When I met Dave Fortier (Executive Editor here), one thing we found out we had in common was street racing. He did it on the East Coast, I did it in Motown. Another difference was, he built his, and I just checked them out of inventory. My father worked for Ford, and he had car pool privileges. Not just the lease car pool, but the R&D pool. So, he’d check out a muscle car, or some other hot set of wheels, on a Friday, and I’d race it on the weekend. Back it would go on Monday. I call it my “Patrician Street Racer” period. I was good (I had to be, losing meant money out of my pocket) but in addition to becoming a performance snob, I really wasn’t…