Just about every weekend in Westwood, Speed Racer is sure to
rear his ugly head.
He peels out onto Gayley in some souped-up coupe he bought with
his parents’ money, showing off how complicated he can make a
basic right-hand turn seem.
And that satisfaction he derives from leaving skid marks is kind
of the same that my dog gets when he pees on a fire hydrant.
Speed tears up Gayley at 70 miles an hour, making sure his
engine is as loud as possible, either because he can’t afford
anything quieter or he really wants your attention.
Of course, there’re plenty of other ways for Speed to get
you to check him out as well. Those chrome wheels, fluorescent
lights and blaring stereo system are all trademarks of this
want-to-be racer who wants nothing more than your awe and
admiration.
Perhaps he doesn’t notice because he’s going by so
fast, but the most common reaction he receives is the middle
finger. Fifth-year student and Westwood resident Jerry Yu has had
his slumber disturbed the past three Saturdays by this type of
driver.
“Those pseudo-racers don’t inspire visions of
excitement or adrenaline,” Yu said. “All they inspire
me to do is go on the balcony with a paintball gun as they rev
their four-cylinder engines on a goddamn Sunday morning.”
Speed can get from Le Conte to Veteran faster than anyone in
Westwood, which would be nice if he was driving an ambulance to an
emergency scene. The problem is Speed already reached his final
destination when he got behind the wheel of his car ““ his
solution to having nowhere to go is to go nowhere fast.
Which wouldn’t be as terrible if he were out in the
Angeles National Forest or Barstow. But in trying to show off his
pimped-out car and impressive driving skills in a busy college
neighborhood, he’s just whoring himself for attention and
creating a safety hazard.
I don’t know much about cars and know just enough about
racing to realize that the real good drivers aren’t the ones
you see screeching through Westwood on a Saturday night. They go
out to tracks designed for racers in cars built specifically for
this type of driving.
“When you’re at a track, you have an instructor and
are taught certain things on how to control the car
properly,” said Brett Strom, a racing driver who recently
bought a stripped-down 1989 BMW M3 to race. “No one’s
there to tell you what you’re doing wrong on the
street.”
At USC, Strom is part of a motor-racing club that draws from
those thrill-seeking drivers who have the common courtesy to seek
these thrills outside of residential neighborhoods. It allows
racing enthusiasts to meet up, talk about cars, and actually
exercise their knowledge at appropriate venues.
“What makes you a good driver is smoothness,” Strom
said. “You don’t burn out or slide around corners. The
fastest drivers are the ones doing the least.”
It’d be great if every Speed Racer joined one of these
clubs to learn these things and get his kicks, but unfortunately
his interest in cars and racing is too superficial. He cares more
about how his car looks passing a used Cadillac on Hilgard than how
it would perform against Strom’s car.
“Real racers are trying to be competitive and be the
best,” Strom said. “Posers are just out there to look
cool.”
To Speed, driving fast is a hobby only half worth pursuing
because he’d fail at the half that involves racing against
serious drivers.
He enjoys the thrill of going fast, provided that he’s
comfortably protected in his plush leather driver’s seat and
in an environment where the only challenge is avoiding a traffic
ticket.
“It’s a pathetic illusion of pseudo-fastness,”
Yu said. “If they want speed, have them hop on a motorcycle
that costs about the same as a Geo Storm but can crank out a
sub-four-second 0-to-60.”
Unfortunately for Yu and the rest of Westwood, that probably
won’t happen. Unless subwoofers and neon lights become
standard features on motorcycles.
E-mail Finley at afinley@media.ucla.edu if you watch Speed
Racer cartoons.