2000 Ford Mustang Cobra R

Meet Me On WoodwardCalling Detroit's Woodward Avenue "just another street" is akin to saying Mark McGwire is "just another hitter," or Carlos Santana is "a halfway decent guitar player." Woodward was where it happened. "It," of course, being good old-fashioned nighttime Detroit-style street racing. You know: Eye each other at the light, roll away at the green, then, when you're sure the other guy really wants to rumble-just mash it. Maybe a rubber-wasting, tear-inducing burnout or two to warm the skins-or perhaps as a mating call. Sometimes the stake was money or even the occasional pink slip. But most often, you just ran for pride.

"If you liked cars, you went to Woodward. It runs from downtown Detroit all the way to Pontiac and back. It's four lanes wide, and the hot spot is between 14 Mile Road and 11 Mile Road," comments one Woodward Avenue vet, a current GM employee who wished to remain anonymous.

"You've heard the stories and folklore about car company engineers and other employees trying out their latest iron on Woodward? It's true; it really used to happen. Still does."

The Woodward phenomenon was born during the domestic horsepower wars of the mid-'50s, although its golden age was probably 1960 through perhaps 1972. According to Eric Dahlquist Sr., a former Motor Trend editor, "Woodward's prominence as the hotbed of Midwest street racing has ebbed and flowed over the years, but the '60s was certainly its peak. While most of the sheetmetal was privately owned, a number of factory performance development mules-some official, some not-did their fair share of testing on Woodward. You'd get 421-powered Pontiacs, 413 Max Wedge drag Plymouths, 427 dual quad Fords."

Top speeds? Hard to say. Some Woodward loyals admit they'd run hard from 25 or 35 mph up to about 75 or 80, then shut down (Woodward runs through many residential areas and is peppered with traffic lights). Others quietly boast of higher speeds, or of using Woodward only as a place to initially hunt their prey. Then it was off to a longer, less-populated road for more serious running-often to 150 plus.

Cops? "Sure, there were tickets and some revoked licenses, but mostly, they looked the other way," says our General Motors Deep Throat. Dahlquist adds, "It was touchy, as a lot of these guys were factory engineers and even executives who just couldn't afford to be caught."

The blush began falling off Woodward's rose during the mid-'70s, and we remember why: gas crunches, bumper laws, unleaded gas. Performance was out. It's since recovered a bit of its aura and, for the last several years, played host to the Woodward Avenue Dream Cruise. This family-oriented event regularly draws thousands of cars and tens of thousands of people-concessions, T-shirts, rock bands, Mom and the kids. So Woodward has come out of the closet.

It's all so official now. So legal. There's nothing wrong with that.

But it ain't the same as it was on any given Michigan summer evening in, say, 1970, when a rumbling Plymouth Barracuda 440 Six-Pack and a solid-lifter Camaro SS396-or could it be a factory 427 test motor?-pulled up to a stoplight, checked out the other guy, and went for it.-M.S.

Mean StreetsBurning rubber: It's one of those acrid smells that any car fool never gets enough of. Long, black streaks of spent rubber are one of the classic musclecar's best-known calling cards; result of the proper mix of torque, revs, gearing, leaded premium, traction-challenged tires, and a right foot mashed flat to the floor. I've heard old-time musclecar mavens say they can smell the difference between a Goodyear Polyglas GT and a Firestone Wide Oval tire, even while some guy is frying a set to the ground. It's all in the smoke, they say.