Grand Prix
(c) 2005 J. Sage Schreiner
www.unsage.com
When Linda Heinrich's red Paseo went sideways in the Turn 1 braking zone while surrounded by a pack of yapping RX7s, I knew it was going to end badly. I dove to the inside and slipped past the mayhem and tire smoke. As I passed her, I heard the solid crunch of opportunity as one of the RX7s took a bite out of the side of her car. I knew I could win the G-P race. Scott Morton's yellow 510 was close behind, but I had beat him at Mission, and I could beat him at PIR. The next lap, moments too late, I saw the dark sheen of oil in the braking zone of Turn 1. I knew that Linda had hit it and I was going to do the same. My car wiggled sideways, over-rotating into the corner, and suddenly I was sliding sideways over the red and white FIA curbing, two wheels on dirt, perpendicular to the corner, watching the fleeting chance of victory dart past me in the guise of yellow Datsun 510 #34. The 510's lead was large, and there were only a few laps left.
This was, in a few moments, the story of my weekend in Portland: a glimpse of previously-unattained victory, immediately snatched away. That’s racing: defeat snatched from the jaws of victory.
Girlchief, Racerdog and I towed down to Portland Friday. Racerdog snored contentedly behind the seats. Racerdog was a little nervous Saturday morning around the noisy race cars, but she quickly acclimatized; by noon she barely even pricked her ears when a race car started. Being a former racer herself, she fit right in.
I wish I could say the same for myself -- not having driven Portland for two years, I was having trouble remembering where to turn and brake. I was crawling around the track and avoiding spinning cars. Running with no chicane meant that the track was going to be much faster with a greater emphasis on high(er)-horsepower cars. This meant I was out of the running to place decently before the race even started -- my blocky, underpowered car was at too big of a disadvantage on the straightaway.
I wasn't making up any speed in the corners, either. My driving was erratic -- I was often missing the apex by several feet. Twice I tracked out too far and touched the alligator teeth on the outside of the track. The alligator teeth felt like they were going to tear the car apart with the intense vibration. My teeth were still rattling as I came in and contemplated the odds.
Of my competitors, Linda Heinrich was the fastest. I had beaten her before at Pacific Raceways. Despite this being her home track, maybe I could beat her? It seemed almost, barely, theoretically possible. Saturday afternoon qualifying was not auspicious. Make that terrible.
I drove hard, but wasn't fast. The car had no power below about 6000 rpms. I'd step on the gas, and... nothing. Considering my 6200 rpm redline, this didn't leave me a lot to work with. Linda drove past me on the straight like I was standing still. With luck, I could make up one car length in the corners on a good lap, but I can't make up ten! I drove harder. I was going faster; on the corner complex just before the back straight I was shifting earlier. I was starting to shift before the car was straight. Several laps in a row I noticed that the shifter was stiff before it would click into 4th gear.
The fourth lap, when the shifter snicked into 4th, it wasn't 4th. It was 2nd. This was not good. Going from redline in 3rd gear to waaaay past the redline in 2nd gear is commonly known as "the big dollar down shift." The rear wheels accelerated the engine to 8000 rpms. The car made loud, unhealthy noises. I whimpered in fear and disgust. I waved a train of cars by as I put-putted down the back straight and pulled into the paddock, red dollar signs hovering in front of my eyes.
So much for my season. The M10 motor is not a zero interference motor. This means that the valves and pistons can contact each other. Spin it fast enough and valves and pistons touch, or rather, smash into each other. That's bad and it often means a complete engine rebuild.
I borrowed a compression tester from Jeff Peneck and checked all four cylinders. Astoundingly, compression was good across the board. Essentially, I was looking for a cylinder with a significantly lower compression than the others, but all were around 155, +/- 5 psi. So, the engine would probably still run, assuming I hadn't torn up a rod bearing.
But if I didn't figure out why I was so down on power below 5500 rpms, there wouldn't be any real point in my racing. It would also have the possibility of damaging the engine, depending on what the problem was. There wasn't going to be an opportunity to troubleshoot the problem properly, so I decided to do everything I could think of.
First I checked the spark plugs. They looked good, although they had a minor white deposit. This can indicate lean (not enough gas) combustion, but it was minor. I replaced them. I checked and cleaned the distributor cap and rotor. They were fine. I disconnected and reconnected the distributor vacuum advance hoses. Next up, I checked both fuel pumps by putting a screwdriver against the pump and listening to it, ala stethoscope. Both made healthy buzzing noises. On the premise that I might be having trouble with the intake fuel pump pulling enough fuel, I also added some gas to the tank, and made sure I was running with more than a few gallons. I didn't need the extra weight, but it was worth a try. Throughout all of this, Girlchief was a constant help.
The weekend did not look good. The idea that I could somehow win was a distant memory. I had qualified 4th of 5 cars, several seconds behind the 3rd GP qualifier. I was going to have to find 2 seconds to qualify any better.
Sunday morning, I convinced the race steward to give me a hardship lap. This meant that I got to take one very quick lap to ascertain whether I had fixed the fuel problem. It wasn't easy to tell with a single lap, but it seemed better. I kept my fingers crossed and waited for qualifying. I spent quiet time in the truck rubbing Racerdog’s ears for luck and visualizing smooth, perfect laps.
When I went out for qualifying, the car felt right. I concentrated on bringing my speed up in corners, and being smooth. I had several hundred more RPMs at the end of the front and back straights. That may not sound like much, but carrying more speed over the whole straight can knock seconds off of a time.
My qualifying results were much better: I had qualified third of the G-P cars. Scott Morton's yellow Datsun 510 was right in front of me. Linda Heinrich's red Toyota Paseo was a few cars up. She had been about 1.5 seconds faster than me. I decided that my goal was to beat Scott and finish within sight of Linda. Long shot, but worth a try.
The afternoon's races passed slowly. I stayed hydrated, relaxed, and visualized fast laps. Although it had been raining on and off through the weekend, the weather had begun to clear. There were fast moving, low clouds and blue sky. It was good racing weather: sunny, but not too warm. Girlchief wished me luck at the one minute warning, and walked down to the west end of the track to watch.
After our warm up lap behind the pace car, the green waved, and we took off. Somehow I managed to get a good start and work my way through the swarm of cars, entering Turn 1 in front of the rest of the G-P class. I knew it wouldn't last, as Linda was right behind me. I led for two laps until Linda passed me on the front straight. Close behind me now were Scott's 510, and the blue MINI of Dave Rinker. I stayed close to Linda, and managed to pass her again at Turn 7, the very fast left hander at the end of the back straight. This didn't last long -- she was able to get past me a second time a lap later.
Slowly, lap after lap, Linda began to pull away. Scott and Dave were having a close race of their own. I messed up the entrance to a corner with a bit of sloppy driving and Scott slipped past. Half-a-lap later I was able to squeeze past him. Linda was still within sight, just at the back of a pack of RX7s. Scott and Dave were tangled up behind me.
Then Linda's Paseo was sideways in Turn 1, and hit, and I was leading G-P for the 3rd time. Just as quickly, I had had my own rotational moment and Scott was well past me, and the gap was increasing. Dave's blue MINI was close behind me. A green Rabbit was just in front me. Things looked bad.
I was about 3 feet off of the Rabbit's bumper as we entered the turn 4-5-6 complex right before the back straight. I saw a splash of gas from the Rabbit’s overflow canister. Gas is slick, and with no time to react, my front tires were locked and I slid into the back of the Rabbit, firmly. We both wiggled, waggled and as I recovered, I saw the green car fly off the outside of the corner then pull back on just behind me. I felt bad, but there was nothing I could have done about it. Scott's yellow 510 was a few seconds in front me. He was going to be tough to catch.
As we came off the back straight, one of the swarm of RX7s ahead of Scott got very loose in turn 7, and the whole pack slowed. I brushed the brakes and got a hot but controllable entry to 7 and 8. Scott, stuck behind the slow RX7s, was suddenly only about 30 feet in front of me through Turn 9. As we accelerated down the front straight, I drafted off him. Our cars were closely matched, but I was able to accelerate through the dead air punched by his blocky car. When I was about 12 inches of his bumper, but about 2 miles per hour faster, I pulled out into the air stream. I could feel my car stagger as the wind hit it. The front of my car crept up his door. We both waited as late as possible as the brake markers flashed by: 300… 200… 100… He waited a little longer than I did, and I thought I hadn't made the pass… but he had waited too long and was going too fast, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him sliding sideways, then dropping two wheels off the pavement. He was back on the track in a cloud of dust, but now he was behind me and two corners later, I saw him go very sideways and suddenly he wasn't even in sight, and I was racing by myself in clean air with no one who could take my victory away except myself.
All I had to do now was drive a few clean laps. I backed off ever-so slightly and tried to remember to breathe. After a nervous penultimate lap, start-finish tower displayed the LL board; my last lap was clean and when I crossed the start-finish line I felt the tension drain. I had just won my first race against stiff competition and despite car trouble during the weekend. I came off the track and Girlchief and Racerdog were there to give me water and congratulate me on my first win. I was hot, sweaty and happy. I didn't know it, but both Linda and Scott had posted significantly quicker fastest-lap times than I had. It took good traffic management, luck and consistent driving for my win.
I received a plain, purple glass with "1st Place" engraved in it; you'd expect to get something like that for knocking down two of three clowns at the fair. It sits on the middle of our mantelpiece.
The Unsage Racing team.