INTERESTING TIMES... A change of pace (Part 130a)

INTERESTING TIMES... A change of pace (Part 130a)

It was dark by the time we got the car to the barn. Even with limited light we got  all our tools and things that wouldn’t fit in my car into the racecar. But there was still one more project... mount the old tires on the rims that Jay had found for us as spares. I knew Cliffy would be working on his car so we headed to his father’s shop. What a contrast! We were working on a dirt floor with a drop cord for light and a makeshift workbench while Cliffy had every tool imaginable, a welder, heat and good lighting. We got the tires mounted and chatted with him about what he expected for the season. He surprised me when he said he wasn’t going to race at the local track. His father and the owner of the track were at odds with each other and since Cliffy’s father paid the bills he didn’t have any say in the matter. I’d been looking forward to seeing him on a regular basis so was disappointed with the news.

Saturday morning turned out to be bright and sunny. I’d not slept a lot worried that I’d forgotten something important. ”B“ and I left for the track around 11am with the ”unmarrieds“ (Pete, Tom and Martin) coming a bit later. After we arrived at the track, registered and gotten the car inspected (that was a joke!) we took a look around at some of the other cars. The pit area still looked the same as when I was racing... dirt mixed with sand and, making it worse, uneven. We saw that some of the racers had staked out areas and leveled them as best they could. Others had brought sheets of plywood so they could work on the cars without rolling around in the dirt.

There were four different classes of cars with the fastest being called Modifieds. The cars for the Sportsman division were actually the same as the Modifieds with the only difference being the carburetor. They were limited to using a two barrel while a Modified used a four barrel. To make things confusing, they all raced together but were scored separately. For example, a car crossing the finish line in 5th place might actually be the winner in the Sportsman division. We were in the Hobby division which was limited to six cylinder engines or the old outmoded Ford ”flathead“ engine. That’s what we were using. We knew we were handicapped because of it but from an economic standpoint it made sense. The fourth division were called Bombers. Other than for putting a roll cage in the car they were right off the street, narrow tires and all.

When the ”unmarrieds“ finally showed up there was an addition... Bebe. The first thing I saw was that she was wearing white pants. From a personal standpoint I liked it... a good chance for a VPL. But, common sense wise it wasn’t. White pants in the pits of a racetrack spelled disaster for them. However, she had brought sandwiches for us to eat. Her parents ran a restaurant and she was able to prevail upon them to feed us.

The Modified/Sportsman cars were the first on the track for practice. Even though he didn’t plan on racing there, Cliffy was one of the first to go out. Only a few minutes into the practice one car lost control and hit the fence. When they towed the car off the track we were there to look at the damage. What had happened was that someone forgot to tighten a nut on one of the steering components. I got to thinking about it and decided to ask ”B“ if I could take the car out before he did, just to make sure it would go around in a circle. After watching the crash and the results of it he climbed out of the car and said something along the lines of ”Be my guest!“

The seat and shoulder belts had been adjusted for ”B“ who weighed in excess of 300 pounds. I weighed about half of that so getting the belts to fit my frame took some doing. I think I was so involved in that process I didn’t have time to to get nervous until I started the motor. I’d always been nervous in the pits, waiting to go out onto the track, but as soon as the car rose over the banking and onto the track itself I was fine. The same thing happened that day. I definitely remember driving, slowly, down into the first turn and remembering the last race I’d been in when I’d ended up impaled on the first turn fence. It didn’t bother me though. The speed on the track was controlled by a flagman. Yellow meant caution or to go slow. Red meant for everybody to stop and green was to go as fast as we could. It took three laps before the green flag was displayed but I didn’t ”floor“ it. With a newly rebuilt engine I wanted to make sure that it was properly warmed up. Gradually I increased the pressure on the accelerator finally ”flooring“ it coming off the second turn and heading down the back straightaway. I ”feathered“ the pedal a bit but didn't lift my foot of it. I wasn’t sure what the car was going to do in the turn, at speed. I was pleasantly surprised in that it went just where I steered it. Emboldened, I floored it going down the front straightaway and, in a bold move, especially for me, hardly lifted my foot off the pedal as we headed into the turn. Again, the car went where I’d wanted it to go. In the four years of racing that I’d previously done I’d never had an experience like that. I think I took a deep breath and then decided to try to make it through the next turn with my foot holding the pedal to the floor. Again, the car handled perfectly. I really couldn’t believe it. I pulled in and told ”B“ and the others that the car was ready and now it was up to him.

We only had 15 minutes on the track and it was almost up when I pulled off. Since we had about 45 minutes until our next session and all we had to do was get the safety belts set for ”B“ it was decided to eat. Most of us just stood around as we ate but Bebe had jumped up on the hood of Pete’s car. Being so short (5’3” or so) she liked to be “perched” on something so as not to be looked down upon.

As we prepared for “B” to go on the track I told him to take it easy at first and to use this 15 minute segment to get acclimated to the sight lines in the car and the responsiveness of the accelerator. As I spoke to him I noticed something I’d never seen before... it was like he was in a trance or something. When they called for the cars to start rolling onto the track I remember Martin punching him in the arm to get him to go forward. As I mentioned earlier, we knew we were underpowered using the type motor we had. However, on a few of the laps that I’d made I found that the six cylinder cars weren’t running away and hiding from me. That had been an encouraging sign. That is until “B” pulled onto the track.

The infield was marked by a painted white line on the pavement. That was where the track got measured and determined to be one quarter mile long. None of us could believe our eyes as “B” put his left front wheel on that line and never left it. I remember watching an old racing friend of mine make four laps to “B’s” one. My first thought was that there was a problem with the accelerator pedal. When “B” pulled up to us he had this big smile on his face and, in all sincerity, announced he’d never gone so fast in his life.

The last year that I’d raced it had been determined that the hobby class cars averaged about 65 miles per hour doing one lap and reached a top speed of just under 80 at the end of each straightaway. After “B” and I had rebuilt the motor in his car (a former police cruiser) we went and tried it out and, at least according to the speedometer, had hit 100 MPH. My guess was that “B” averaged around 45 mph with a top sped of maybe 50 on the track. Thinking back to my laps around the track with the car I’d felt that it was more powerful than any I’d ever driven and definitely the best handling. I didn’t really want  address the thought that was creeping into my head... “B” was scared.

 To be continued...