My first Drag Race down the Street [Need for Speed]

My first Drag Race down the Street [Need for Speed]

When looking back it’s a fair statement to say I was always dreaming of becoming a race car driver.  I felt gifted with the skills to take a car, any car down the street in a drag strip fashion gave me the confidence to take on many street racers who wanted to show the world their cars were supreme or the ones to beat that night at that place. Drag racing on the streets of Columbus was the thrills of the weeks during summer and never forgotten. 

I didn’t grow up near a drag strip but I watched many take place near our high school and down town main streets. There was a drag strip at the outskirts of town but we didn’t go there unless one of our friends had a pass or a friend who would let us in for free. 

You might say that drag racing was in my blood but as I recall my first drag race, it was in a 1959 Chevy Impala with a V8 motor that could run but nothing out of the ordinary compared to the hot rods she was competing with those days. She was too heavy and underpowered to be a real drag racer on the street. 

Hooked up with the 283 two barrel engine was a 2 speed Powerglide transmission that was the weak link in the entire race process. Any 4 speed could beat this car as it took forever to reach the top speeds given the moderate power it had from the factory. 

In fact, my first vision of drag racing was sitting and dreaming behind the wheel of my father’s Impala as it was parked in front of the house left unlocked and unattended. In my mind as a teenager reaching the age of 14 years old, I raced imaginary races shifting the gears and working the gas and brakes as if it was a real race. 

My childhood dreams grew more intense with the years when I reached the legal driving age of 16. By then I was able to practice my driving first in the parking lots and then on the streets. I was not well versed on my reaction time as I focused on my driving skills and handling the car in a most competent manner. I got a job at a gas station owned by a team of racers and I would watch them tune their cars inside when not pumping gas. 

At 16, I was driving with a skill of an expert and overconfidence took over when I was at the wheel. One day I was challenged by a stranger and as we raced down the street, the same street I lived on I saw what would make the rest of the day a nightmare. 

Flying by my house at speeds exceeding 3 times the legal speed posted I saw my father standing in the yard as he watched me race this car side by side down the very same street we lived on. I won the race but I was scared to go home as I knew his anger would strike out at me as he was not known to be a gently mannered man when he was mad. 

I drove up to the house like nothing happened. Yes, he was waiting for me as he extended his hand for the car keys he demanded. Once I gave him the keys he motioned he wasn’t through with me yet and told me “give me your license.” I reached into my pocket and handed him my license. He told me it would be six months before I touched a car again. 

At 17, I was obsessed with having a fast car, any car but it had to be the baddest hot rod around. I had to have the baddest. Gas was only about 20 cents a gallon and cheap to afford to put enough fuel in the tanks to have a good night out on the town. There was enough money in my pockets to keep the motor running all night long if I wanted to do that. 

It was cool and it showed off my car that was now set up to run with those who challenged me at the burger joints as they showed off their rides to the girls that hung out there on Friday nights and Saturday too. 

My first real car to drag was a 1963 Chevy Impala Super Sport that has a 327 cubic inch motor that would suck gas through the fuel lines like a large straw does a cherry coke while sharing the drink with a girlfriend. Hooked up with a 4 barrel Rochester carburetor, headers and some other fancy speed gadgets it ran just as good as I expected it to be. 

I raced often and did burnouts at the gas station to show off how powerful it was daring others to drag race me down the street and back up to the gas station. There were no Christmas lights, no trophies or prize money but just a person standing there on the street signaling the start of the race by dropping his hands. 

As I made changes to my car it added more energy to my addiction for speed. More speed every time I raced and the first time I ever raced on a strip it was pure heavenly adrenalin that made me enjoy the day so much more as I wanted more. At this time I ran mostly stock with a few modifications but I wanted to change the gears and put on some slicks to improve my time. 

It was costing me money but money was no object as my obsession to race grew by the day until I was beaten by a girl who knew how to race and had a car that was much faster than mine. Moving from the strip I went back to the street where the haunting fears of checking my rear view mirror for flashing lights became common and I remember that the car was fast but many others were faster.

I wanted another car – a faster car and talked my parents into cosigning on a Chevelle 396 Super Sport. The new experience of driving this car was exhilarating and exciting. The power and speed was three-fold that of the Impala before and I hadn’t done anything with the engine yet. Fairly stock it was a monster on the street with burnouts that were awesome to watch. 

On the street we had to compare my car with those who pulled up next to us. I had beaten many but there were so many fast cars on the street it was a constant stage of chaos looking for fun. We rarely thought about the dangers of street racing as it was not condoned or sanctioned by the police. They knew where we raced but were often not around when we raced. 

Racing is a traditional means to entertain yourself or others. It is an opportunity to show off you car or someone else’s. There were no rules, no entry fees and no politics just a simple push the pedal to the floor and see who ends up first at the other end. There was some excitement in the fact that at any moment a cop car could give chase for breaking the speed limits. 

My first “real” drag race ended up in a loss for me against a Plymouth GTX 383 geared to run wild down the street. I never raced for money, I never raced for pink slips and I never raced for all out bets who was the fastest but I did race as an obsession and addiction to speed.