draggin50
02-27-2011, 12:37 PM
Found this on YB and thought it was an intersting story.
[QUOTE=BlackBart;5736713]
Many many years ago in a Galaxy Far Away…ok it wasn’t another galaxy it was Just Ohio, but it was definitely far away from my current home in Texas. Street Racin was a sport of gentlemen and piss-headed kids!! The year was 1970 and the place was a small town named Middletown Ohio. Like all towns of the time we had a main cruise/meeting place. Ours was a local burger hangout complete with carhops called the Kountry Kitchen. The cruise was between the Frisches restaurant and the “Kitchen”, with the Kitchen being the main hangout.
There was a hierarchy in the parking arrangements. The back row was strictly for the heavy hitters, built GTO’s Chevelles and the odd 442 or Road Runner. The closer you got to the restaurant the lower your status. The two closest rows to the restaurant were saved for the cars with families and kids. Nobody cruised that row. It kept the peace to leave the families alone and kept the owner off our Asses.
On any given night you could see legitimate 9 and 10-second cars. More than one was a present or former NHRA record holder. There was an old 60’s Vette that had a stroked Pontiac engine. It was a former A/MP record holder and when the owner was driving through nobody left their drinks on the window trays, because the vibrations and resonance caused by that big Poncho engine would take the drinks and anything else on the tray and deposit it on the ground. But he never street raced the Vette he just liked to cruise it every once in a while. Guys with Stockers and Super stockers would throw on a pair of header mufflers and cruise decals, lettering, and all.
I was top dog of the area. My 67 Camaro with the L-88 427, Old style Edelbrock Tunnel Ram (looked like a big rectangular box) was unbeaten. The engine had been to Ault and James shop in Dayton for more than a little work. The car had an olds rear end 5.38 gears, a spool and a pair of Henry’s axles. All the fast cars then had 4-speeds. My car had a M-22 that had been crashed boxed by removing the synchros, throwing away the brass and grinding away every other tooth on the sliders and gears. The prerequisite lake wood blow shield and Hayes racing clutch were present. Hi stall converters had yet to be invented, or at least were relatively unknown; so all the fast cars were 4 speeds. The guys that raced autos used two techniques to launch their cars. Neutral starts (revving the engine to 4 or 5,000 rpm and dropping the trans in drive and flooring it at the same time) or Spin starts (holding the line lock and spinning the slicks while the lights came down [effective. But not very consistent]) were the way the guys raced autos. Neither method worked on the street so the 4 speeds were king.
Every region had their top dog and our reputations were well known. My car was recognized on sight. Black 67 Camaro RS, no hood big box looking tunnel ram sticking out of the hood, two Holleys with 6 inch aluminum stacks, gorgeous black lacquer paint. Radiused rear wells with the biggest slicks available with Cragar SS mags all round. I used to call it “Old Belchfire” because the first time in the cool weather you tried to start the engine it would backfire and the twin balls of fire would rise about 3 feet in the air. This seemed to warm up everything OK because the car would start up and run cleanly right after. My car was a looker, but with a reputation so no one would race me.
50 miles to the south was the big city of Cincinnati home to Jack McDonald or the Cincinnati Kid. The Mac Daddy of southern Ohio. Dave had a beater looking 66 Chevelle SS with a built to the hilt LS-7. Like me Dave had never been beat, like me he was known and nobody would race him.
People knew of both cars and started speculating which car was fastest. Soon both groups, the Cincinnati bunch, and the Miamisburg (where I lived) Middletown folks started ragging on each other about which car was faster and after a while it appeared a face-off was inevitable. It was finally arranged that we would meet at the Kountry Kitchen on a Saturday Night.
Everybody knew about the race so traffic was unusually heavy. I arrived first and the rear row of the Kitchen was packed not an empty space. But this was not a problem; I just slowly cruised through till I stopped in front of a kid in a stock GTO. As I sat there and rapped the throttle a few times the message was clear “ I have important business tonight, get out of my parking place!!!” The kid got the message and almost spilled the drinks in his girlfriends lap getting out of my way. The big 4-inch exhaust made from diesel truck pipes and exiting just in front of the rear wheels reverberated and blew trash away from the car as I backed into the parking place. A press of the speaker button and 2 Vanilla Cokes were on the way as we settled down to wait for the Cincinnati Kid.
We had been there about 30 minutes when the Kid showed up. At first I didn’t recognize him, I just thought it was some goober in the ugliest Chevelle I ever saw. He stopped in front of me and didn’t say a word just rapped the engine twice. No words were necessary the sound of power coming from the engine said it all!!! Jack pulled out on the street and went to an empty parking lot about a mile down the street. As he left I pulled out and the entire back 4 rows left the drive in. The Kountry Kitchen emptied out and the parking lot filled up with my Camaro and the Cincinnati Kids Chevelle being parked nose-to-nose smack dab in the middle of it.
I could see how the Chevelle got its reputation as a sleeper, because as good looking, as my car was this thing was ugly! Not only was the car ugly, but also great pains had been taken to make it really ugly!!! The car was an ugly brown, no hood. The front bumper was gone and the grill was wired on with old electrical wiring. The body was dented everywhere and the drivers side quarter panel was missing from the middle of the wheel well to the rear bumper. You could see right into the trunk!! The inside of the car was just as bad old black vinyl bench seats with the passenger side seat back broken and lying on the rear seat. Inside the trash was everywhere, level to the tops of the bench seats. The ancient Hurst shifter was heated and bent so many times the chrome was gone and the finish looked like it had come from a dump. There were only 2 gauges in the car an old-time Sun tach and an oil pressure gauge whose line ran directly through a bullet hole in the windshield to the engine. And the engine AHHHH what an engine Ls7 with fully ported heads that had been heavily breathed on by a speed shop by the name of Stereo Pak in Cincinnati to the tune of about $6,000. Now this may not sound like much money today, but remember 4grand would buy you the muscle car of your choice then.
Now I knew what the kid had, but he and his crew had done a masterful job of hiding it. First of all the engine was orange…when I say the engine was orange I mean ALL THE ENGINE WAS ORANGE the heads, valve covers, Edelbrock intake (with the name removed) carb, distributor, alternator and all the lines and hoses were sprayed rattle can orange. His guys bragged they painted it orange pissed on it, poured a whole bottle of Ripple on it then stabbed it with the crash boxed m-22 4 speed transmission. The car had steel wheels all around and slicks on the back, everything tires, and all had been painted with red oxide primer.
There’s no telling how much money was bet on that race, but it’s safe to saw it was a record for the day. I personally had $1000 bet which was a months pay back then. McDonald looked my car over as closely as I had his. There was never a question about land this was as much about bragging rights, as it was the money. We decided on a location for the race. The local street race site was just a few miles away, north of town on Rte 4 a lonely strip of road on the way to Germantown.
As soon as The Cincinnati Kid and I left, the parking lot emptied out. By the time we had lined the cars up for the first race there were cars lined up on both sides of the road for the entire ¼ mile and then some. We both heated the tires and lined up, at the flag drop I jumped out and took the lead, but at each jerk of the shifter the Chevelle inched closer and closer and in the last few feet Jack slowly eased by me.
Race #2 started out the same way, but I had come out a little harder and had a bigger lead as the Chevelles cubes started working, each shift bring him a little closer. First race Jack by half a car, 2nd race Bart by half a car. We were even at one up!! We had lined up for the third and deciding race when the night sky light up with the lights of the Ohio State patrol. Jack and I both took off and as we did a solid ½ mile of traffic closed the road behind us. The cops never had a chance of getting either one of us!!
Continued...
[QUOTE=BlackBart;5736713]
Many many years ago in a Galaxy Far Away…ok it wasn’t another galaxy it was Just Ohio, but it was definitely far away from my current home in Texas. Street Racin was a sport of gentlemen and piss-headed kids!! The year was 1970 and the place was a small town named Middletown Ohio. Like all towns of the time we had a main cruise/meeting place. Ours was a local burger hangout complete with carhops called the Kountry Kitchen. The cruise was between the Frisches restaurant and the “Kitchen”, with the Kitchen being the main hangout.
There was a hierarchy in the parking arrangements. The back row was strictly for the heavy hitters, built GTO’s Chevelles and the odd 442 or Road Runner. The closer you got to the restaurant the lower your status. The two closest rows to the restaurant were saved for the cars with families and kids. Nobody cruised that row. It kept the peace to leave the families alone and kept the owner off our Asses.
On any given night you could see legitimate 9 and 10-second cars. More than one was a present or former NHRA record holder. There was an old 60’s Vette that had a stroked Pontiac engine. It was a former A/MP record holder and when the owner was driving through nobody left their drinks on the window trays, because the vibrations and resonance caused by that big Poncho engine would take the drinks and anything else on the tray and deposit it on the ground. But he never street raced the Vette he just liked to cruise it every once in a while. Guys with Stockers and Super stockers would throw on a pair of header mufflers and cruise decals, lettering, and all.
I was top dog of the area. My 67 Camaro with the L-88 427, Old style Edelbrock Tunnel Ram (looked like a big rectangular box) was unbeaten. The engine had been to Ault and James shop in Dayton for more than a little work. The car had an olds rear end 5.38 gears, a spool and a pair of Henry’s axles. All the fast cars then had 4-speeds. My car had a M-22 that had been crashed boxed by removing the synchros, throwing away the brass and grinding away every other tooth on the sliders and gears. The prerequisite lake wood blow shield and Hayes racing clutch were present. Hi stall converters had yet to be invented, or at least were relatively unknown; so all the fast cars were 4 speeds. The guys that raced autos used two techniques to launch their cars. Neutral starts (revving the engine to 4 or 5,000 rpm and dropping the trans in drive and flooring it at the same time) or Spin starts (holding the line lock and spinning the slicks while the lights came down [effective. But not very consistent]) were the way the guys raced autos. Neither method worked on the street so the 4 speeds were king.
Every region had their top dog and our reputations were well known. My car was recognized on sight. Black 67 Camaro RS, no hood big box looking tunnel ram sticking out of the hood, two Holleys with 6 inch aluminum stacks, gorgeous black lacquer paint. Radiused rear wells with the biggest slicks available with Cragar SS mags all round. I used to call it “Old Belchfire” because the first time in the cool weather you tried to start the engine it would backfire and the twin balls of fire would rise about 3 feet in the air. This seemed to warm up everything OK because the car would start up and run cleanly right after. My car was a looker, but with a reputation so no one would race me.
50 miles to the south was the big city of Cincinnati home to Jack McDonald or the Cincinnati Kid. The Mac Daddy of southern Ohio. Dave had a beater looking 66 Chevelle SS with a built to the hilt LS-7. Like me Dave had never been beat, like me he was known and nobody would race him.
People knew of both cars and started speculating which car was fastest. Soon both groups, the Cincinnati bunch, and the Miamisburg (where I lived) Middletown folks started ragging on each other about which car was faster and after a while it appeared a face-off was inevitable. It was finally arranged that we would meet at the Kountry Kitchen on a Saturday Night.
Everybody knew about the race so traffic was unusually heavy. I arrived first and the rear row of the Kitchen was packed not an empty space. But this was not a problem; I just slowly cruised through till I stopped in front of a kid in a stock GTO. As I sat there and rapped the throttle a few times the message was clear “ I have important business tonight, get out of my parking place!!!” The kid got the message and almost spilled the drinks in his girlfriends lap getting out of my way. The big 4-inch exhaust made from diesel truck pipes and exiting just in front of the rear wheels reverberated and blew trash away from the car as I backed into the parking place. A press of the speaker button and 2 Vanilla Cokes were on the way as we settled down to wait for the Cincinnati Kid.
We had been there about 30 minutes when the Kid showed up. At first I didn’t recognize him, I just thought it was some goober in the ugliest Chevelle I ever saw. He stopped in front of me and didn’t say a word just rapped the engine twice. No words were necessary the sound of power coming from the engine said it all!!! Jack pulled out on the street and went to an empty parking lot about a mile down the street. As he left I pulled out and the entire back 4 rows left the drive in. The Kountry Kitchen emptied out and the parking lot filled up with my Camaro and the Cincinnati Kids Chevelle being parked nose-to-nose smack dab in the middle of it.
I could see how the Chevelle got its reputation as a sleeper, because as good looking, as my car was this thing was ugly! Not only was the car ugly, but also great pains had been taken to make it really ugly!!! The car was an ugly brown, no hood. The front bumper was gone and the grill was wired on with old electrical wiring. The body was dented everywhere and the drivers side quarter panel was missing from the middle of the wheel well to the rear bumper. You could see right into the trunk!! The inside of the car was just as bad old black vinyl bench seats with the passenger side seat back broken and lying on the rear seat. Inside the trash was everywhere, level to the tops of the bench seats. The ancient Hurst shifter was heated and bent so many times the chrome was gone and the finish looked like it had come from a dump. There were only 2 gauges in the car an old-time Sun tach and an oil pressure gauge whose line ran directly through a bullet hole in the windshield to the engine. And the engine AHHHH what an engine Ls7 with fully ported heads that had been heavily breathed on by a speed shop by the name of Stereo Pak in Cincinnati to the tune of about $6,000. Now this may not sound like much money today, but remember 4grand would buy you the muscle car of your choice then.
Now I knew what the kid had, but he and his crew had done a masterful job of hiding it. First of all the engine was orange…when I say the engine was orange I mean ALL THE ENGINE WAS ORANGE the heads, valve covers, Edelbrock intake (with the name removed) carb, distributor, alternator and all the lines and hoses were sprayed rattle can orange. His guys bragged they painted it orange pissed on it, poured a whole bottle of Ripple on it then stabbed it with the crash boxed m-22 4 speed transmission. The car had steel wheels all around and slicks on the back, everything tires, and all had been painted with red oxide primer.
There’s no telling how much money was bet on that race, but it’s safe to saw it was a record for the day. I personally had $1000 bet which was a months pay back then. McDonald looked my car over as closely as I had his. There was never a question about land this was as much about bragging rights, as it was the money. We decided on a location for the race. The local street race site was just a few miles away, north of town on Rte 4 a lonely strip of road on the way to Germantown.
As soon as The Cincinnati Kid and I left, the parking lot emptied out. By the time we had lined the cars up for the first race there were cars lined up on both sides of the road for the entire ¼ mile and then some. We both heated the tires and lined up, at the flag drop I jumped out and took the lead, but at each jerk of the shifter the Chevelle inched closer and closer and in the last few feet Jack slowly eased by me.
Race #2 started out the same way, but I had come out a little harder and had a bigger lead as the Chevelles cubes started working, each shift bring him a little closer. First race Jack by half a car, 2nd race Bart by half a car. We were even at one up!! We had lined up for the third and deciding race when the night sky light up with the lights of the Ohio State patrol. Jack and I both took off and as we did a solid ½ mile of traffic closed the road behind us. The cops never had a chance of getting either one of us!!
Continued...