Stroll down Pine Avenue in Long Beach toward Oceanfront blvd. at 9 A.M. on any other Saturday of the year, and not too much would jump out at you. A few European-style bars and restaurants that come alive by nightfall, and blend in with their surroundings by day, serenaded by the hushed bustle of commerce at work - distant sirens behind hurried motorists in their daily commute; the sounds of business as usual, in a city that doesn't sleep. But for the past four years, pedestrians during the first weekend of the Long Beach Grand Prix have been met with an entirely difference ambience: that of burning R-compound rubber, unfiltered C116-laden exhaust fumes, and the mightly, uncorked din of squealing tires under boosted SR20DET- and RB26DETT-, blown VK56- and LS1-, and bridge-ported 13B-powered race machines roaring off the condos, hotels, and fine upscale eateries that line the otherwise tranquil Long Beach oceanfront. It's a shocking experience - witnessing the tranquility of the early morning streets being shattered by vehicles and driving that would otherwise prompt an all-out national guard assault - but one that seems a perfect fit for enthusiasts that never stop pushing the boundaries of ability and legality, in a city that sets the pace for the world to follow. Wake up! Round 1 of Formula D: Streets of Long Beach just blew the f-- up!