Around Western and Florence, it was noticeably tougher. Some of the damage from the recent riots started to rear its horny head. A burned out shop here and there gave the little one-story/mom & pop business area the look of a mouth with a few missing teeth. Don't forget that later, in 1992, the last big outbreak in L.A., the flashpoint was Florence and Normandie, exactly one stop light away from Western.

I look back on it and still am amazed that we attempted this jog. Not only were the neighborhoods tougher, but as we started to go further, I'd swear I saw occupants staring with mouths agape at Richie Cunningham and Potzie buzzing through South Central L.A. on a motorbike with a motor the size of your thumb.

Looking back on that odd memory. I think we'd have really gotten a rise out of the locals if we parked the bike, gave $5 and a tip for purchase of beer to one of the guys in the bottle gangs that sat on milk crates along the edge of the many liquor stores there. No doubt, "rise" as in strung up with our luck.

In addition to the pipe dreams, Ernie and I noticed the weather. We had clear skies, but as we got near Western and Artesia, near the old Ascot dirt oval, the winds picked up significantly. By the time, we started to get near the oil tank farm-rich Wilmington/Carson area where the track was, the environs were more sparsely settled, and the wind hit us unimpeded. We had everything we could do to get the bike to 25 mph.

We'd both tuck down, nearly in a fetal position, trying to improve on our aerodynamic distress, but it wasn't much help. However, winds aside, we did manage to get to the track by 4 p.m., in plenty of time for an hour of qualifying and the race itself.

The winds weren't done with us yet, though. When we parked our valiant warrior, we noticed that no one was running, the stands had only a few hundred people in them, and that the drivers were out on the track walking around and looking things over. And while all this was going on, we noticed at certain intervals, clouds of dust blowing over the Lions surface near the more exposed top end.

Ernie and I could see the handwriting on the wall: It was going to be too windy to run the cars. Even though I'd never been to a blown out race, I knew there was a first time for anything.

We sat in the grandstands, not saying all that much. I probably piped in with a "If the winds can kick up, then maybe they'll kick down."

Ernie's look bordered more on an Oliver Hardy, "Here's another fine mess you've gotten me into."

We had been at the track for only an hour when the tower crew announced that the plug had been pulled and a new date would be published soon.

It was a real shame, especially after what I had seen in the pits headed toward the parking lot. The Beebe Bros.-Vinson-Sixt, the Leland Kolb-driven Howard Cam Spl., Rick Stewart in the Adams & Wayre dragster, Tom McEwen in the Yeakel Plymouth Spl., Harry Payne in Joe Winters' "Swinger I," and Mike Snively with Ed Pink's "Old Master" were just a few of the Southern Chapter cars, while the North had Jim Herbert's "Lizard," Gary Ormsby's "Vagabond," Roy Dunn in the Winther & Dunn dragster, Robert Hall in the full-bodied Kellison Spl., Don Argee, and Jim Brandy's "Giant Killer" injected Chevy were some of the representatives from the top half of the state.

"Well, whadoowe do, compadre?"

Ernie gave me a withering look and muttered something about its getting dark and we had a long way to get home ... which, three hours later we did, tongues hanging out.

Did I learn anything from my journey with Ernie? I sure did. In February of 1966, UDRA held a giant three-day Winter Championships Top Fuel/Top Gas extravaganza. Every car in the country was there and I didn't have a ride, sooooo I took the Honda.

And I did get to see a goodly number of cars run ... before it rained late Saturday afternoon.

You talk about hardcore? Ooooo Weeeeee!

When Martin moved back to L.A. he left a couple of boxes of stuff. Wading through the boxing magazines, old telephone bills from 1983 and dirty socks, we came across this photo. We don't know what year it was taken, but it will give you an idea of what little Chrissie looked like when this story took place. Besides, he's out of the office now and we get to make fun of him if we want to. --KB

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