Johnnie's was a bust; there just weren't that many cars out that would make it worth staying in town any longer. We were at a traffic light about a block west of Johnnie's and a '61 or '62 Corvette roadster pulled up next to us. I have to tell you a little something about Speedway in Tucson. On the weekends it is heavily "cruised" (another word from my past that has been destroyed in common usage...back in the day cruising had nothing to do with homosexuals) by gearheads of all ages, high schoolers, college students, twenty-somethings, and older. Johnnie's was a drive-in restaurant that was always teeming with cool cars, their occupants either parked and sucking down milk shakes, eating burgers, talking loud about their own cars and checking out other cars... or driving in circles around the lot looking for a parking slot. Speedway was heavily patrolled by the local and state police, but even so, there was always a lot of "light to light" action up and down the street, because even the cops couldn't be everywhere at once. So, now you know that, I'll tell you the rest.

The Corvette was a "work-in-progress". It needed paint, lots of it, and there were some missing trim pieces and other little flaws. But the guy obviously had his priorities straight because there was a huge four-barrel carb sitting on top of an aluminum hi-rise manifold sticking out through a hole in the hood. It sounded pretty mean, too. Gordy started bugging me to race with the 'Vette. I resisted because that late at night, there was less competition for police attention. The light changed and we started off at a normal pace. Gordy was still bugging me; he wanted to see the 'Vette run.

When the guy in the Corvette looked over his shoulder and sneered at us, then punched it...squealing tires, roaring exhaust, huge vacuum from the carb...it was too much to resist. I floored it. My little '65 GTO had a very close-ratio four-speed so I was out of first gear almost immediately. But it was the sound of my Tri-Power kicking in that got the 'Vette driver's attention. When he looked back over his shoulder this time, the sneer was gone and his eyebrows were approaching his hair line (thanks, Matt). We drew even in second, and when I hit third we leaped out ahead. I topped out in third (around 85 mph) and we were more than a car length ahead. Then the red lights started flashing, about a quarter mile behind us...the race was over. I down-shifted, stabbed the brakes, then turned right onto the next street. I went one block and turned right again, heading back the way I came, one block north of Speedway. I killed my lights and ran three or four blocks as fast as I could, then slowed to residential speed and put my lights back on. Glancing right as we crossed another side street, we saw two cop cars blasting west on Speedway, lights flashing and sirens wailing. I don't know what happened to the Corvette; I think he turned left when I turned right, but I only had a sense of that, I didn't see it.

We were amped up the rest of the night. The drive to Huachuca was 71 miles from the parking lot at Arizona Hall (U of A) to the main gate. It was normally a pretty sleepy drive, especially late at night after a busy weekend. That night we laughed and talked the whole way, enough adrenaline and more to keep us humming. I remember that summer night in 1967 like it was yesterday, and the memory that is brightest is seeing the look on Corvette-boy's face when we walked past him...like the commercial says: "Priceless".