Tales of the Washed

Just Having Fun

On VetteNet, I was talking to a guy about racing, and how I can't seem to make any headway on the car right now. He said that all those hours and skinned knuckles will provide great memories as the years pass.

I laughed and told him that memories fade, but all those broken engine parts have a tale to tell. And those pictures of us having "fun". I love the ones where everyone is bundled like they are expecting a snow storm. Nothing like going out to drive at 160 mph and create a 40 below wind chill in the cockpit with only a drivers suit on.

The worse time was a Turkey Trot at Sebring one year. After you spend a lot of time in south Florida, you forget it gets cold elsewhere. Sebring can get cold, like down to 30-35 degrees normally in winter (I know that is nothing for most places up North) and we trotted out of 80 degree weather to discover we needed coats and sweatshirts that we didn't have. T-shirts don't cut it.

I spent the weekend in my Nomex for warmth. It wasn't bad enough it was cold driving but all of us couldn't even get warm afterwards. We used a lot of gas in the Suburban, running it and sitting inside with the heat on.

And I still have a few pictures around of us at Mid America Raceway in March, 1980, breath showing, winter coats on, and a race car ready to run.

He made a comment about how he had his own memories of being up all night just to make a race in his Z06 Corvette. He says those memories are great to look back on.

I have plenty of those kind. I've done that far too many times. Too many times we worked on the car and loaded at 4 am, cleaned up, and drove to Sebring to race. Catch a nap on the way over as someone else drove, which was equally stupid since they had been up all night, too.

Now I'd be thankful if I could just get an hour or two in every evening. The baby sure changes things.

A friend and fellow racer likes to point out my trip to Daytona one year. That trip was doomed from the start and he was sucker enough to get tied up in it. He wanted to leave early so he could get a garage space as they were first come, first serve at Daytona back then. So he left early and headed up. His wife was riding up with me at a more normal time.

Well, she thought she was.

This was when I got the triple disk clutch for the L88. I had just gotten it and was frantically installing it so as to be ready and I just barely was. Of course, I was running a bit late, so that instead of leaving at 6 like we had hoped to, I kept calling her every hour or so to let her know I was almost there.

About 9 the car was all together and ready to go, since I backed the trailer to the warehouse and loaded the tools and spares. I jumped in and the car wouldn't start. Dead. The battery had been up fine earlier and I could figure it but another phone call as the battery charger hummed merrily to let her know of another delay. Shouldn't take long, as all I needed was 15 minutes to charge the battery enough to start. Then the alternator would charge it the rest of the way.

That part was true. The engine fired right up and ran great, charging away on the battery. Then I put it in first to load it. Or tried to. The clutch wouldn't disengage enough to let me shift out of neutral.

Frantic, I ripped off the tunnel and pulled the transmission back. The fork was caught and I had to modify it to fit the new position. Got that and put it all back in. Try again.

This time, the engine fired right up without the charger, so things were looking good. The shifter even shifted. Great, how could things be better?

Disgusted and nearly beaten, I pushed the car as far as I could and then pulled it on with the tie downs. I got to her house about 11:00, only a slight bit later than the 6 pm time we had set.

I figured I'd get to Daytona and fix it, since I'd have some help up there. Also, I could hit the parts places as needed and get it together. So off we went, broken race car in tow to Daytona in the middle of the night. We got to Daytona about 3:30 in the morning. There was plenty of time to sleep, almost two and a half hours.

The story doesn't stop. The next morning I was at the track early, registered, and got inside to begin work. I got it apart and took off to find an extra short throw out bearing as I already had the short one in and it wasn't working. Well, there are no extra short ones made. I have no idea how someone sticks a triple disk clutch inside a Lakewood scattershield as the throwout is jammed between the transmission and the clutch. We figured by trial and error that all I needed was quarter inch of room and it would release. So out came the washers and the bellhousing and the transmission were both spaced out an eighth of an inch, so that all alignments stayed true.

It worked and I ran.

For awhile, anyway.

The aluminum heads seemed to be sucking oil past the guides something fierce. We tried lots of tricks to change things so I wasn't blowing too much smoke or they'd black flag me even though I was burning oil, not spraying it. Finally got that working and it was time to race. Now this was great.

Actually racing an L88 at Daytona. Only about 25 years late, but still, there is nothing like a big block Chevy at over 180 mph in an open Corvette. You guessed it, although not exactly right. I broke. Somewhere about halfway through the race, I came out of the infield and back on the banking in NASCAR 1 and back up to speed. I was climbing past 170 when the quietest little "Pop" occurred that I have ever heard and yet it completely drown out every other noise in the whole track. Just "pop". That was it. No loud bangs. No loud crashes. No sickening grinding noises. Just "pop".

And the whole world went suddenly quiet.

At 170 mph with no motor running, you find out how loud slicks can be, rolling on asphalt, and how well you can hear people in the infield. You also find that a 2700 pound car can coast a long away when you have it up to 170 mph.

I dropped down low to keep from oiling the whole track and coasted to the back and in an access road. I stopped at the ambulance since they were yelling to stop but then thought about it and realized I was still rolling around 100 and could have made it nearly to the paddock. What the heck, they had cold water and air conditioning and Daytona in August is warm enough without just snapping a rod.

When it comes to memories about being up all night and working late on cars, I have them.

Save the Wave,

The Doctor