FLINT, Michigan — You almost can smell the adrenaline, if it wasn't for the burning rubber and exhaust fumes permeating the cool night air.

It’s late — or rather, really early on a summer night. Still, hundreds of spectators gather under the amber glow of streetlamps for an unauthorized thrill.

Street racing — the city of Flint’s worst kept secret.

A young man stands over the center line on a long stretch of James P. Cole Boulevard on Flint’s north side, just a stone’s throw from the concrete wasteland of Buick City, an icon of Flint’s storied past.

He beckons with a point of his fingers, ushering two American-made muscle cars to the makeshift starting line — unashamedly painted on the road for all to see day and night. Engines rev in anticipation of the coming challenge.

At the end of the strip — about one-eighth of a mile down — a set of headlights blinks on and off. The timer is ready.

The young man at the starting line raises his hands in the air. He looks both drivers in the eye. Then, in one swift movement, he brings his arms and body down to kneel on one knee, signaling the start of the race.

Engines roar to life. Tires squeal.

The cars are gone.

It’s an exhilarating scene — but a dangerous one, too.

A haze of smoke fills the roadway from the blazing engines and tires and some of the hundreds of spectators step into the roadway to watch the finish, unaware or uncaring that cars coming up behind them might not see them through the cloud.

There are no bleachers. No guard rails. No official rules or regulations.

The crowd has no protection from the powerful vehicles reaching upwards of 80, 90 or 100 mph.

Accidents can happen and, recently, have happened.

Two teen spectators were hit and injured during illegal races in the past two months. There have been at least two fatal crashes, killing three people, in the last 30 years.

Now, city leaders are cracking down on street racing in the hopes of putting an end to it, saying the races are too dangerous. They worry about the lack of crowd control, nonexistent safety provisions and suspected widespread use of drugs and alcohol.

Drag racers have been a staple in Flint for generations, sometimes just moving races to a new city street after a crackdown.

For now at least, under the veil of night, Flint’s abandoned straight-aways still belong to the street racers.

A 'harder edge'

It starts every spring. As the snow melts, the air warms and the ground dries, the street racers begin their nighttime ritual.

Sometimes they race on the lonely stretch of I-475 through Flint, “the dark side” as it’s called by the racers. Sometimes it’s Selby Street along the highway on the north side.

Cole Boulevard, by the old St. John Industrial Park, is the most consistent and the most popular spot for racers.

By day, Cole Boulevard is part of one of the city’s most abandoned neighborhoods. After dusk, it’s a much different scene.

Any unsuspecting by-passer turning the corner off Stewart Avenue might think the road is a parking lot, filled with nice race cars, some wanna-be race cars and a whole lot of people.

On a race night earlier this month — one of four attended by The Flint Journal in the last two months — someone brought pizzas that anyone was invited to enjoy.

Car stereos played music — country, hip hop and everything in between — and cars parked on the grassy median, the side of the road or even the sidewalk.

“It’s almost like a club outside,” said Leo, a racer who asked his last name not be used. “It used to be 90 percent racers and 10 percent spectators — now it’s the other way around. It used to be a blast.”

Leo said it only takes a few bad experiences to spoil it for the people who just want to show off their cars and have a good time.

He’s been racing since the ’80s, and said the atmosphere has changed over the years.

It used to be mostly serious racers — car buffs who want to stretch their engines and show off their cars. But, it’s grown more out of control as the crowd of spectators has swelled, he said.

A 13-year-old Burton boy was hit at a race in May and a 19 year old was injured in June when he was hit by a racing motorcycle.

Even before the incidents, Flint City Councilman Bryant Nolden was calling for increased police enforcement against illegal racing. Since the accidents, the council is considering an ordinance change that would allow police to seize vehicles caught drag racing.

The owner would have pay a $900 fine to get it back.

Nolden said he can he can hear the early morning races from his home. And he worries that third-shift workers who live in the area could have a fatal encounter with a speeding racer.

“We need to start doing targeted stings,” Nolden said. “It’s really getting bad and I’m scared.”

Despite a personnel crunch, Flint police have already started a “zero tolerance” crackdown. On the third weekend in May, about 10 officers paid on overtime with federal grant funds suited up and headed out to patrol Cole Boulevard, known to the racers as “the John.”

Broken taillights, speeding, no seatbelts — police pulled people over for any violation, said police Capt. T.P. Johnson.

They towed multiple cars and made at least a dozen arrests, he said, and found drunken drivers, ecstasy, cocaine and illegal weapons, including an automatic rifle.

The racers scatter at the sight of police — and sometimes just the rumor of police — but quickly regather.

“The cops aren’t going to stop it,” Leo said. “We go around the loop, long enough for the cops to leave, and then, bam, we go right back down there.”

Flint street racing has been going on for decades, Johnson said, but it seems to have a “harder edge” these days than it did in the past.

“Most people think it’s just a bunch of good old boys coming together to show off their cars,” he said. “It’s not.”

Even without the drinking and the drugs, it’s illegal and dangerous, he said.

“My worst fear is that one of these cars loses control and veers into the crowd,” he said. “It can be the most skilled driver in the world, but it only takes one thing. Nobody’s down there to hurt or maim somebody but how would they feel if they did?

“They didn’t mean to but somebody’s still dead.”

'Too much at stake'

Michael Lunkas was never into racing, but he remembers how big a role it played in his big brother’s life.

Speed and high performance were more than a hobby for David Lunkas — they were his profession, too. He owned Kustom Equipment, a custom-car shop in the Flint area, and could often be found at various professional drag strips with his Corvettes.

Younger brother Michael would help him trailer the car to be hauled to the track.

“He really believed in going to the sanctioned races,” said Michael Lunkas, 55, who lives in Otisville. “That’s why we were all surprised when we got the call that day.”

For whatever reason, Michael Lunkas said he’s not sure why, the elder Lunkas decided to go street racing one September night in 1992.

Lunkas, 40, of Burton was a passenger when his friend Bruce Shoemaker, 50, of Lennon was racing his hot rod against a high performance motorcycle on Cole Boulevard. The roadster struck a curb and slid into a utility pole, according to Flint Journal files.

Both men were killed instantly.

“It was a tragedy,” Michael Lunkas said of his brother’s death. “The whole family regrets the decision he made that night.”

Lunkas said building a drag strip in or near Flint might go a long way toward cutting down on illegal street racing, since he believes racers will race — one way or another.

“To those guys over time, the speed becomes almost a second nature to them,” he said.

Leo, the local racer, remembers the night Shoemaker and Lunkas were killed.

“If we could do something different to make it safer, we would,” he said. “When one of us gets hurt, it really touches home. No one wants to see another human being get hurt.”

John, who also asked that his last name not be used, rarely races outside of a professional strip these days.

He won’t go down to the Cole Boulevard anymore because he doesn’t like how the atmosphere has changed from 10 or 20 years ago. For awhile he continued racing along I-475, but not any more.

“Last year, I raced a guy and he got caught and I didn’t,” he said. “I haven’t really raced since then.

“There’s too much at stake. Anything can go bad quickly.”

'Baddest in the land'

Despite the danger, street racing is a part of the fabric from which Flint was crafted. A city best known for churning out cars is bound to churn out car enthusiasts.

“Flint racing has been forever,” said Jack Doering, 77.

And he oughta know.

Before he became the owner of Auto City Speedway, Doering cut his racing teeth at a makeshift dragway on Van Slyke Road in the early 1950s.

His favorite story involves his Chevy and a 1948 Ford driven by his best friend, Don Williamson, before he was mayor of the city.

“I lost $5 to him in that race, and in 1953 that was a lot of money,” Doering said. “Everybody did it if they were young and had a fast car.

“You did it because you thought you were the baddest in the land.”

Doering said he eventually wised up to the fact that street racing is too dangerous, and went on to oval track racing — a love that occupied most of his adult life.

Still, he looks back fondly on his drag racing days.

“It took me a while, but I finally won back that first $5,” he said.

Williamson remembers things a little differently.

“I don’t know about that,” said Williamson, who doesn’t think he lost to Doering.

Back then and today too, drag racing is all about the attitude.

“It’s an ego trip,” Leo said. “Have you ever been in a race car and you pull up and the crowd is hooting and hollering? It’s just, your head swells. It’s a good feeling.”

Over the years, police have tried various ways to stop the races, but nothing ever quite worked.

Speed bumps were installed on Cole Boulevard in the ’80s but were later removed, probably because they were causing problems for semi-trailers using the road to do business in the area, police at the time said.

Another police chief in about 1980 ordered the streets flooded and a few years later, police tried barricading the street to keep racers away.

These days, city council members are hoping their ordinance changes — along with stricter enforcement and targeted police patrols — will finally cut down on the illegal races.

But time has proven that there’s really only one thing that stops the decades-old tradition of Flint street racing, and even that is only temporary: the snow.

When the temperatures drop and the ground is covered, the racers will tuck their cars away and retire to their garages, leaving the strip behind to freeze in the winter wind.

Until next year, at least.