There was a GI from Fort Huachuca that cruised around Tucson in his '67 SS-396 Chevelle. He would rev his engine at you and flip you off and engage in other anti-social behavior. He had a tattoo on his right butt-cheek, if that helps you visualize some of that behavior. I didn't like the guy and for some reason, he and his buddies didn't like me. Sigh.

So it was after dark and I was sitting at a light on Speedway, when guess who pulled up beside me? He was revving his engine and being his usual charming self. I glanced in my mirror and saw a Tucson police car come out of a side street behind us with his lights turned off (for some reason, Arizona cops like to sneak up on you at night without any lights on...do they teach them that at the desert school of sneaky?). The Chevelle driver apparently didn't notice the police presence as he kept up his silliness. A little light went on in my tiny little brain...I looked over at Chevelle-boy and made eye contact, smiled, and revved up my little Goat. This sign of acceptance made the Chevy-boy all that more excited. He revved his motor so hard he had that little Chevelle rocking. I revved back and started watching the light. It went green. The Chevelle stormed out in a cloud of rubber smoke, screaming and squealing and roaring. I rolled out like grandma on her way to church. The cop pulled next to me, gave me a short shake of the head, hit his lights and took off after Speed-Racer. I passed them a few blocks later; it appeared as though Chevelle-boy was having some difficulty performing the monkey-drill so I guess that "exhibition of speed" was the least of his problems that night. It was my favorite non-racing drag race ever.