FUELING THE NEED FOR SPEED HOT ROD RACER TO TRY RECORD-SMASHING RUN.

Byline: Benjamin Parke Staff Writer

PACOIMA - Nearly 45 years ago, Ken Walkey sacrificed his love of car racing for a new love - a Pan Am flight attendant he met on a blind date.

At the request of his wife-to-be, Walkey dutifully parted with his hot rod, handing the engine over to his brother.

``When we got married, he said he'd give it all up - and he lied,'' joked Bettylee Walkey, his wife.

The 69-year-old Walkey returns to the Bonneville Salt Flats this week with the goal of pushing his self-designed, C-Class, blown gas streamliner past 300 mph, hoping to break the current record of 295 mph he set two years ago.

About 300 other cars and motorcycles in various classes of competition will also assemble at the famous hotbed of hot rodding for the 52nd annual Speed Week from Saturday to Friday.

If Walkey succeeds in breaking nothing - including the record and his body - his wife will be happy.

If he crashes, it won't be the first time.

``When you start going 300 mph, every little thing makes a difference,'' said Walkey, a retired mechanical design engineer from Granada Hills.

He vividly recalls his first crash in 1976, at the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah.

His car flipped over, and his right arm was broken in 12 places. Luckily, his wife had brought along a friend, a retired bone surgeon, to watch that day, but Walkey still needed several plates and screws.

Bettylee Walkey thinks he would have lost his arm entirely - it is still heavily scarred - if the doctor hadn't been at the race by sheer coincidence.

And then there was the time when his vehicle went airborne in 1993 at the El Mirage Dry Lake in California, achieving an elevation of about 35 feet.

``I looked around, and all I saw was blue sky,'' Walkey said.

He came away with some broken vertebrae.

``It's a dangerous game,'' said Bettylee Walkey. ``I've seen them flip them over and all kinds of neat things.''

Unlike the drivers in other motor sports such as the Indy 500, land speed racers do not engage in simultaneous competition. Instead, it's a race against the record books, as a vehicle works to attain the fastest speed possible, plunging ahead in a straight line.

Even Walkey isn't sure what makes him stick with a risky activity that requires so much time and money. The cost of an engine alone can run into tens of thousands of dollars.

After several sleepless nights, Walkey composed an essay designed to answer that question, entitled, ``Why Do We Do What We Do?'' - a sort of interior monologue in which he grapples with his motivations.

``We always strive to do better, to push ourselves to the limit, whatever that may be,'' Walkey writes.

Ever since dismantling a Model T engine at the age of 13, Walkey has been building his knowledge of mechanics, which has carried over to a career as an engineer for the Walt Disney Co. and other companies in the movie industry.

``It's the kind of thing you can do at basically any age - as long as you're in reasonably good shape,'' said Earl Wooden, 69, who shares a Pacoima garage with Walkey.

Wooden will be driving a yellow, 1947 Crosley Coupe at Bonneville. It's already broken 16 land speed records, and Wooden is hoping for more.

To help the two men achieve their goals, Herb Tongpalan - an old friend from the days Ken Walkey was stationed at a naval base in Hawaii - made a trip to the mainland to give some mechanical assistance.

As one of the first hot rodders in the Aloha State starting in the 1940s, Herb used to have a bit of trouble when he and a handful of other enthusiasts would go looking for a place to race. One option was a field where cattle grazed, but that presented its own difficulty.

``We had to shovel the cow dung out of there, otherwise we couldn't race!'' explained Tongpalan, who has long since given up hot rodding after succumbing to the familiar pressures.

``When I got married I had to give it up. My wife said stop racing or I'll see you in divorce court!''

Instead, Tongpalan continues to participate in the sport vicariously, and in the days leading up to Speed Week, he was helping Wooden and Walkey get their vehicles ready for competition. Noting the name emblazoned on Walkey's red, teardrop-shaped streamliner - ``Grandpa's Toy'' - Tongpalan wistfully observed how different his lifestyle had become.

``My great grandkids are my toys,'' Tongpalan said. ``I'm the baby sitter.''

To keep ``Grandpa's Toy'' running, Ken Walkey finds he still needs to dip back into his old career.

``I work at Technicolor two or three months a year just to go to Bonneville,'' admitted Walkey.

``Feed your addiction!'' cheered Wooden, as he worked on his chopped-top Crosley.

Ken Walkey is addicted, and he knows it. At the end of his essay, he comes to terms with his situation, and realizes that he'll finally be able to get a good night's sleep.

His assessment: he races for the sense of accomplishment, as well as the constant technical learning required for the sport. His wife Bettylee agrees, calling him a competitive, ``hands-on type of guy.'' But she did have a feeling that there might be something else that fuels the passion of a land speed racer.

``One guy said they do it for each other,'' she said. ``If there was no one there, they wouldn't do it.''

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3 photos

Photo:

(1 -- 2) At top, Earl Wooden stands next to his Crosley Coupe after a time trial at the Bonneville Flats in Utah. Above, crew members Shant Bedrosian, left, and Kennard Deeds work on a roadster for the Bonneville Salt Flats for land speed racing competition.

(3) Ken Walkey stands by his gas streamliner he plans on using to attempt to break the land speed record in Utah. He keeps the car at Whiteman Airport.

Michael Owen Baker/Staff Photographer