My Best Saturday Night Cruise
It was the
summer of 1966; I was 17 years old.
Saturday nights were never planned. At seventeen every moment was spontaneous. The small
North Carolina town I lived in had two major areas of interest for young
fellows like me....you either drag Main Street or go to Huey’s BBQ and the skating rink located behind Huey’s. Those were the popular hangouts for every guy and his car.
One
particular Saturday, I went to the carwash (another hangout) and cleaned up my '55 Chevy. It was a 327, 4-speed primer red hardtop that just begged to be driven
hard. The car was pretty well known among the hometown crowd and it was my pride
and joy. I paid $50.00 for the body and built everything myself, including the
engine, in my Dad's garage. He was an independent mechanic and coached me
through the build.
After the
car wash, I went home and cleaned up. It was getting about time to head to
By 8:00 p.m., about fifteen guys and their cars had gathered. The talk was engines and what new stuff had been added since last week and talking about the cars that went by. We watched hundreds of cars and riders go slowly by, blowing horns, yelling and playing their radios (that’s what we used to call stereos) loudly to try and overcome the loud exhaust drones. A few cops stopped by to see what we were up to and warned us against "spinning out" when we left.
Getting
bored, my brother and Melvin jumped in my '55 and we headed for Huey’s BBQ in
Mebane. When we got there, the curb
service lot was full, but we managed to squeeze in between a couple of cars. We
all ordered a BBQ sandwich, fries and a big iced tea. The girl brought our stuff on a
tray and hung it on the windows and we tipped her a quarter, which
was a good tip at the time. For an
hour we watched Chevys, Pontiacs, Fords, Oldsmobiles and you name it back
out from Huey’s and burn rubber. The thing was to impress all the onlookers,
but to do so without getting caught by the local cops. They (the cops) usually
parked at the carwash next to Huey’s or down the road at a small service
station. We kept them busy on
Saturday nights. Bear Hughes came up in his '62 Ford Galaxy (factory 427 4-speed
with three deuces) and started talking. Bear
was a buddy of mine he was a tobacco farmer in his late 20s; he drank liquor like water, was
single, red faced and had red hair. He
was 6' 5" and everyone was scared to death of him.
For me, it was good to have a buddy like Bear because nobody would mess
with me. We talked a lot at the
carwash and he had taken me to some of his hangouts.
I hadn't planned on driving to Hillsboro that night,
but getting ragged on from my older brother and others at Huey’s BBQ, we
jumped in the '55 and headed that way. It was getting late (about 10:00 pm) and I
kept telling them that the skating rink would be closed by the time we got
there, but we kept going. Soon we arrived at the rink and just a few cars were
parked around.
We rode up
to the where they were and started talking cars. Melvin asked if they knew about
some guy in a '50 Ford and everybody responded at once. They said,
"Oh you mean Ronnie's '50? That is the baddest car around." We asked if he would be coming
around and they said he had left earlier to head downtown.
My
brother and Melvin went on and on and on about finding this '50 and I finally
gave in. We headed for downtown
About that time, one of the guys that was at the skating rink stuck his head out the window and said, "We went and found Ronnie and told him you wanted to run him with your '55." He had two other guys in the car and they were talking a lot of trash. The more they talked, the madder I got and I agreed to the challenge. My brother and Melvin were elated, but I was scared to death.
There were no straight areas
in Hillsboro (that’s why it’s called "Hills"boro). Every narrow
street was like a roller coaster and I agreed to follow him to his
"best" location. We agreed to start at the 3rd horn blow and run for 3
blocks (we would need to look for the street light) as the finish line. Everyone
stayed in the cars and we lined up bumper to bumper. My legs were shaking so bad
I could hardly push the clutch pedal down and I wanted this to be over.
The horn sounded once, twice and the engine started to rev. At the third horn, I
completely forgot about being nervous and floored it. The narrow street looked
like a tunnel and all I could see was the street light at the 3rd block
location. All at once I heard, "There’s a cop back there," and I
nearly crapped myself. I turned off the headlights and turned right onto a
street and then into someone’s driveway. The '50 Ford had gone somewhere and
we sat there as quiet as a mouse.
I asked
where the cop was and Melvin said he was coming down the second street we had
passed. "I quickly thought and said, let’s get out and raise the hood like
we're working on something in case the cop comes by." Soon, a light came on at
the house and an older gentleman came out and asked what we were doing. I said,
"I think there is something wrong with the carburetors," and he
laughed. He then said, "I could hear you as plain as day awhile ago and it didn't
sound like you were having problems then (smiling)." About that time, the cop
came by slowly, backed up and pulled in behind us. My stomach was in my throat
and I just knew the guy whose driveway we "borrowed" was going to tell
on us. The cop came up and asked if we were the ones drag racing with the black
Ford. He informed us they caught him and gave him a ticket. Before I could respond, the old guy
spoke up and said....."Couldn't have been these young fellas; they've been here
over a half hour.....I've been helping him get his carburetor fixed so they can get
home."
It
was reported that I had that '50 Ford by several car lengths and the talk around the
skating rink in
All the usual suspects: Jim my older brother Melvin Me, I forgot I had dark hair
True story written by Mike Florence (fiftyfivegasser)
Mike,
I'll bet you're ready to do it all over again. Thanks for sharing the story and congratulations on winning!
Editor
