Run what you brung

This ain't none of your fancy Euro-peen racing with your oh-so-pretty race tracks and spanner-men dressed in their white coveralls that don't look like they know what a grease spot even is.

Anyone can go fast if they just wave enough money at the problem and find their wave answered by Signore Ferrari or Monsieur Bugatti. But it's a different matter to bring Mr Ford or Mr Chevy to the party and still end up with the honors.

This is about seeking out the right parts from the junkyards and the small ads and putting them together just right so that the old sedan can show your not so supercar just what an honest ride can do.

It's not about sponsors or teams or endorsements. It's about you and your buddies putting the work in and then having the balls to hang it all out there. It's about the moment before the girl drops her hand and the two cars rock against the torque and the sound bounces off the buildings on either side of the strip. And you feel like you can do anything and you hear a yell and don't know whether it was you or the other guy. And it doesn't matter, because you and the other guy are the same.

It's about street racing.

Street racing.