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I didn't want to race at night because I was tired of racing in the dark on those skinny country roads with cars capable of 10-second passes at the drag strip. We had no roll bars or any other protection. Six o'clock on a hot August Sunday seemed like the perfect time to me. The law was never out on a Sunday afternoon and the traffic was always at a minimum in West Texas on church-day evening. There was a local guy that was the designated starter of all official “Lubbock Street Races,” and we had nicknamed him Fonzie because he had the striking resemblance to Henry Winkler of "Happy Days." Fonz had a 1967 Camaro that was pretty quick. I'd raced him several times. Anyway, I remember showing up with my car on a trailer and taking a little heat for it. I had been out at the drag strip Saturday night making damn sure this car was ready--actually I had been at the drag strip every Friday and Saturday with this car the whole summer finding every ounce of ET and MPH I could. There is something about the unknown that always keeps you on the edge and I knew of several cars that had tried to outrun that Chevelle and had failed. Like I said, that car had never seen official time clocks at the strip, but it had made hundreds of passes down the West Texas farm roads. It was fast.

They wanted to race for more money than I had. I think it was $500. I was a starving college student and working part time. I spent my last paycheck on a Powerglide and a used convertor for this Camaro. My dad loaned me the money for the race and told me one way or the other you are paying me back. I handed the money to a guy I had known for most of my of school days and I remember thinking (A) he's big and mean enough to be a bouncer at any bar in town, (B) he's best friends with the owner of the Chevelle, (C) he never really liked me from day one, and (D) I’m screwed!

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