Page 5 - 1961 LCJH Falcon

THE DRAG RACE

I'm sitting quietly listening to the low rumble of the
engine while glancing at the starter lights; red, red, red,
red, green.
Suddenly the squalling blast of the tires contrasting
with an unbearable roar of the engine fills my ears, the
smell of burning rubber fitting my nose, smoke from the
burning tires in my eyes, one hand on the wheel, one hand
on the Hurst four-speed shifter.
I glance at the speedometer; 120, 140, 160, 180, 190.
Suddenly I hear an explosion. I have the feeling I'm slid-
ing side ways. Goose chills go all over me. The next thing
I know I'm flying through the air toward the stadium.
Everyone is screeming bloody murder.
I'm crashing and rolling. The world is spinning around
me. It's all over now, but is it? I glance back at the sta-
dium, everyone is confused, screaming and yelling. I real-
ize what I have done. I say a short prayer. An ambulance
heads toward my car, which is all in shambles, no longer
worth even a plugged nickel.
It's been five years now, and although I have a new drag-
ster, the thought runs through my mind of the bloody slaugh-
ter; the blood of eleven people on my hands. Often I have
nightmares of that day on the strip. Will I ever forgive
myself?

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