Tales of the Washed
Racing It
Mitch is really burned out about the death of the driver in the vintage race. He wants to finish packing and go eat. I want to go eat. So Mitch and I go for Mexican and he has a couple of straight shots to forget and it works like water. We go back, fix the trailer lights (they were ripped apart along with other problems), and load the car and tools. Now since I had figured the racing is over, I loaned the floor jack to Carl earlier since he needed to change a tranny and, of course, he is not there so I can get it back.We roll back to the apartment when I remember my helmet is at the warehouse so we take a quick trip back in the car. Mitch takes a shower as he gets to sleep with these two females (I don't sleep with my roommates) and obviously wants to be clean and fresh. I lay down on my bed and know absolutely nothing about anything until the alarm goes off.
I grab a shower, see if Mitch is awake, grab my driver suit and gear, and get ready to leave. Mitch has his stuff ready and tries to pack the girls up in the sofa, but they object and he has to let them out. (I'll tell you, this Mitch guy is kind of kinky.)
So we head on out to the races. The van runs terrific, one cylinder sputtering, and the temperature goes up and the oil pressure goes down as I try to run 60-65 mph on the highway. We get there and I register and we unload the car as they announce hardship warm-ups for anyone who wants them.
Well, we try to get into and out of tech so we can go practice but don't make it as tech is now a lot more serious place after Saturday. They check EVERYTHING but somehow miss my lack of a second throttle spring, which Mitch remembers and we get.
Mitch pumps the brakes while I bleed the calipers and we manage to get an air bubble somewhere. Mitch being unfamiliar with my brakes, keeps slamming the pedal into the stop, thinking they are getting firm. They aren't. So the car is at the grid for the race and I realize there are no rear brakes. Since you can see rain approaching, my only thoughts are that maybe the approaching storm will be so bad they will cut short the race, as happened a few years ago in an enduro with Mitch in his Corvette.
So I'm in a car with more ponies under the hood than ever before, not driven except on the trailer and a couple of runs on the street in front of the warehouse, with no rear brakes at all, and the five minute warning has passed. No time, no hope, all I can do is go out, stay away from everyone, hope the race is cut short, and motor.
The one minute warning is given and I start the engine, letting it warm up so we can go. About thirty seconds later, the grid marshalls are pointing one finger in the sky and then five fingers. What the heck does that mean?
It means, as the others run from car to car telling us, that there is rain in turn 5. And much of the grid is on slicks. Great!
Out we go, onto the track, with our pace lap and the guy in front of me can't start. So I get motioned around him and run on, meaning I am happy there will not be someone next to me for the start as I will have more room to run off at the first corner. About turn 6, he catches back up, and so we are facing south, realizing that turns 8, 9, and 10 have disappeared into a haze of gray, meaning the rain must really be hard.
They actually start us! Cars are everywhere and I am just holding back and trying to maneuver with body English to keep from hitting anything. Some cars are diving for the pits, to get to their rain tires, and the crowd trying to get in is something like the general open seating group at the Who concert in Cincinnati. I figure I can crash in the pits in front of everyone or crash on a corner where only a few corner workers will see, so being bashful, I elect to keep going.
Besides, the other end of the track HAD been dry, so maybe I can still run on that end. It was, at least for one lap. I stayed out and ran while others tried to get rains on. Sometimes the north end was dry and sometimes it was wet. Sometime it was raining and sometimes not. So I stayed until finally the visibility was so bad, I drove into the pits, thinking I was going to hit the wall while trying to stay on the track. when I saw the pit wall go by, I realized I was in the pits and wasn't going to hit the wall. So I put my arm up to pit, like anyone could really see me. Mitch wanted to know what I was doing there and I really didn't know. I was in the pits before I knew it and I really thought I was going to crash in the wall.
He cleans my glasses, tells me I have about 8 minutes left, go take about 4 laps, and I leave. Four minutes later, I am back, having survived the next lap, as it took that long to get back since the conditions had gone from bad to impossible.
I get out and get in the Toyota with him and we sit for about 15 minutes, then it breaks some and he decides he can run. He climbs in, I send him off, and he gets all the way to the other end of the pits where he stops since he can't see. After stealing a towel from some girl, he takes off again and about 3 minutes later completes his first lap, right back into the pits.
I pull the windscreen off, figuring it would be like a motorcycle, and send him off again, with warnings that if he can't do it, bring it in and park it or park it wherever he is as long as it is in a safe area. It really isn't worth it.
The removal of the windscreen works, as he goes out and eats up the track, considering he's on slicks and the rain is worse. He runs enough laps to put us into the running and takes the checker. We win ASR mainly because we were able to last out there when most could not. But then, isn't that what an enduro is all about, lasting to the end?
Save the Wave,
The Doctor