The birth of gearheads pushing to see if there are any limits. Do***ents are critical to our history. This is excellent writing. Seems you were reincarnated Ryan, what (if) were you before that created this caretaking p***ion of Hot Rodding ? How would you ( or can you) describe it........ @Ryan honestly.
First time at Paradise Mesa was about 1955 with my dad. We lived in Valencia Park which was not that far away. Bean Bandits, Chiefs and Prowlers along with the San Diego Roadster club were the dominate clubs. Lot's of motorcycles and quite a few sailors from the local bases were spectators. Our high school club, Piston Pounders, belonged to the San Diego Timing ***ociation. Rules were discussed at the monthly meetings. NHRA held a regional race there in 1951. Flag starter and Otto Crocker timing.
It’s just volume. Thousands of hours of digging through old paper, microfilm, court records, forgotten columns… to the point where it all starts to rot together in your head. You take in so much that you get sick of it, and then, worse, you start to forget it. This piece didn’t come out of nowhere. It’s fallout from a research project that’s been dragging on for the better part of a decade. A few years back, David Lucsko wrote a book called The Business of Speed. To me, it’s one of the most important things ever written about hot rodding. It breaks down how the whole thing went from kids in junkyards to an actual industry. The project I’ve been involved in runs parallel to that, but from a different angle. Less about the business, more about the people. The culture. The shift from something reckless and curious in the ’40s and ’50s into… whatever it is now. Lawn chairs. Safe conversations. Old farts with zero drive for breaking laws and sticking out. For the last ten years I’ve been buried in this stuff… newspapers, court records, all the paper trails that expose just how unruly this thing really was in the beginning. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t organized. It was rebellion… not the safe, teenage kind, but the real thing. And the truth is, most of that work is mind-numbingly boring. Articles. Dates. Court records. Dates. Names. Dates. And so on... After a while, the numbers stop meaning anything on their own. You don’t want to record them anymore. You want to step back and look at what they add up to. That’s what this is. The painting the data makes when you squint a little. Sort of...
Almost like a drug you can’t get enough of. I didn’t know if you would reply or not, since I asked about you, but you replied in your own way about the p***ion, with a little numb mixed in.
My father was a San Diego Hot Rodder and made a career working for Cal Fire (CDF then). Hired in ‘58-or ‘59, he promoted engineer in ‘61 and moved to brand new Station 32, Paradise Mesa although I think it was called Sweet Water Station. He was a regular at the strip both as a Hot Rod compe***or and spectator. The strip closed in ‘59. I found these in an old box of his stuff after he p***ed. I wish I knew more about why he kept them or if there was even a reason. They are proudly displayed in my case at home now.
Decades after this, the guys and gals that would street race still went out to Paradise Valley Road before it got torn up and replaced with South Bay freeway. I wanted to see where the old strip was and found this link. Enjoy. https://sandiegoracingmuseum.weebly.com/paradise-mesa.html
The Jalopy Journal
