I drove back to the relative safety of Market Street where everyone was cruising and decided to park in front of the Firestone Tire. I was just hanging out, listening to 94.7 KMET on my Pioneer Super Tuner, and before long I saw Jim in his Camaro on the cruise circuit. I shouted to him and he flipped a bitch and pulled up to where I was parked. He jumps out of his car and says "Where the heck did you go?" I explained that I was checking out my car when I saw the bust going down and got the hell out of there. Jim told me he got a ticket for "spectating" as he was already pulled over on the side of the road when the cops showed up. Luckily he was outside his car so I guess they couldn't prove he was driving. I was already on the verge of losing my license with all the exhibition of speed tickets that I had. I think the only reason that I still had my license was that my dad knew the Juvenile Court judge. The last time I was in front of him he warned me that if I got one more ticket I would lose my license for 6 months! I was already skating on thin ice and had almost got busted! As Jim and I were standing there bullshitting we saw multiple tow trucks go by, towing cars that were down at North Main! We were wondering why they were taking them this way, as it was packed with cruisers, and then it dawned on us. They were parading them down Market Street to send a message to all the other racers!
Even with my close call and the intimidation parade orchestrated by Riverside's finest, the next weekend we still went down to North Main! Our reasoning was that the Police were too busy to schedule a raid two weekends in a row. It turned out that we were either right or just got lucky, but the racing that next weekend was crazy. The turnout was massive. It seems like word had spread about the Police raid and that brought even more people out, both spectators and racers. I had gotten there early in anticipation of getting some racing action. Lots of guys were checking out my Chevelle but to my surprise I couldn't get a race! It turned out that word had also spread about me beating Jim's Camaro. This was the evening that I remember seeing the first trailered cars show up. I knew better than to ask for a race but I still wanted to check them out, so I acted like I was interested. One of the cars was a 1955 Ford Thunderbird, but it was basically just the body on a tube chassis. It was running a big block Ford with an automatic trans, 9 inch rear end with wheelie bars. The other trailered car was a late 40's English Ford Anglia with a 6-71 blown Chevy small block, automatic trans, and a radically shortened 9 inch, also with wheelie bars. Both of these were full blown race cars! As far as I know, this was a first for North Main and it showed how serious the racing was becoming. I got to talking with the car's owners and it turned out they both drove out from Whittier. These guys were pretty cool and they had pretty much just brought their cars out to show them off. They did fire up the Anglia and back it off the trailer, but it did not make a pass that night. There were plenty of races going down so there was no lack of action. One race in particular that I was looking forward to, and one that had been talked up for weeks, was between Livingston with his 67 Chevelle and Morgan with his Ford Courier pickup. The Chevelle was running a 327 V-8 and a Doug Nash 5 speed. The Courier had a 2.3 liter turbo charged 4 cylinder. A lot of people thought that the Chevelle would trample the Courier, but a few, myself included, knew that that Ford Courier was no stock pickup. Not only did it have plexiglass windows, but the owner/builder had the nickname "Turbo Joe", and this was not his first rodeo! The night turned out to be a bust because Turbo Joe didn't show up, so we would have to wait some more to see this match. Livingston raced a few cars that night and beat them hands down. His high compression, roller cammed small block was well known and tough to beat.
The next weekend the crowd at North Main had really surged in size, I think partially in anticipation of the Livingston/Morgan race. There were also at least four trailered cars there! People were standing 3 and 4 deep when Turbo Joe pulled up to the line next to Livingston. Everyone wanted to see this race! The Chevelle came off the line hard and got a little squirrely, whereas the Courier took off like a slingshot. Mid track, the Chevelle caught the Courier and I thought it was over at that point, but to the surprise of many, the Courier and Chevelle stayed neck and neck almost to the end. I say almost because some (like me) saw Livingston pull ahead right at the end, but others said Turbo Joe inched him. The spotter that was at the finish line said it was too close to call. They would just have to race again! Unfortunately it would not be tonight, as the Courier had developed a misfire and Morgan had to take it home. Livingston was adamant that he had won and was really wanting that rematch. He had the hood up on the Chevelle and a lot of people were standing around it while he was talking some serious smack. I saw an opportunity and, in front of everybody, challenged him to a race. Now he had also heard that I had beaten Jim's Camaro, which was also small block powered, but I don't think he believed the story. In fact, I had heard that he referred to my big block as a "boat anchor"! He didn't answer me right away so I decided to throw down the gauntlet and said "What's the matter, afraid of getting beat by a boat anchor?" That did it and he shot me a look and said "I'll see you at the line!"
I beelined back to my Chevelle and checked a few things under the hood as well as lower the rear tire pressure. I fired up the big block and proceeded over to the starting line. We didn't have to wait long before it was our turn. The scene was surreal. Two radical Chevelles inching up to the line, our lopey camshafts chopping up the cold night air and snorting fumes out our exhaust pipes, like a horse's breath through its nostrils. This was a rat versus mouse, 4 speed against 5 speed, high school rivalry revisited, all out balls to the wall race. I am watching the guy staging us and start to rev my engine to just under three thousand rpm. Tonight he was using a flash light instead of his arms because of how dark it was out. The seconds seemed like minutes as I found myself wanting to look over at Livingston, but knew better, lest I miss the light. Suddenly there was the light, and I simultaneously dumped the clutch and mashed down the accelerator pedal. My big block roared, his small block screamed, both of us grabbing gears like our life depended on it. I glanced over once and saw Livingston's headlights, which meant I was pulling on him! With my adrenaline rushing, I shifted at 7500 rpm and stabbed the final gear home. I beat Livingston by a good car length, further cementing my Chevelles street cred. I was no sooner parked when Livingston rushed up to me demanding a rematch. Others soon chorused him, wanting to see us race again, even though there was still a bunch of racing going down. What I really wanted to do was a thorough check over on my Chevelle before I raced it again. The last thing I needed was to damage my motor! Before I could answer him, a loud bang was heard, followed by metallic grinding noises. Everyone's attention immediately shifted to the race that was happening, a 390 powered Ford truck versus a 400 small block Chevy 4x4. The driver of the Chevy decided to race the truck in four wheel drive and proceeded to grenade the trucks transfer case, which caused the front driveshaft to break loose and launch into the engines oil pan. The resulting mess of oil, gear lube, and metal shrapnel spread across the road like the Exxon Valdez oil spill. And just as quickly, the racing was over for the night.
I hopped into the Chevelle and headed towards Market Street where I knew the cruising action would be hot. All the spots were full in front of the Firestone so I decided to cruise for awhile. There were a lot of cars cruising that I did not recognize and that explained why it was so packed. There must have been a bunch of out-of-towners that showed up tonight. As I'm cruising I see Chuck, a buddy of mine from High School, hanging out on one of the street corners. He is holding up a sign that says "I can lick my eyebrows" and trying to hitch a ride with any female cruiser. I honk my horn, point at him and start laughing! Chuck was crazy and always good for a laugh. I had finally completed the cruise circuit and the Firestone lot was still full, so I headed down to park at Carl's Jr. I was hungry anyways so I decided to kick back inside of Carl's while I scarfed down a Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger. It wasn't long before Jim found me. He sat down and started eating what was left of my fries. I asked him if he had seen my race but he told me that he had to work late and had just gotten down there. I recapped the race for Jim and he wanted to go find Livingston and race him with his Camaro! I then told him about the accident and the mess that it left. I said it would be at least a week before any racing would be happening at North Main, maybe longer if the police decided to pay a visit again. We talked about how risky it was getting and I told him I didn't know how much longer I would be going down to North Main because I couldn't risk losing my license. Jim then told me about a new place he had heard about where there was street racing going on. The street was at least a mile long and was located in a new industrial park on the other side of town, close to Orco Block. He told me he drove over there on his lunch break to see for himself and the street was almost perfectly flat with fresh blacktop. Now he had me curious and we decided to both go and check it out next weekend. "We might have to race to see how good it is." I said to him. "You're on!" Jim said, with a mischievous grin on his face.
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