Street Race Stories

powrshftr · Feb 28, 2015

If you would have been driving that Logghe car you would have been far enough ahead to hit nothing but guardrail!lol

Ps:Who races with their kids in the car?

If that was supposed to be funny,it kind missed the mark,and if it was supposed to be a witty way to jam up this thread because you hate street racing:You aren't going to erase the fact that these guys street raced 30 years ago,so you might as well go find an LS1/airbag/Nova clip thread and do something productive like hate on that.

If you don't like mushrooms on your pizza,then don't order mushrooms on it.

If you hate the thread on the Hamb,then don't click on it.

See how simple and easy that is?

Scott

powrshftr · Feb 28, 2015

Groucho said: ↑

I raced a guy I thought I could not beat......heads up, my "move". I told my friend to line him up 1st, then the second you line me up from in front of my left headlite (my opponent's in the rite lane)...RUN, because I'm leaving right then and there. That was worth about a fender, and that's all I won by. Tight race
Click to expand...

That was pretty slippery Groucho...lol

Scott

Posted using two Dixie cups and a medium length piece of string.

kevinhog · Oct 22, 2017

BottleBob said: ↑

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
Click to expand...

Yes, you did finally go to jail, for racing my Dodge Omni on Valjeen. I was with you in that jail and we all used the same lawyer. Getting busted for racing our daily's for fun sucked. That was the end for me, I couldn't be found at the sight of a street race or I would have to do 6 months county time. Glad to see you're still alive after all the big fun. Turns out you were the first guy I raced, and the last guy I raced.

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Street Race Stories

powrshftr
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