“Bias-ply wheels . . . please.”
We head over to Squeak’s to see how Mike’s part is selling. On the way there, we chat with a guy in his mid-60s who wears a T-shirt from Cook’s Corner, the biker hangout in Tustin. Nearby, the young rockabilly crowd is clustered around a grove of skimpy trees at the far end of the racetrack, hanging with their clubs that go by names like the Deacons and the Choppers and rejuvenated favorites like the Throttlers. “It reminds me of the old days in high school,” the guy says, shaking his head ruefully. “Except these cars are unsafe and slow. Ours were usually one or the other.”
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