Fourth of the Losers

Fourth of the Losers

www.unsage.com

My Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning qualifying for my August, 2002 race in Seattle had gone very well. I had outdone my expectations, with a final qualifying lap time of 1:51.8, putting me 33^rd of 40 cars for Sunday’s Group 2 race at the end of the day.

When I lined up in pre-grid, hot sun slanted into the car. Sweat dribbled nervously into my eyes. Two cars ahead of me was Linda Heinrich in her red Toyota Paseo, number 123. I had hoped to qualify in front of her, but was short by .2 seconds. Just behind me was Margie Burgesser in her yellow Datsun 510. Jeff Penick’s I-P car was right behind Margie. My goal for this race was to stay ahead of Margie. In the past, I hadn't been able to keep up with her. I was pretty certain that, while I had qualified a hair faster, her greater experience racing would tell, and she would pull ahead of me. As I sat in pregrid, I repeated the mantra, “look far, go fast” as a reminder of the most basic principals of high performance driving.

When Group 2 received the 1 minute warning, my car started fine, despite the starter-solenoid problems of the previous day. That was a relief. With the green flag, the pack accelerated down the straight in a haze of dust and noise. The details disappeared into the fog of lap after lap blending into one sensation of speed, inertia, light and wind. I began to push harder. A lot harder. While I was willing to lift a bit to let someone by who had initiated a successful pass, I aggressively pushed to pass them back.

Margie disappeared in my review mirror. I hoped that my concentration would not fail me, and somehow I would be able stay ahead. Part of me couldn't believe I would be able to finish ahead of another G-Production car. I put the thoughts out of mind, and concentrated on going fast.

Coming through the 5a/b and 6 turn complex, a VW Rabbit was stuck up to the axels in the kitty litter. Many laps behind the pace car ensued as course workers figured out how to unmire the otherwise undamaged car. They waved a red flag. This meant that we parked the cars in front of Start / Finish and waited. And waited. And waited. With the sun beating down on us, sweating like mad in a 3-layer Nomex suit, Nomex socks, Nomex shoes, Nomex gloves, Nomex balaclava and helmet. Nomex breathes about as well as vinyl. I ran the heater cranked full-hot in the car, to help cool the engine. I knew if I turned the engine off, the car wouldn’t start and my race would be over. It was “hot-enough-for-ya” hot. And now, the big lead I had on Margie was gone – she was two cars behind me. Directly in front of me was Jeff’s Civic, with an RX-7 in front of him, and just in front of the RX-7 was Linda Heinrich. I was toast! Margie was going to eat me for breakfast on the restart. I reminded myself: look far, go fast.

Finally, after complications, the Rabbit was cleared. We followed behind the pace car. The RX-7 in front of Jeff pulled off immediately, victim of overheating. On the pace lap, heading down the hill, a Rabbit rear-ended a Datsun 510 several cars in front of me, putting them both out of the race immediately. Although I didn't know it at the time, both of those cars, as well as the kitty-littered Rabbit were in my class. A 4th G-P car had pulled off earlier with a mechanical problem. My class had been thinned considerably.

The long line of Group 2 cars (minus the two unfortunates who were probably trying to strangle each other at a turn station) came back onto the straight for the restart… And we were off after a gawdawful long delay! Again, I managed to hold my place. Jeff Penick snuck past Linda's red #123 car as the pack headed through turn 2. After a few laps Margie was again gone from my rear-view mirror, and I realized something – I could keep up with Linda and maybe, just maybe, pass her. Barely. Somehow.

If I had been rational, I would have weighed the odds of passing her (low) against the reward of doing so (lower) and the heightened chance of bending my car (not low) and just been content to finish. But racing isn't rational for me. It's a sunny haze, a mental slide show of pictures matched to actions, an almost hallucinatory kinesthetic relationship that means finding, again and again, the fine edge between slip and scrub, which is where momentum is conserved and carried through to the next corner. So I raced. I raced.

Linda was trying hard to get past Jeff. Even though they weren't in the same class, Linda wanted to use him as padding between me and herself. Jeff wanted to continue to use Linda and myself as padding from the I-P car that was hounding me. A three-way fencing match ensued. Even as Linda feinted and darted to pass Jeff, I was doing the same to her. Again and again, I tried to get past her – but in every corner, she closed the door on me. I was dripping with sweat, completely exhausted from the heat and exertion, and barely keeping it together. I tried the inside, then the outside, but there was never space. We exited turn 8 at 75 mph with the front of my car only 3 feet behind hers. Several times, I almost had a pass, but she managed to find a little more speed on the corner exit and hold me off. The race would be over soon.

Between turn 2 and the 3a / b S-curve is a steep downhill stretch that leads into the tight off-camber right-hander of turn 3a. I had already tried to pass Linda several times there. When I moved to the inside, she moved with me – when I moved back, she moved back. Hmmmm… The next time through, I moved to the inside earlier then I had in the past. She moved with me. Then I moved back. She moved back. At the very last possible moment, I went back to the inside, and braked as late and as close to lockup as I could – and suddenly I was by both Jeff and Linda.

Then the work began in earnest as both experienced drivers wanted to pass me, as soon as possible. Both realized that the race was almost over. To confuse matters even further, the back marker for the Pro 7 class (made up exclusively of old Mazda RX-7s) caught up to us and entered the fray. I couldn't afford to the let the newcomer by in a corner, as it would cost too much speed, and I knew Linda would get by me if I gave her a single opportunity – she was right behind me. I pointed the new RX-7 by several times on the straight but he couldn't quite get by. I drove a defensive line for many corners – this meant I used less of track, and thus drove a little slower, but made it difficult for anyone to pass me in the corner. The dangerous part of doing this is that a defensive line is slower. The car behind can drive the corner with a faster line, and thus carry more speed on the exit – possibly enough to pass on the straight. It was a risk I had to take – because Linda wasn't taking “no” for an answer!

I held Jeff and Linda off for three long, difficult and nerve wracking laps. Finally, I came onto the straight and saw the checkered flag waving. As I crossed the finish line I was exuberant, and I shook my right fist in victory.

I had finished ahead of not one, but two G-Production cars, as well as several cars that had DNF’d. I hadn't even expected to be able to catch a G-P car until I put race suspension on my car, as racing without it is a significant disadvantage. I came off the track exhausted and happy. Linda waved and gave me a big smile when she passed me on the way to her paddock space.

When I turned off the car, it wouldn't start again. Thankfully, I hadn't turned it off at the red flag! Replacing the starter was, obviously, my next project. I expected it would be relatively quick and easy.

Worn out and dead-tired, I slowly began to pack my stuff and clean up the debris of two track days. Several times I checked for the official race results, as I was curious to see my best lap time. The results took forever. A friend of mine, Joni, was volunteering at driver services and asked if I was picking up a trophy. "I wish,” I said. “I just want to see how I did."

I chatted with Linda and Margie after the race and waved goodbye to Judge and Jeff Penick. On the way back, I saw Joni, by my truck. Holding something in her hands. A trophy, although obviously not for me. "Here," she said. "This is yours. I'm glad I found you." I said something witty, like, "Whu… whu… duh?" "You were fifth," she said, "out of eleven people in your class." When there are more than ten cars in a class a trophy is awarded to the first five places.

I kept looking at the little trophy on the way home to make sure I hadn't imagined it. Every time I thought about the race, I grinned. It made the innumerable hours preparing the car worth it. It made the long drives, bad food, smelly hotel rooms, sleep deprivation, banged knuckles, filthy and tired hands, the money spent, the uncomprehending looks received from friends and co-workers, all worth it.

If, as they say, second place is just first of the losers, I was a very content fourth-of-the-losers. It took luck, others ill-luck and the hardest driving I'd ever done to place 5th. Fifth out of 11 cars may not sound great, but it was a long and difficult road to get there. I knew that I could be faster still.

And, in classic UnSage fashion, I left the e-brake on in the race car when I towed it home on the dolly. Sniff, sniff, what is that smell?