Can you hurry up and write another book. The one journal on my bookshelf is getting lonely. Sent from my DROID device using the TJJ mobile app
That river bed doesn't really qualify as street racing, does it? Is that river bed still there? Do guys still race there?
A great story! Love stories like this one. Love the true moments of surprise! The adrenaline! When I was in high school in the mid Eighties, I had a close friendship which turned sour in senior year. It was a typical story of changing people, different paths, a girl, and jealousy to boot. Anyway, this kid’s father owned a well-to-do auto body shop in Newark, NJ. As a result of his old man's success, the kid was never short of nice things or cars. For his 17 birthday, he and his dad picked out a beautiful 67 Chevelle, SS clone. It had a 396, a Rock Crusher, and a 12 bolt with a 411 gears. It was hands down a very pretty car. The old man repainted the car a beautiful black and had his crew throw a set of the original short cap rally rims with red line rubber all around the car. It was, in the fewest words, boss. Long story short, at the time, I had just picked up a 68 Chevelle. I bought the car from a guy in East Hanover. It was an old rag on the outside: no chrome, shriveled roof, pin holes in the rockers and quarters; but I paid 1700 bucks of hard saved and borrowed cash for her curves on the inside. It was a strip car. It had one fiberglass seat, a roll bar, bare floors, and a Quick Silver slap stick with an exposed cable that looped down to Turbo 400 with a nasty shift kit and 2500 stall converter. The car had rectangle-port heads on a 396 with a solid cam (it was a pain learning lash for those), a Torker manifold, a Mallory ignition and distributor, and a Holley 750 double-pumper. All of this was hooked up to a 12 bolt, full spool, 488 rear end (I cry often when I think about how cool parts and stuff passed through my fingers in the mid Eighties and early Nineties). So, one night, after the bad blood at school got even worse and a lot of our mutual friends started to pick sides; this damn kid comes up behind me at the local Exxon station in his gorgeous black chariot. He gets out and he starts walking around my Chevelle. He’s yammerin’ on about “how big and awkward the later years became…” He wouldn't let the size of my 68 go. But there was so much more to this conversation than the years of our cars. It was a very short period of time when something clicked and then turned left instead of right in my head. Before I even knew it, out it came: "Well, if she’s so big, Drew, let's go out there and see! I was now pointing to the road. He looked at me and smiled, knowing me all too well, and also knowing that he had managed to get under my skin. But still, calmly, he just waved me off. You know, it’s not really like me; but that night, I sat at that station and waited. I pulled my car to a side and parked as my once friend talked to the kid pumping gas. After taking the money for gas, the attendant was walking around the car looking it over closely and complimenting the paint and wheels. After about five minutes passed and he got back in his car, fired up, and rolled slowly past me to the exit of the station. I was on his bumper as he slowly idled out. I am not going to play John Wayne here. I am not going to suggest that I was all cool and relaxed. In fact, I can still remember how much my hands were shaking as I left that parking lot. I must have studied my shifter about seven times. I knew that whatever went down would be talked about in school for months to come –maybe even longer. I can still see the rear of that 67. The chrome was sharp and the taillights were new and bright red. Then it happened. I saw the tires break, a shutter ran through the clear-coated black paint, and she got up and went. I thought I was ready; I really did. But it was all so damn quick, no time to be cool, to relax - just flat fear. I yanked that rickety Mr. Gasket excuse of a shifter back, smashed the hammer almost through the floor boards, and it was just then that that big block snorted with some hesitation. My heart dropped, and I thought of the mistake I might have just made; but then the doors to hell’s furnace opened, and my body got forced into that poorly padded fiberglass shell of a seat with such great force. I never passed him, because Change Bridge Road is a one lane double yellow. I feared I may not be able to walk him on the other side, and I knew he would have left me out there for oncoming had it come that close. But that night, when I had to back out of the pedal, not three, but four times within a half mile, I found the truth. He knew it too. He knew it, because he never turned off on my street just a quarter mile ahead. Anyway, it turned out better that he didn't turn right on my road that night, because smoke began billowing out from under the hood. At that point I turned the safety switch on my dash and coasted the car down the block and into my mom’s gravel driveway. I miss that driveway more than the car. I blew a valve cover gasket! Can you believe it! Blow by! Oil Everywhere! Later, I would realize and accept the oil in the water and the blown head gasket. I Don't know if it was the five-five hundred push on that big block that evening. But I can say, if it was, in all reality, it was well, well, well worth the pain of pulling the top end of that goliath apart for the rest of that week. I called my best friend, Tom, the second I got in the house that night. Of course, the next day at school, he and I weren't quiet. Some said it was bullshit; some said I lied. Some said the other kid lied. But he never denied the story. Later on, a kid who had remained close friends with both of us would tell me that Drew, that’s the kids name, had explained, when asked about the matter, that his "old man told him not to beat on the car.” I was there. I saw the car stand up and dig in; I saw him jerking the shifts; he was in it for what he was worth.
Thanks, Ryan and Porkchop. TWO great stories of our misspent youth (really?). I have fond memories of Memphis street racing, though I rarely won any............... but it was great outrunning the cops to Stateline Rd. and leaving them at the Mississippi state line (or vice-versa). Ahhhhh, the days before computers and unlimited pursuit, the kids (and some adults) don't have a chance these days. Thanks for sharing those memories!
Even this custom guy street raced once when I was 15... And won (because the other guy was even lamer than I was!).
Had to hide the keys from my mom, especially if it had a 4 speed. Heard one story, before I was born, about her in my dads new '68 SS Nova racing some guys between lights and then seeing my dad leering at her from the passenger seat of the other car when they came back to a stop. Probably drove his '70 1/2 Z the same way. She also "borrowed" my 302 4 speed '66 Chevy II without me knowing at least once. The keys stopped hanging on the hook after that. Sure miss the pre F&F days. Who'd think some ghey ass movie could F up a whole scene. Before that things were ran tight and even the occasional bored cop might stop in just to say hi. Only serious racers, no booze party, dope or fasion show. Might see one minor wreck in 5 years and I met some of the best people I've ever known. Right or wrong, it was sure fun while it lasted. And so I'm not completely off topic, two nifty hot rod pics. George Schreiber, Hot Rod, September 1962. Dean Lowe, Rod & Custom, April 1962.
1970 i drove a 1933 dodge pickup i had hot rodded in the family garage-440 t-flite-3.54 dana.worked at a chrysler store after school and could leave early[work study] So at noon i,m sitting at the light at the center of town and spot my mom in her new 340 duster getting ready to cross in front of me and next to her is a nieghbor with a 421 4-speed pontiac catalina .The light changes and the two cars go for it! I am watching in amazement as my mom is street racing in the center of town at lucnhtime! At this time in my life my sister was building a new home and moved her family in with my parents. Dinner time was busy with eight people eating and talking with two tables put together to seat everyone. So that same night at the dinner table i mentioned that she had kicked the big pontaic,s butt at drury square. She was not happy with the story and ignored me but moments later she flipped me off but i was the only one who saw it! She never talked about it and i never brought it up!
Great tale well told. Thanks for the "noir" peek into the nocturnal world of the late 50's LA Hoodlum.
I would pay money to see a shot of that guy's face once that shoot was pulled. "Ahhhhh, the days before computers and unlimited pursuit, the kids (and some adults) don't have a chance these days." I think there is a lot of truth in this statement. Diman, that is a priceless story! I know my mom would certainly have raced me, but she was into the Triumph Spitfire convertibles all her youth, so speed just wasn't her thing.
I dont think my wife would appreciate me taking her spot in the garage...oh wait i get it. you dont really want it. its all covered in dust!
Both were illegal, both would get ya busted. Most all the river beds, creeks and washes in the L.A. area, were cemented in and used as part of the flood control system. Now, all the entrance's are gated and locked.
Lots of street racing stories.I made a sort of living off of street racing winnings 69-71 with nothing more than a well tuned 383 Dodge 4 speed.Have scout to pick the competition from the multitude of stock musclecars..,and always run with slicks against guys with street tires.Give em a car or two lead if necessary...money in the bank...
I had a friend in Ca. with a 240 with a 283 Chevy/4-spd. This car was fast as hell and a blast to drive. Ain't throwin no rocks here!! ~sololobo~
"This is your last street race. The motor is already warm. Get in, strap up, and lets wait on your friend in the Mustang. Yup...Coolest dad ever......for sure!
So, it still looks like it did in those pictures...and in the movie "Grease"? How fun would it be to roar through there in an uncapped hot rod? That would make for a great event, in similar fashion to the "Race of Gentlemen" over here on the other coast.
Yes, still looks the same except when it's been raining and their bank to bank with rushing water. Look's can also be deceiving, that water that you see in the middle of the picture is actually in a 4' - 8' deep channel. Many a racer has hit a spot of water only to lose control and wind up on thier side in one of them!
Impressed? Hell, your Dad had to tow in a full tilt race car to beat a guys' daily driver? The dude must have been laughing so hard seeing that shoot pop open on the street! Talk about feeding an ego, he was probably laughing all the way home! Good thing he didn't get a DUI from swerving from lane to lane! We learned quickly there was always some one faster, usually a bracket car snuck out at midnight. Daily drivers' more or less even the playing field. The real challenge was keeping one alive on the street day after day, commute after commute.
Great story!....I kind of copped out on the Mustangs....I subscribed to; "if you can't beat 'em...join 'em"........Now I have (3)....a '69, a '90 and a '85....... the twin turbo one is wicked sounding, fast, and fun....all built in my (3) car garage in the sticks of Wisconsin.... Tom
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