It was probably after WWII when quarter-mile racing got going. James Dean comes to mind. By the time I was a teenager, racing was well established. Route 11, between Chester and Springfield was a favorite location to race.
On the flat near Fay Scott’s was my first real race. It was 1970 and I had just bought a 1970 Camaro SS at a dealership in Rutland. I drove home from Rutland, stopping now and then to burn rubber or go through the gears.
I had owned a 1964 SS Malibu and a 1966 Chevelle before, so I had some experience with Chevys. I pulled into the Springfield Plaza with my new Camaro about 11 p.m. The plaza in those days was the gathering place for young adults. On warm summer evenings, different groups of cars were positioned around the plaza.
The plaza was a popular hangout. It was a fun place to be, see muscle cars, sneak a beer, and yes, girls.
Billy Vaughn always had a muscle car, as well as a reputation for fast cars. I remember his license plate, “LXIX.” Parked in the plaza could be Corvettes, ’55 Chevys, Mopars, Fords, and Volkswagen beetles.
Some cars appeared as predators, as they slowly drove around the perimeter of the plaza, their headers rumbling. Someone would holler, “Let’s hear it.” Varoom! With tires squealing, off they would burn. It was an exciting time.
So, I pulled into the plaza with my new Camaro. Carl Albanese was there with his 1970 Z-28. Carl was an excellent driver with a very fast Z. I remember his Z was a dark color (maybe dark green) with two wide, white racing stripes over the hood.
Carl instantly challenged me to race. I accepted his challenge. Remember, I have only had the Camaro for a few hours. I had practiced some on the way home though. In first gear, the rear tires would burn and burn when you popped the clutch.
We drove out to the flat near Fay Scott’s on Route 11, followed by several cars that came to watch. Now it got exciting!
We lined up side by side, in the dark of night, headed toward Springfield. I was in the right lane and Carl in the left lane.
There was a kid our age that stood on the yellow line ten feet in front of us with his arms raised. The noise from the roaring engines was incredible. We watched the kid with his arms raised in our headlights. When he dropped his arms, off we went, tires squealing, and engines roaring.
I had my girl in the passenger’s seat as did Carl. Because my tires spun and spun in first gear, I started in second gear. If your tires are spinning you’re not going anywhere. In second gear the tires didn’t burn as much rubber.
I don’t remember now how fast I was going when I went into the curve by Stan Flint’s, but it must have been 90 or better. I left Carl behind, handily winning the race. Like Julius Caesar, I triumphantly returned to the plaza.
Carl drove in behind me. Boy was he pissed! He was yelling that I cheated by starting in second gear.
I raced near the Weston Priory a couple times. Another place we raced was out Route 121 from Bellows Falls. There was a long flat, straight section where we raced. I remember Marty Rush. I think he had a GTO. Bob Miller was never far away with his Corvette. There were others whose names have been lost to my memory.
I seem to recall hearing about a road race from Chester to Springfield. Those two cars raced, side by side, to Springfield in reverse, and on the old road! I’m not positive, but Jughead might have been involved.
Many kids came to the Plaza from surrounding towns. I remember a girl from Drewsville who drove a yellow Super Bee. That too was a fast car. And of course there were Roadrunners, beep, beep.
I don’t recall any crashes. I dropped a driveshaft one night on Route 121. I had yet to learn about backlash.
I was reminded of these days, the other day, when Tom Hildreth picked me up in his Mustang. Tom said, “You drive.” It felt good to accelerate with attitude, and go through the gears. I’m a little rusty, but still, I would love to get on it one more time.
This week’s old saying: “Drive like hell and you’ll get there.”