Racing against a clock is fun, but nothing compares to lining up on a stripe, looking over at an opponent, and wondering if you can beat them in a race. Of course they’re looking at you the same way. As they Beach Boys sang in Little Deuce Coupe, “You don’t know what I got.”

That was the whole point of hot rod racing. You’d work in a secluded garage, pushing the limits of the performance of your car and yourself. You’d come up with an idea to lower the weight or increase the torque or make the tires hang on to the pavement a little harder, and you’d bang on the car until it was made real. If you were lucky, you’d get a chance to take it out to a track and test out your theory, but if you were like a lot of shade tree mechanics, the race was the only test you got. There’s a reason you see men furiously turning spanners five minutes before race time. You’re not finished until the flag drops.

And comin’ off the line when the light turns green
Well she blows ’em outta the water like you never seen
I get pushed out of shape and it’s hard to steer
When I get rubber in all four gears

You don’t know what I got, because I’m not exactly sure. Racing was wonderful then.