In mere seconds, my madcap hero's machine skittered off the starting line and bolted uphill in a blur - as the only machine of the day which left a pair of black stripes in its path. I can also recall something that was yelled out, possibly from a bystander or official, above the noise of crying children and swearing parents. "Throw him out, we don't need any hot rodders here," or something like that.

It was then, and there, that I gained some sense of what those photos of tire-smoking "rail" dragsters were doing, as I has just experienced a hot rod launch, firsthand!

My dad, who seemed to be equally non-amused, was bombarded all the way home with requests to take me to the local track, Lions Drag Strip, which ironically, was located only a couple of miles on the other side of Signal Hill.

Well, his answer was always an emphatic "No", until I discovered the power of bartering - and philosophy. "Why do you like those Hot Rod Magazines," I asked, "not to mention your need to purchase for a new Mustang the past couple of years," I'd query. His answer was always the same. "We're not going," he would reason, "because for one thing, it costs too much money to go."

Nevertheless, I had been severely bitten by the nitro bug, and there was literally no way I would be denied. And it all came to fruition a couple of weeks later, when walking home from high school. In an odd twist of fate, a green, injected roadster called "Super Pickle" was on display in front of a newly-opened Cole's supermarket. It literally stopped me in my tracks, which must have garnered the attention of its overly-bored owner, who happened to be Phil Miller, who would later campaign the Miller-Moore AA/Fuel Altered, "The Mob."

"Ever go to the drags?" I recall him asking me. "No, my dad won't take me, because he says it costs a lot of money," was my answer. Miller then stood up, and reached into his pocket. "I've been here for hours and nobody's stopped by," he began. "Here, he's got no excuses now," he went on, while handing me a large stack of complimentary Lions tickets.

Several weeks later, in mid-October 1969, my dad caved in to the demands and I made my first visit to an "official" dragstrip, of which Lions will always hold treasured memories. There, under the lights, I saw the whole drag racing puzzle unfold before my eyes. There, I saw exactly what those tire-moking "rail" dragsters were doing, specifically demonstrated in a match race between "Mister C" Gary Cochran and Tom "Mongoose" McEwen. Also on tap was a huge field of injected Junior Fuel dragsters, wheelstanding injected Funny Cars, plus AA/Gas Supercharged roadsters.

It was an assault on the senses; the smell of popcorn, hot dogs and nitro, plus the myriad of stickers, wallet photos and posters. It was as simple as a cup of hot chocolate - and a rolled up copy of Drag News in my back pocket. And it was bravery, as I soon found myself beneath the pit side grandstands, next to the huge Lions sign, where only the most strong-willed would venture - a scant few feet from the machine's roaring, flame-spewing pipes!

Here I am at the drags, with Harry Hibler blowing a drivetrain to bits, including clutch disk whizzing past me.

Yes, my first time came weeks apart. A multi-stage experience, you might say. In hindsight, I never did attend another hill climb at Signal Hill. And sadly, I never saw my German helmet-wearing Model-T hero race at Lions, or any other Southern California drag race, for that matter.

What a shame, as I never got a chance to thank him for sinking the hook in, all the way to the bone.

But, I did see Phil Miller several years ago, and he got a good laugh out of it. "Those were some fun days," he mused. "The good ol' days."

They were the best days, indeed. And, at least I can prove -- that it's been all downhill since.

Copyright 2001, Drag Racing Online and Racing Net Source