Drive : For years, Sterling Taylor dreamed of drag racing. Now he lives that dream. ‘I have : gone nowhere near fast enough yet,’ he says.

Sterling Taylor sat in his fuchsia, blue and silver Oldsmobile Cutlass dragster, and recalled his father’s reaction the first time he watched Taylor race.

“He came back over to the pits and he was as white as a ghost. I am serious, he was white as that fluorescent lamp,” Taylor said, gesturing toward the ceiling of the El Rio shop where he works on his car.

“I said, ‘What’s wrong?’ He said, ‘How fast were you going when you came by me?’ I said, ‘Probably about 225 m.p.h.’ He said, ‘I never had anything come at me that fast in my whole life, and then I stopped for just a second to realize--that’s my son.’ ”

The 45-year-old Taylor said his father has “mellowed” since then and has come to accept that, yes, his son--not the Roadrunner--is zipping down the quarter-mile track. It’s a good thing, too, because Taylor intends to make a habit out of this kind of thing.

Taylor, his wife, Linda, his 18-year-old son, Mark, and longtime friend Greg Layton make up the Tri-T Racing team. Any doubts that racing would be a family affair ended when the elder Taylors honeymooned at a drag racing school in Gainesville, Fla., in 1989.

For the past 1 1/2 years Taylor has competed in the Pro Sportsman class, Alcohol Funny Car division. The National Hot Rod Assn. is composed of three classes: Pro, Pro Sportsman and Sportsman. Each class is broken down into several divisions. Some cars run on gas, others run on nitromethane, and two types of cars run on alcohol. The season includes regional and national events.

In his division, Taylor has made his mark. On his one-year anniversary, he won a competition in Palmdale, defeating veteran Lou Gasparelli. National Dragster magazine called Taylor one of 1991’s “pleasant surprises.”

Two weeks before the NHRA Winternationals in Pomona, the first national event of 1992, Taylor discussed the sport to which he is dedicating most of his time and nearly all of his money.

“This car has written on the back of it, ‘Proof positive, dreams can come true.’ For 20 years I’ve just dreamed about this,” he said. “My favorite part is getting in this thing, firing it up and driving it. I have gone nowhere near fast enough yet.”

Taylor’s best speed is 228.41 m.p.h. To approach the 290 m.p.h. he dreams about, he would have to use nitromethane, and that would take a major infusion of money.

Just to remain competitive in his own class, Taylor will need to line up a few dedicated sponsors. He works full time on racing, having put his Tri-T engineering operation, a machinery analysis business, on hold. The steadiest income is from his wife’s job as a civil engineer in Encino.

As illustrated by the McDonald’s, Jolly Rancher, Valvoline, Castrol GTX Motor Oil, Budweiser, Quaker State, Planters, and assorted other advertisements plastered on dragsters worldwide, participants are at least as concerned about the bottom line as they are about the finish line.

“Winning is great, but it’s not everything,” Taylor said. “It just means that we recouped a little bit more of our expenses.” Pleasing the sponsor, whether by winning or simply by being visible, is essential--especially for those who, like Taylor, have tight racing budgets.

Taylor explained that more money from sponsors means better parts, which means faster times, which means more success, which means more money. It’s an intricate chain of events.

The other side of the ledger, however, is simple: No money, no racing. Taylor said it costs him about $1,000 per weekend competition, and it took an additional $2,000 to prepare the car for the Winternationals.

Linda Taylor, who has a master’s degree in business administration, heads up the marketing side of the business. Much time is spent searching for sponsors who will provide the needed cash or donate actual necessities, such as tires.

“We watch the Fortune 500 real close,” Taylor said. “We’re looking for companies we think need the promotion.”

Plenty has gone into building Tri-T’s image. The car’s pop-up roof hatch has the words “Say No to Drugs” on it, which comes in handy during Taylor’s many public appearances. Taylor also is involved in community affairs, like last year’s Christmas for Children charity drive in Simi Valley. Handshaking and autograph signing are required skills.

“It all kind of ties together,” Linda Taylor said. “The more services you provide, the more sponsorship money you’ll get, and the more likely you are to go fast.”

The car’s image is also important. Taylor’s Oldsmobile was designed to look good on film. It has been called one of the more attractive cars on the circuit. Of course, looks aren’t everything. The Taylors also need spare parts.

Fellow drag racer Cruz Pedregon of Moorpark can appreciate the situation. Pedregon now races for the McDonald’s team in the Top Fuel Funny Car category. As he said, money is no object. But that wasn’t always the case.

“At the beginning of my career, from 1987 to 1990, I was with a team in the Sportsman (class),” he said. “If we broke a motor, we didn’t have a spare in the trailer. If we broke it, we went home.”

In a profession where success is measured in thousandths of seconds, Taylor tries to counter mechanical deficiencies by reacting quickly at the starting line.

“You snooze, you lose,” he said. “We get one yellow light and a green light. In between those lights there are four-tenths of a second. The minute I see the yellow start to come on I leave, because the normal reaction time is five-tenths of a second.”

Taylor is so focused, he said, that he doesn’t even blink.

“There are guys who blink and they lose races,” he said. “Trust me.”

Though Taylor is intense, he is not scared.

“You don’t get into one of these cars if you’re scared,” he said. “I love to go fast, but I do it in a safe way. I don’t have a death wish.”

Taylor said his love of speed and acceleration comes naturally to him. As a 7-year-old in Hollister, Calif., Taylor began racing homemade wooden cars down the sides of hills. As soon as he got his driver’s license he began racing any vehicle he could rev up.

“I raced motorcycles, sand dragsters,” he said. “If it had tires and an engine and someone else said ‘Mine’s faster than yours,’ we had a race.”

That childhood challenge seemed to be the underlying theme of the Winternationals, held at the Los Angeles County Fairplex three weeks ago.

The competition officially started on a Thursday, but the important work began two days earlier, when the racing teams set up their trailers and other accessories next to the track. The Taylors looked for a prime location to display the names of two sponsors they had lined up for the weekend--Hardin Oldsmobile of Anaheim, which supplied money, and the Shilo Inn, which provided free lodging.

On Thursday the qualifying runs began, one attempt that day, two on Friday. Out of a field of 28 drivers, those with the top 16 times would advance to the elimination round. Taylor and his crew had tinkered with the car a bit, so the first run was something of a test. He finished the quarter-mile track in 6.206 seconds, placing him an encouraging ninth.

Friday was do-or-die day. From the onlookers’ perspective the weather was gorgeous--about 80 degrees, no wind, a clear sky. To the participants, who tune up the car to suit the day’s weather, the conditions were average.

As Taylor worked on his Oldsmobile, fans milled around the jammed lot. Jolly Rancher wrappers, fresh off a competitor’s free promotional candy, littered the pavement. The place was bumper to bumper with advertisements on wheels. The fans, with free access to most of the racing teams, wandered from trailer to trailer, ogling the cars, meeting the drivers and picking up handouts. Engines roared in the background as cars battled to qualify in other divisions.

In the Taylor camp, things appeared calm. A tent--in blue to match the color scheme--was attached to the top of the trailer to protect the car and crew from the sun. There was a Shilo Inn banner hanging from the trailer, with a Hardin Oldsmobile courtesy van to the right. The top was off the dragster, the insides exposed.

Taylor, wearing black pants and a purple shirt as were his crew members, alternated between working on the car and greeting passersby. Occasionally, he murmured encouragement to various car parts.

“I talk to my pistons,” he said. “Right now, I’m having an intimate conversation with my crank shaft, hoping it will hold up.”

Taylor’s first run of the day was scheduled for 1 p.m. He got into his fire protection suit at 12:25, just before the Oldsmobile was hooked up to the courtesy van and towed to the staging lanes. As the 28 drivers waited to race, the loud noise of engines diminished to a soft rumbling. Drivers talked to their crew members and to one another. Though they are competitors, the drivers tend to be a close-knit bunch.

At 12:36 Taylor got his first of two ritual good luck kisses from his wife. This first one was on the mouth, the second was on his helmet. Then Mark Taylor strapped his father into the car and shook his hand for encouragement.

“He’s just another crew member,” Mark said later. “He’s just the one who drives the car.”

As the cars rolled forward to the starting line, the sound of the engines increased dramatically. The stands to the left were packed with fans. Smoke from tire burnouts clogged the air. A giant, inflatable Budweiser can stood at the end of the track to the right, behind one of two scoreboards. A Diamond P Sports video screen hung above.

It was soon Taylor’s turn to drag. The drivers go two at a time. Taylor was on the right. He crossed the finish line first, in 6.205 seconds. But in the qualifying rounds, it’s the time from starting line to finish line that counts, not who finishes first. The guy on Taylor’s left had a better time, 6.13.

The crew reunited with Taylor at the end. There was some tension and frustration on the ride back to the trailer. Linda Taylor calculated that her husband had probably dropped to the 14th or 15th spot, and tried to figure out why the car hadn’t gone faster.

“Did you mess with the barrel drive, dear?” she asked.

Taylor’s next run would be at about 4 p.m. The intervening three hours would be spent trying to figure out how to cut a critical couple of tenths of a second off of his time.

They discussed replacing a key part. The original had been made by friend and competitor Mert Littlefield, who was trying to qualify in the same division. Over at Littlefield’s trailer, Taylor discussed the replacement. Littlefield convinced him that a change wouldn’t help.

It was soon time for the final qualifying race. With four cars in front of Taylor, the time to beat was 6.21. He was still among the top 16. Two cars later, it dropped to 6.20. The track announcer called Taylor’s name and said he was in the 15th spot. Taylor ran a 6.25. He was still 15th.

“He’ll be holding his breath,” said the track announcer over the speaker.

“That’s lousy. We shouldn’t be that bad,” Linda Taylor said to no one in particular.

“Driver error,” Taylor told the other members of his team. His thumb had slipped off the gear shift button.

“It’s called an oops,” Linda Taylor said.

The next two cars to run were ranked 23rd and 24th. One of them qualified ahead of Taylor.

“Sterling Taylor,” said the announcer. “You are on the bubble.”

After two drivers who had no effect on the standings, it was time for Taylor’s friend Littlefield, then ranked 24th.

Littlefield’s run was good enough to put him in the elimination round, knocking Taylor into the No. 17 spot.

As an alternate, all Taylor could do was wait and half-hope that one of the qualifiers would be unable to race Saturday. Meanwhile, he would greet the fans and keep his composure.

“In certain situations you’ll see other drivers storm into the trailer,” he said. “That doesn’t do you anything.”

Then 8-year-old Stephanie DiBacco of Pomona approached Taylor and asked for his autograph. Within minutes a circle had formed around him, fans holding out pens, taking his picture, firing questions and comments in his direction.

“How come you slipped?”

“Why’d you let it rev so hard?”

“He writes nice.”

“How can you afford to do all this?”

As it turned out, Taylor would race Saturday, filling in for a driver whose car had broken down. He lost, but it gave him a chance to show off the sponsors one more time. His son had arranged for the Diamond P Sports camera to scan the front of the race car and show Hardin Oldsmobile on the big screen. Dennis Hardin himself was quite pleased.

“Win, lose or draw,” said Taylor, “the weekend was a success in terms of marketing.”