The Chi-Town Hustler does a burnout

And there were the Indiana State Police. They patrolled the area on foot, grim faced and sweating, carrying what looked like baseball bats. They were continually gathering up people having too much fun and putting them in a mobile jail, which was parked on the road leading to IRP's main gate.

Jimmy and I cruised around the entire perimeter of the track taking it all in. It was the biggest party we had ever seen in our lives and it was just Thursday! After about an hour of trying to find a campground that wasn't full or that we could afford and having no luck doing either, I decided to take a chance. We noticed that there were a few brave souls camped behind the low brick wall that lined the road into the main gate and that there was a spot behind the portable jail that didn't have a car on it. I drove the Vega through the bar ditch into the vacant spot behind the wall, Jimmy jumped out and pitched the tent in about five minutes, figuring that if we had a tent pitched we'd have squatters rights. We stayed there until Tuesday morning.

I think this is Baca with the full blow 'fro

For the next four days we wandered the pits during the day and the campgrounds at night. We got very little sleep, but then nobody apparently slept at the U.S. Nationals. We took cold showers, slept on hard ground, watched as every car coming past the main gate was forced to do burnouts in a variety of liquids, and met more drag racing fans than we had ever seen in our lives.

In those days they qualified 32 Top Fuel cars plus 16 Fuel Coupes not to mention nitro-burning, multi-engine bikes. There was plenty to watch and see on and off the track. That year Dennis Baca was the upset winner in Top Fuel; I saw Don Prudhomme at his best and fifty-year-old "Dyno Don" Nicholson beat an up and comer named Bob Glidden in Pro Stock.

At that race NHRA kindly allowed us to distribute our papers while we were photographing and meeting the heroes of drag racing. Jimmy and I also got our first taste of NHRA hospitality. Remember those meal tickets I mentioned earlier? Well, after a couple of days of camping out, cold showers, little sleep and baking in the heat and humidity of Indianapolis, Jimmy and I were pretty scruffy looking. One afternoon we decided to take advantage of our meal tickets and enjoy the AC and food in the tower at the top end. Jimmy and I climbed to the third floor and dutifully presented our tickets to the door guard. He reluctantly let us in. We immediately got some food, found a couple of seats and proceeded to eat and relax. At about this time an NHRA employee that I now call a friend but at that time didn't know me at all, took a look at Jimmy and me and demanded to know who we were and what were we doing in the hospitality suite. I explained who we were and he said, "Well, eat your food and get out."

Hell, looking back, I would have probably thrown us out too.