
DOGWOOD DUSTUP...
is an idea, a dream. A vision, that for the longest time has floated in and out of my thoughts daily. Working on and racing the venerable Flathead is a time honoured tradition that gets under your skin. The smell of grease, oil and spent fuel coupled with late night engine adjustments and bloody knuckles. What follows is the sound that cracks off when any Ford Flathead fires. It's an experience that you can't explain, it stays with you, gets in your bones, digs in deep. I'm one of these people, I'm hooked, I can't get enough of it. Flatheads Forever.

SO HERE WE ARE...
making a dream reality. Dogwood Dustup is a small group of friends and gear heads. Some of us share this love for flatheads while some are simply willing and eager to be involved with this wild idea. Racing flatheads with period correct traditional hotrods and customs on a small airstrip in BC, Canada. The name "Dogwood Dustup" came to fruition on a scrap piece of paper following a 10 hour shift on the rails, with the question, what is synonymous with British Columbia? What ties the event to this area of the country where no one is running a flathead specific drag race? The dogwood was chosen as BC's provincial flower in 1956, which also happens to be smack in the middle of BC's own major era of drag racing history and car clubs, it seemed fitting. Perfect maybe that the inaugural launch of this drag race event in 2026 will mark 70 years since the dogwood was chosen as our provincial flower during the heyday of BC's drag racing roots at the Abbotsford airstrip. This may not matter to most but I enjoy history, it has importance, it leaves a mark in space and time..... when I look back at old photographs of drag racing in BC it is visceral, I can hear the hoots and heckling from the crowds or from friends. A time when there was no limits. They just ran those machines, ran em hard, broke them, fixed them and raced them again. We aim to emulate this time period, tipping our hats to those early pioneers. This race is going to be wild and we are going to drive the wheels off of it for as long as we can, with some hard work and elbow grease it will continue into the future. Come and join us for a stroll back in time, when the roar of hopped up flatheads and the smell of spent fuel ignited the senses. When the flag drops, engines roar, wheels screech and for a moment time stands still. It's just you and 660 feet, I'll see you on the strip.
- Eben Bender -

