I was thinking about…

Dragin’ Main: Cruisin’ Glory Days on Rural Blacktop

By Andy Lee

Before we could drive alone, Dragin’ Main rendered weekends legendary. We’d cobble carpool crews to prowl main street seeking action. For country kids pre-internet, just looping the same downtown for hours equaled peak entertainment. Gas money garnered far less debate than shotgun privileges. Because when Saturday night descended, small towns came alive–and driving high schoolers craved a taste of the scene unfolding through car windows.

Mom would slide me $5 for popcorn or late night Sonic grub, naively trusting we sought mere PG hangs. If only! We’d claim an evening joy riding the 1 mile strip of auto part stores, churches and a couple of grocery stores on repeat. Zipping past crowds hanging out in parking lots, our sights set on who else idled at the stop light. Yes, we only had two stoplights in my hometown. Actually those were the only two stoplights in the county.

Tacky yellow bug lights framed every vehicle with an otherworldy glow, our faces half-shadowed like characters from a noir flick about restless youth. Thumpin’ sound systems announcing our presence, we peeled in to exchange nods and animated convo through passenger windows rolled down in sync. Brainstorming weekend schemes, talking up trucks and wheels, all eyes assessing who rolled with who and whatever overlap suggested drama in the making. Cowboy boots and tennis shoes propped on dusty dashes, we soaked up the night vibes…richer for their scarcity in days pre-apps and 24/7 convenience.

Occasionally we’d edge into hijinks territory. Like that time before senior year we put a for sale sign up in front of our high school. Legendary. Most nights though, circling at 20 mph sufficed for stud status with girls piled in a friend’s flashy pickup. Their sparkly eye shadow and knock-off designer purses telegraphing special occasion hopes no gasoline aroma diminished. My old green truck, Shirley, never won me makeout rights, but I still lived for those coy waves delivered through foggy glass as Bryan Adams pleaded promises on the radio thanks to KISR 93.7.

Cruising initiated me in subtle social arts from nonverbal flirting to assessing character based on vehicles/tunes/passenger choices. By 11pm we noted familiar faces still looping and where to snag coveted on-street spots when the traffic light turned red. A townie scene steeped in small talk and read-between-the-lines cues.

Tiring of FM hits, we fished out cassette mixtapes from the glove box, cranking our favorite tunes from Van Halen to George Strait. Windows down in defiance of pre-summer chill, wondering how city kids with subway routes and open mic nights passed weekends. Cow pastures and this loping cruise punctuated by hand-cranked car wash turns was our bold frontier, promising a prom queen ring or jackpot lottery ticket beyond every hydrant.

By midnight the strip lights darkened, parents’ imposed curfews cut social potential short…or at least redirected us to gravel pull-offs and kegger house parties. Draggin’ Main delivered a foretaste of autonomy in those suspended hours looping between the car wash and Sonic Drive-Thru. All the while trying to avoid whichever cop was working that night. Because in my hometown of Stigler, OK if we did something stupid and got stopped by the police our parents knew about it before we got home.

Before cell phones and Open House parties with DJ beats, culture got co-created from industrial dashboards, naive in our belief the horizon held bigger adventures. Town limits couldn’t contain restless imaginations way back when Main Street served as catwalk and proving ground. Tonight’s kids navigate digital worlds, but Dragin’ Main’s analog microcosm hosted all the action we craved.

Stay dreamy, keep cruisin’…🏎💨