load on the trans) he shoots ahead half a car when I had to get off the button to shift. Now it's just a matter of out mile-per-houring him in high gear. Which is exactly what's happening because we're about even now but I'm moving faster. The longer I'm running the faster I'm going in relation to Dean's car. I've got about a car on him and I can see the parking lights of the finish line car on the other side of the road about 300 feet ahead. Unless something breaks I've got it made. I can see the people at the finish now and they are waving their arms and giving me thumbs up signs. It's over, I've won, I'm just coasting, slowing down. I don't like to hit the breaks real hard at the end if I don't have to. By now I've slowed down enough to turn around. I look for Dean's car and see him about 10 cars back turning around so I start to make my turn. I've turned and just start driving back to the start when I see red lights flashing, coming my way fast. That's when you get this fear ball in the pit of your stomach. I try to ignore that and turn the wheel and hit the gas at the same time. The car slews around just right and I'm headed in the same direction as I was during the race. The cop is probably 300 feet behind me but moving real fast as soon as I'm in second gear I hit the juice. I get off it and hit the brakes for the street coming up. I can pretty well see both directions and don't see any car lights so I hit it again. The cop is slowing down a little for the street. I guess he hasn't hit his siren yet. I'm now about 500 feet ahead of him and rapidly stretching my lead. Now I hear the siren. By this time I'm well over 100 mph and coming up on Devonshire pretty fast so I try to slow down. What I want to do is something like a 50 mph 4 wheel drift around the corner and head east, so I go on the wrong side of the street I'm on to cut it real wide. It looks like my plan is working the car is sliding real nice but then the rear of the car keeps on sliding around. This car does not handle anything like my Corvette. Lots of screeching rubber noise and tire marks all over the place. ( I'm thinking that's it. He's got me. It's all over. I'm picturing my car being impounded, me being impounded, having to pay some outrageous speed contest and evading arrest ticket). When the car finally stops moving I see I'm in the east bound lanes but facing west plus the cop is still a long way back there. Another bonus is that my engine is still running so I just put it in low and hit the gas and take off as if I had planned it that way all the time. There is very little traffic this time of the morning and I'm really pushing the car. It's overheating plus I smell burning oil. (Probably crankcase pressure from using so much nitrous is blowing oil out the breathers). Anyway I start slowing down. I know I can't keep going in one direction or they'll get me. Desoto street is coming up so I decide to turn there. My heart rate is slowing down now that I'm semi out of danger. I can't see or hear the cop anymore. I figure he just gave up the chase. Anyway I'm just going about normal speed when I get in the left turn lane, to head south, at Desoto street. Lucky me, the light just changed my way as I was coming up on it. So I'm making my turn when I notice a black and white in the north bound left turn lane. I continue my turn nice and easy and try to think myself invisible, like I don't even exist, I'm not really here I'm in bed at home. But none of that works because I see the black and white pull out of the left turn lane and turn on his lights. I still hope he might be going after someone else until I see him make a u-turn in front of all the left turn cars and head the same direction I'm going. Nothing to do but hit the gas and then the nitrous, which is what I do. After getting a couple of blocks lead on him I start thinking about turning. I slide around a corner being careful not to have a repeat of the slide at Devonshire. I accelerate for a few blocks then turn then accelerate again. I do that a couple of more times then slow down since I'll probably draw more attention to myself by going fast. I find I'm on Nordhoff street heading east. Just then I see a po-lice helicopter flying from the direction of Van Nuys to about where I lost the second cop. It made me real nervous since it flew almost directly over me. I just keep driving slow and start thinking. I know I can't keep driving this car or they'll pick me off. So I pull into the pay parking lot at CSUN college. Nobody around and very few cars. I park next to some Mazda and grab a rag out of the back seat and start wiping the steering wheel, gear shift etc. This is just in case I might want to say my car was stolen and I had not been driving it. Then I locked it up and started walking away. The poor car was still steaming loudly as I left it. I then took off my glasses just in case the second cop had got a good look at me. I hitch hiked while I was walking and got a ride before I had gone a mile. He took me to my door when I told some of what had just taken place. I got into my wife's Volkswagen and drove back to the lot so I could collect my winnings and gloat a little bit about getting away from the cops. Well I pull into the lot, nobody recognizes my wife's VW, since it's not the kind of car I would bring out. Everybody is looking at the VW while I'm driving around looking for a parking place. (I guess they're thinking what's that car doing here? He must be lost, since VW's aren't normally considered race cars) well when I finally find a parking place and get out, everybody cheers. I put up my clasped hands like I've won the heavyweight boxing title while they're cheering. That doesn't last long and people start coming over to find out what happened. So I describe the chase in great detail and the whole group oohs and aahs at the crises points. When I finish, and everyone has congratulated me for getting away, and gone back to whatever they were doing, I go over to where Groucho is. He shakes his head saying "They're going to get you real good one of these times." I say "Who me? Nah! Never. But I do think I'll retire the Trans-Am for awhile just to be on the safe side." He gives me the race money and says "I thought I'd be using this money to bail you out." I say "When I saw that helicopter flying directly over me I was thinking something along those lines myself." Well after some more bench racing bullshit not lasting too long, I say "Well I've got to go. I have to get up early tomorrow and work on the Corvette if I want to have anything to race with next week." They say so-long and I hop in the VW and putt on home. I pick up my Trans-Am the next day with no problem and went hunting for the parts to fix the Vette (which is a lot faster anyway). Well that's it. A night in the life of a street racer. I hope you liked it, bring out a car and let's race!!! B.B . 9/28/88 -- BottleBob http://home.earthlink.net/~bottlbob
I wonder if you'd be tellin' this story if he'd have whipped your ass. I also don't see how you could be doing all of this evasive drivin' and know exactly what the street name was you turned on. When I was a street cop I've chased people like you and I had no idea what street I was on and it was my job to know exactly where I was. Maybe, but ..... Sounds like a movie ... Good story though. Kept me occupied for awhile ..
Customline Vicky: Well, you KNOW most people would rather relate their victories rather than their failures, it's easier on the ego, eh. But I've lost plenty of races, in fact in another thread I responded to yesterday I made mention of a guy named Boyd who used to "whip my ass" as you put it - on a semi-regular basis. As far as remembering the streets goes, let me make two points: One - everyone's brain doesn't function identically. Some people have a dispassionate/logical corner of their mind that functions even when they are excited and in the heat of the chase. Two - In a getaway situation you have to plan your strategy at least far enough ahead so you don't get caught in a cul-de-sack or a housing tract that only has two outlets. Being an ex-street cop my next comments might rub you the wrong way, but I've run from cops about 24 times, 15 of those times I KNEW positively that they were after me due to seeing lights and/or sirens. The other times I ran I wasn't 100% sure they were chasing me, but I wasn't taking any chances. And yes, it was hazardous, dangerous, and put people at risk - not the least of which were the cops doing the chasing. You'll be happy to know that I didn't always get away - there were occasionally the times where cars were impounded and my body impounded as well. It was an occupational hazard in the day. I'm glad you thought it was a good story. If you were entertained for awhile it served it's purpose. I'm not trying to take a moral stand such as "Street racers of the world unite and overthrow your masters", I was just relaying an event from my past that I thought some would enjoy. Now tell me truthfully, during my story were you rooting for the cops to catch me? -- BottleBob http://home.earthlink.net/~bottlbob
In 64, I had couple of friends that kept bragging about how fast their cars were so they set up a time to go race on a lonely stretch of local road. Me and a friend heard about it and followed them. Turned off the car lights so they couldn't see us behind them. Just so happened, I had an emergency flash light in my car that had a flashing red light. Just about the time they were about to flag off, we turned on the red light. You should have seen them scramble to get away. Racing was the last thing on their minds. Later back in town, I was parked at the local Dairy Queen when they drove up telling wild stories about how both had outran the cops and got away.
Maybe it was a relative of yours chasing Bob, and that's how he succeded in getting away. I've been in Bob's car before while getting chased. He's not a liar. Bob, remember hiding out in Bud's shop after getting chased and the cops were gonna impound the black Vette the day before we were going to LACR, and the tow truck guy that lived in another shop and demanded a watch commander come out? Then the tow truck driver reminded the commander he had no jurisdiction in that private owned lot. The car was left alone
Entertaining story and one rather familiar to us (From other country's) from books like Muscle car confidential. Though do try to remember you are talking to a board full of true 'rev heads' you don't need the little explanations. They are what we Army guys call 'sucking eggs' telling us what we know. I only tried to go street racing one, well apart from the 'lights to lights' quickie. Back when I finished my O/T 32 coupe. Unregistered, unpainted and pretty gutted interior apart from the pro-mod style cage. They used to race in Dandenong of a week end and thats where we headed. Parked the car and couldn't get a race, I guess all the serious racers were not there that night? Had a pocket full of cash and a blown 427, car had ran an 8.01 at the track so it looked the part too. I guess thats why the guys in the Toranas, XYs and early Dunnydores weren't interested. Welcome to the HAMB, any mate of Grouchos is a mate of ours. Doc. PS, Groucho, there is something missing in your avatar pic??
I'm not defending what we did yrs ago was right. But, I'd like to say that we raced in industrial areas, usually from about 1.30 AM til about 4AM on streets with no intersecting side streets. Also, we would NOT race if anyone was parked on the side we raced. If there were to be a "squirrel" in the crowd(someone doing unsafe or un-necessary speed exhibitions), he was asked to leave for the night and only allowed to return the next week if he behaved. BUT was gone for that night
My Marvin story(prolly posted elsewhere too) is.... A crowd gathers at our street race meeting place. I push my way through the crowd to see this clapped out mid 60's Plymouth/Dodge looking thing. Black primer, no front fenders, the roof sawed off, and a hundred rivets or screws holding the hood on semi permanant like. It's got big slicks on those white wagon wheels, sticking out of hacked quarter panels, and the words "the thing" stenciled in white on the doors. I say, this looks like some piece of shit Marvin would bring out. Marvin pushes his way through the crowd, and in his THICK N.Y. accent says, that's right ya focka, it's my cah, make me a focken race. I race him heads up with my big block 68 Camaro for $100 (big $$ in the mid 70's), and beat him. A few days later, he calls me on the phone, I want a focken rematch ya focka. Again I take his $100. To give relevance, I made $3 an hour as a mechanic then. Two days later, another $100 rematch and I win. These 2 rematches are mid week when Saturday's our normal night for racing. So, now it's the following Saturday, and Marvs there without "The Thing". I ask, where is it? He says, we nevah gonna talk about that focken cah. He says, I pried the hood off, took off my nitrous unit and lit the focken cah on fire in my shop parking lot. I'm laughing my ass off. He says, what tha fock ya laughin at? I said, that piece of shit was on NITROUS too? <!-- / message --><!-- sig --> __________________
I'm surprised they left your Trans Am in the parking lot of the college. I figured they would have found it there and had it impounded.
No worries mate, maybe I should take a little time to work on my reading comprehension! I missed that bit!
Goldchainer: Commendable sentiment. Let's see, of the 1/4 mile dragstrips I used to got to in the Los Angeles area they closed San Fernando dragstrip, Fontana dragstrip, Orange County Raceway, Lions dragstrip, Big Willie's Terminal Island dragstrip, and most recently Los Angeles County Raceway. I believe they closed Irwindale and reopened it as an 8th mile track close by the original site. But what's 1/8 mile racing? First and second gear on a 4 speed? Housing tracts encroaching on open spaces and the rising price of land is just a fact of life, to the detriment of 1/4 mile tracks In the late 80's I got with Bernie (the owner/manager of Los Angeles County Raceway) , and talked him into implemented Street Race Days where he an I would split the proceedes. I printed up fliers an delivered them personally to speed shops all over the LA area at my own expense. Just to get street racers used to going to LACR on the Street Race Meets. They started off slow but picked up speed (pun intended) , where I didn't have to do the flier thing anymore. They had them about every 6 weeks. You could run your car through the timers or do a point-point up down start with a starter past the clocks so no one could tell how fast your car was. We weren't OFFICIALLY supposed to race for money but Bernie looked the other way when money changed hands. It was starting to catch on and then I moved to Las Vegas, and I guess they kind of petered out. It seem we've got a lot of people complaining about street racers, but vanishingly few actually willing to try to DO anything about the problem. Hey Grouch, whatever did happen to those Street Race Days? -- BottleBob http://home.earthlink.net/~bottlbob
One night at B of A, I had the Chevelle out looking for a race. No one was interested in racing until this one guy (who I had never seen before) walked up and said, "I'll race you!". Asked asked him what he had and he led me over to a maroon '41 Chevy Coupe. Even though the coupe had a big block, I was expecting him to ask for car lengths. I asked how he wanted to race, he said heads up. (Woohoo!!!) We drove out to Woodley and Saticoy for the race. Figuring its a bbc in a coupe, I came out pretty hard. Grabbed second then glanced at my side view mirror. I was so far ahead, I thought I had jumped, so I got off the gas to slow and turn around. It was then I noticed his headlights jiggling, so I guessed the race was on. I started looking for the finish line and saw it was 1/8 mile ahead (yikes!). Now the coupe is beside me, so I put it in 3rd gear and punched it. I wound out 3rd then shifted to neutral coasting past the finish line. I beat the coupe by a car length. When I pulled over to collect the money, the guy in the coupe was sooooooo excited. He said, "Gee, I almost caught you!". I felt sorry for the guy and didn't want him to lose anymore money. I told him exactly how the race went and to prove I wasn't lying, I gave him half the money back. I offered to find him a race that was more fair and told him to look for a red '68 Firebird, a guy named Randy. Never saw the coupe again.
Rick: Ah compassion. It's a rare trait in a hard core street racer. You always were a softie... must be why I liked you. -- BottleBob http://home.earthlink.net/~bottlbob
Hey Bob, I honestly don't remember the exact chain of events back then. I thought it might have lost a bit of momentum/interest before you moved. But, it was a lot of fun. I got busted once too many times and sadly quit racing on the street. So those Street Race Days were a great opportunity for me to get back in the game. I've always said, if someone opened a street race themed track within a reasonable distance, so I don't need a trailer or tow vehicle, I'd stop everything to build a car for it. Remember when Rod Dunn was gonna show us how to drive that altered we built? I remember he recanted, with driver's suit in hand, and then Golotti put it on 1 wheel
The only thing I don't like is when people call street racing, drag racing. More than one sponsor turned us away because they thought street racing and drag racing was one in the same. I can appreciate the fact that most of the old time street racing was done late at night with no traffic or people crossing the street. But the kids now adays in there little jap pieces of crap with those stupid sounding muffles could not care less ware they race, And that Is not good for anyone that is involved with hot rodding.
This story took place on the 210 @ Yarnell before the freeway was completed. You'd go up the on-ramp, park, and there were just flashing lights on barracades behind you. Perfect, and cement for the more powerful cars to "hook" on. Anyway, there's this really nice, yellow V-8 Vega belonging to Mike G. Had a Grumpy Jenkins SBC as the rumor went, but we NEVER saw it go. One night, it's gonna race Mark W's Nova from L.A. (pretty sure of it being Mark). But, it's the bad ass Vega that we never saw, gonna go with Bob B driving. A famous Top Fuel crew chief at the time for a reptilian driver. Bob does his burnouts and dry hops, and I'm shaking from excitement this fucking thing sounds so unreal in the late night quiet. It's a four gear car, and when the starter's hands drop, Bob pops the clutch at OMG RPM. The car shoots forward, stalls, and chirps to a hault. The seat bracket broke and tossed Bob into the back of the car. We never saw that car run. Has anyone? Was it quick? BTW-my stories go back 20-35 years for the most part, not recently
Yeah, I was rootin' for the cop. In another life, late 50's I did all this too. I street raced, in my little town in MO I was a bad ass. If I went to Springfield MO, the largest town close to me I could get my ass whipped real easy. Some bad asses there (relative). I had my run in with the cops back then. (MO Highway Patrol) Got nailed once and had to go to court on it. I had out ran him and was sittin' in a resturant and he came in and gave me a ticket anyway. I had my wins and had my ass whippin's both by the racers and by the cops. Once I became a cop, for the most part, my street racin' was over with other than racin' a fellow cop a couple of times and chasin' guys like you (and me in my other life), but that's another story for another time. From what you say here, and what others have related about you here and on the other thread you must have been just the baddest thing in the "Valley". Damn, this is just like Milner .. "The baddest thing in the valley". Still good story ...
I had a guy in a newer Lexus try racing me the other day. Dumb-ass though he could beat my 09 Road Glide with a 103-cid kit. Now that is funny
Sparks: The terminology is definitely imprecise. I don't like it when the cops & the media call some teenager in Mom's Lexus who's weaving in and out of traffic on the freeway "Street Racing". And you're absolutely right, street racing DOES give Drag Racing a bad name. But you've got to realize that after the second car was built there was street racing, and that Drag Racing's roots are tied directly to street racing in the past, no matter how bad they want to now treat street racing like a bastard red-headed step child. -- BottleBob http://home.earthlink.net/~bottlbob
Ah CRAP! Larry asked not to speak of his street racing past. But, now that he won't be driving for the hardnose reptilian (yeah, it's all out now), it prolly don't matter. Now, where were we? I'm calling a race at the finish line @ Woodley and Saticoy many years ago. And, I'm glad to see that my buddy Larry's won. How can you tell on that dark street with such certainty you ask? Easy, the Police helicopter provided plenty of light. Run Lahr, RUN!
Customline Vicky: So you have street racing roots as well. See, we're not all that different, your job just aborted a budding hobby as a street racer. Let's hear the cop racing cop story, that sounds interesting. Baddest thing in the Valley? Moi? Not even close. I just was visible (pony tail and all), and loved to race. If it was early in the morning and I hadn't had my race fix, I'd do just about anything. I've raced people on foot with my car for short distances, I've done La Mans starts where my car was pointed in the wrong direction and we had to run across the street to get into the cars, start them, and go, with me slewing around in the street to and then trying to catch someone who was already partway to the finish line. I'd race Bikes, trailered cars, just about anything if I got enough cars. Did I always win? Of course not, it was the thrill of being in the moment that was intoxicating. -- BottleBob http://home.earthlink.net/~bottlbob
The Jalopy Journal
