Dragsters pushed down in front of the crowd... lanes swapped as they turn around in front of the finish line ... crews out for one last check.

Then the sound of the cars being pushed back towards the starting line at speed ... rattling tin ... cold clutch disks squeak and chatter ... the chugging sound of compression.

The suddeness of engines firing ... sometimes bursting to life at the very last second Next the turnaround behind the line ... both cars at a mean idle - swapping lanes again.

Drivers eyes meet as they cross ... sometimes a nod ... sometimes nothing Then the starting line dance ... tuners tweek barrel valves ... glancing at each other ... give the throttle a rap ... masters of the phyc-out.

Crew wiping slicks ... drivers looking straight ahead A pat on the hat ... a wave - and the cars pull forward R's up ... and the flag drops!

by Fred Vosk
http://bikesters.com

I had a dream when I was eight, and at that time there were many for me to emulate Names like Parnelli, AJ, and Heath; wow, if I could only be that great.

I told the world when I was ten, that someday I would drive to win From east to west they would know my name, racing would be my claim to fame.

Open wheels seemed the way to go, how was a kid of ten supposed to really know The next year I was running a cart, really trying to play the part.
I had heard of running a figure eight, but I'd never heard of racing straight, I went to the Beach on a cold night in November, it was a night I'll always remember.

Then the earth shook in '59, and the Patch became famous for all time Forty-one years later my dream unfolded as that little purple car exploded.
My crew had really come around; as we won, round after round The day was ours, and it was neat; that little purple car could just not be beat.

To run the quarter in less than eight; I never knew it would be that great Runs in the sixes are now the goal, it will take speeds of 200 to get the poll.
I don't know where this will end, but my will to go quicker will never end.

Life will never be mundane as long as nitromethane can be a part of the game Never grow up, never get old; and always live your dreams I'm not special and I'm sure not rich; but I live each day and am one lucky son-of-bitch.

by Jim Davis

As the glowing sun sets on yet another day, and twilight begins to emerge, you can hear the soft song of the crickets as the sing their songs of love to the nite sky. An eerie glow is cast into the night sky… as you step closer to it a pungent odor fills the air… the smell of acid and flux… there is a fine mist of smoke coming from the cave like dwelling… the sizzling sound of molten metal makes its way to your ears. As you peer into the entryway… a strange figure is illuminated by the shower of sparks that silhouette him against the backdrop of metal that he is inhabiting. He is a master, a magician if you will. He creates sculptures from the metal that his hands hold so lovingly. His staff is welding rod… his magical spell is woven into the intricate shapes that he creates. He is surrounded by a shower of sparks that dance upon the floor like firefly's dancing in the night air. His face is not visible for he wears a warrior's helmet that protects him from the small bits of metal and fire that are emitted from his staff…. He indeed is a magical site to behold.. and suddenly the shower of sparks stop… he lifts his helmet to reveal eyes that are as blue as a summer sky.. His eyes twinkle… he grasps his creation with clawlike appendages that hold in them the very essence of his life. He can be found hours on end in his world… his world that is filled with laughing bits of lite… pools of molten metal that cascade down the bare metal that he works with. He works alone at nite… but he is never lonely for the sparkles of light keep him company… his eyes twinkle with their brightness. His face is kind… caring… his arms are strong from carrying skeleton like pieces of metal that he will hoard during the daylight hours. He creates masterpieces that are the essence of his very soul. His creations range in size from the very small to the large… each piece painstakingly created during the nite time hours… the nite that he lurks in. They are strong, much like his soul… they are beautifully etched and sculpted much like his rippling muscles that can be seen through his shirt. He looks up at the intrusion into his world… nods and smiles… and when he smiles.. The world lights up… his kind features become even softer… his eyes that are like blue pools light up… they twinkle in the night. Much like the small sparks that lay on the floor at his feet…. Then with one swift motion he puts his helmet down… arches his arms… braces his hands and the magic once again unfolds… the master of the metal is in his domain… his world… his world of metal sculpture, beautiful pieces that are created from deep within his heart.. And unlike the stars that shine above… his soul is so much brighter.. His eyes have more twinkle… for he is in his world of creation… his magical kingdom of metal… for he is the master of the metal~~~~~~~~~~

by Laurie Watts

A call to the lanes came from the tower, It seems like we've been waiting here for well over an hour.

The competition I know we'll devour, Just as soon as I can unleash all this power.

My fire suit is zipped and my helmet is strapped, But just sitting in this car I feel kind of trapped.

As the shoulder harness is pulled tight, My mind is on cutting a really great light.

Fuel shut off is in, and the starter is spinning, The motor comes to life, and I know we'll keep on winning.

Into the water box I roll, I feel great today because we have the poll.

I block out all the starting line commotion, Now I get the sign for forward motion.

The tires start to smoke and the engine roars, This is the time my pulse rate really soars.

Now it's off the throttle and the car comes to a crawl, I keep the rpm's up so I can prevent a stall.

I get her in reverse and begin backing up, I stay in my tracks to insure hooking-up.

I get thumbs up from one of the team, As I inch the car forward and break the first beam.

The second beam is broken and I'm ready for the start, I'll wait to see color before I depart.

As the car leaves the line the front tires lift, Now I get myself ready for that high gear shift.

The guy on my left is right there in sight, I begin to pull forward and get the winning light.

I cross the line and hit the chute, This guy just got beat there can be no dispute.

Round one is over it's on to round two, I feel pretty good about being the shoe.

I stand by the car and wait for the crew, They won this race, that what's really true.

by Jim Davis

It's just a hunk of iron, that's all any of them are, But in the right hands, one can be built to perform well above par.

A 392 in the hands of a master, Can really be made to run a whole lot faster.
The secrets he employs, are held in his mind, There are lots of them out there, but never two of a kind.

The master alone, chooses each part, For what he is building, will become fire-breathing art.

He fits each peace, one by one, Even though this version may live for only one run.

When assembly is finished, and the adjustments complete, Only then will he allow his creation to compete.

Insert the starter, and squirt in some fuel, The master is finally ready; this guy is just way too cool.

The hemi responds, and shakes the night, Header flames dancin, and burning bright white.

The master watches briefly, to see the car leave, Then he heads for the trailer, and rolls up his sleeves.

by Jim Davis

The night was cool and crisp. The air was as good as it ever gets. A slight tailwind blowing straight down the track. One of those nights where you just knew something big was about to happen. Can't remember who was in the other lane as we inched toward the staging beams. A hush fell over the crowd as we eased up on the brake levers and lit the bottom two bulbs. I felt the goose bumps rise on the back of my neck as I stared down into the black hole of the night, the track dimly lit just to the finish, then only a single porch type light marking the lone turn-off of the 1200' shut-down. Focused back on the tree, they all went full yellow and time slowed to a crawl.

I stabbed the throttle and let off the brake. The front wheels came up and stayed about six inches off the strip as the tires gripped the surface and sent me hurtling into the night. The headers spewed their brilliant white & orange flames skyward and I welcomed that familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins as if it was pumped by one of Waterman's best fuel pumps. The car started to move around a bit but it was a familiar dance and this old girl always let me lead.

"Hot Damn!" I thought. This is better'n sex! Matter of fact, if sex was anyway near this good, I'd have a mighty sore Johnson. The front wheels came down about a thousand feet and just for a microsecond unloaded the rear. I guess that was enough, 'cause things went to hell real fast.

All of a sudden, time sped back up and I found myself starin' down the throat of the dragon. The flames were brilliant orange, and in the middle were white, so bright it hurt to look at them. I could see big chunks of dark stuff fly past as the Donovan 417 was sacrificed to the God of Fire. "Holy Shit!" I thought as the taste of fear rose up in the back of my throat, "On fire and can't see shit. Screamin' down the track at over 200. This ain't gonna end good!"

About then, another really big chunk came shooting out of the flames. I think it was the blower. I couldn't duck far enough and I can still picture it as it shattered my visor and bounced off my helmet. Then just black...total darkness. The only thing I could feel was the cooling effect of sweat evaporating from my forehead.

The darkness lifted a little and I raised my head and looked around to try to orient myself. I saw my wife with an angry look on her face. "What the hell is she doing here?" I thought. She had me by the shoulders and was saying something that I couldn't quite make out. I slung my head from side to side to clear out the haze and heard her saying, "Wake your ass up! That's the LAST TIME you're eating Mexican food before bedtime! It always gives you nightmares!"