Summit Point 2003 Club Race

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The Fall Follies

One, two
Born under a bad sign
I been down since I begin to crawl
If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all

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Albert King - lyrics by Booker T. Jones/William Bell

For the most part, the root causes of my racing saga this year (see Summer of My Discontent) has been outside of my control, involving various mechanical failures. These are the result of running a 30+ year old car as a race car against newer cars in a very competitive series. Things break, or wear out. This can only be solved by replacing every single part on the car (which I seem to be doing but at a relatively slow pace) or by buying a 911 Cup car, which has its own problems, i.e. negative spousal consequences. But the "trailer incident" can only truly be blamed on human stupidity. Mine.

After a disastrous summer, the 911 was back in fighting trim and ready again for the track. This time the venue was Summit Point, my home track. It was a nice two day DE event with my favorite PCA region, Schattenbaum of New Jersey. Saturday was an excellent day, blue skies and 70 degrees. I got a 1:27 flat in one of the morning sessions, without working the car hard. This bodes well for the club race in two weeks. The afternoon sessions found me doing mid 1:28's, slower than I wanted but I wasn't overly concerned.

Potomac Pace car powered by Bagpipes

Sunday morning, the forecast was for rain later in the day. Red group is the 2nd group out on the track. The car feels just a little heavy, not quite as responsive as usual. I glance down at my stopwatch as I go past start/finish. "1:35.4" What?, Can't be! That's a cool down lap. The stop watch must be in the wrong mode, not giving me splits, Next time around it reads: 1.35.4 seconds. See, it's the stopwatch.

But the next lap shows a 1:34.2. Oops! It’s not the stopwatch, it's me! I start working the car hard. The car's engine sounds flat to my ears. Working the carousel, it seems out of breath and rough. By the end of the session, I manage to get my times down to 1:31, but it was a struggle

Dwayne Moses plowing the fields during practice

Some deductive reasoning (we're not up to the stupid human part yet) led me to the idle jets on my Weber carbs. Careful inspection revealed some clogged jets, which would hurt any partial throttle response, such as the carousel section. I blew out the clogged jets and prepared to go back on the track to see if this was the problem. By now, the rain clouds had arrived and the track was wet. The best I could do was a 1:39, but the car did sound extremely better.

The rain continues to come down. After lunch, the red and black groups were combined. As I circle the track, working on the wet line for the race, I notice more and more trailers leaving the paddock. Coming around turn 10 I hear on the PA: Red, Black and white groups combined now. A few more laps, the number of cars on the track decreases and the numbers leaving the track increases. On the PA now: Anybody who wants to go out, have at it!

Filling up the Group 3 Grid

A few more laps and as I come around onto the front straight, I spy Dan Petchel's son stuffing Dan's car into the pit wall tire wall. And with that, the day was done. Event over.

It was still early, only about 1:30 in the afternoon, so I wasn't in any hurry. I loaded the car into the trailer, broke down the canopy and just hung out. I was waiting for Mark & Karin Weining to finish up so we could head back to Delaware together. 15 minutes later we were heading out of the track into the rainy weather.

The pit crew of Rabbit Racing leaps into action

Just outside the track, as I navigate the stoplights in Charles Town, I feel the trailer lose traction and catch. "Must be really slippery out there." I think. We travel through Harpers Ferry and Hagerstown, heading for the Baltimore beltway.

As I continue driving, I'm starting to get concerned. Whenever I slow down and speed up, I feel a slide and then a bang through the drive train. It feels exactly like when the transmission on my F150 started to go. It would slip and then suddenly catch, sending a jolt through the drive train. About 10 miles from the beltway, traffic slows to a stop. For the next 90 minutes it’s stop and go for the next 30 miles. And the truck's tranny keeps slipping and grabbing, sometimes with large amount of force.

In the cab I'm cursing my luck. I'm going have to take the truck in for service. Who knows how long that's going to take. This is why I bought a new truck, so I wouldn't have to deal with "truck issues". The club race is in 3 weeks. With my luck so far this summer, I'm already imagining the conversation with the service manager:

"Sorry Mr. Brady, but it seems that the cause is a impacted transdermal sonic shift regulator which is only manufactured by a religious cult on Easter Island during their full moon eclipse purification rites. Unfortunately, there's a worldwide backorder on this part. We expect to receive one by June 2006. Meanwhile we would be happy to rent you this Pinto. Make sure you rate us Excellent on the Customer Satisfaction survey! Have a nice day."

Some idiot cuts me off in the left hand lane of I-695 forcing me to slam on my brakes. BANG! "Damn, that almost gave me whiplash. I'll be lucky to make it home like this. That felt just like a car hit me in the rear. I'll have to take the truck right to the dealer."

"... just like a car hit me in the rear..."

Uh-oh, see what happens when two brain cells rub together ...
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