Last year the state of California did something so uncommon that you could almost call it unprecedented: It threw the automotive community a bone. Assembly Bill 436 overturned the patchwork of laws that literally made cruising a crime in many cities up and down the Golden State.

That victory is heartwarming news if you grew up cruising. A balmy Saturday night on the boulevard was where you met new friends, swapped stories with old ones, grabbed a bite to eat, possibly met your future mate, and definitely checked out what everybody else was doing to their rides. Cruising is so integral to American culture that the guy who did Star Wars made a full-length motion picture about it.

But in a legal campaign that began in the 1970s and peaked in the 1990s, cities began outlawing the activity. Critics blamed cruising for a rainbow of larger, systemic problems. The common complaint was that cruising attracted a certain element, and the crimes that seemed to follow threatened to rend the very fabric of society.

But instead of addressing the root causes of the problems—the same problems that legitimately beset these entire communities—lawmakers went after the most visible element: the cars and the people who owned them.

If you could read between lines, it was obvious who the laws targeted. Cruising went on unabated around the Fuddruckers in Mission Viejo. But it was a different story off Bristol Ave. in Santa Ana. One side was older, usually white collar, and drove street rods and muscle cars. The other was younger, generally blue-collar, and drove mostly lowriders and minitrucks.

That was a shot straight to the heart: Cruising is to lowriders what drag racing is to Funny Cars. And a ban on cruising is sort of like shutting down a racetrack. While it didn’t kill lowriders, it certainly marginalized them. Less opportunity to cruise meant less exposure. And less exposure made new blood rarer. The lowrider remained a big part within certain communities. But if they were known at all outside of those communities, they were probably misunderstood.

So, a group of enthusiasts banded together to form the United Lowrider Coalition. The coalition mounted a grassroots campaign and appealed to (WHO), who introduced AB436. Coalition members engaged their local representatives so persuasively that the bill found little resistance. “What they used is called a (WHAT),” says Colby Martin, director of the SEMA Action Network (SAN). “It’s a great model for others to follow, and how (ULC) did it deserves a story itself. We’re proud of them and that we could help.”

One state’s acceptance of cruising doesn’t seem like it should have an effect over the rest of the country. Yet it does carry the potential to have a major impact.

Remember, this is California. It’s a big, highly populated state that happens to bear the distinction of being the ancestral home of the lowrider. It’s also ground center for most media and car culture.