Catching Up

It's all a blur.

Starting where we left off, Friday (October 26) during lunch I drove to NAPA to pick up the correct bearings. Then the fun began.

If you recall, we had to warm the upright and chill the bearings to loosen the interference fit between them. I put the bearings in the freezer and checked the LP tank on the gas grill at work. Everything was ready to go, but I didn't want to char the uprights or get burger grease on them. Fortunately, we tend to save things here. We had a company lunch a while back, with food from a local restaurant brought in inside pans of heavy aluminum foil. Knowing that the pans would come in handy somehow, we washed and saved the pans and the lids. One lid was the perfect size and shape to wrap the upright to protect it from smoke and hot spots. We fired up the grill and put the upright in to cook for an hour.

Bruce Lindstrand had told me that if I warmed the upright and chilled the bearings, the bearings would slip right in (insert slurping noise here). I confess I'm not used to things going that smoothly. When I hear, "They'll slip right in (slurping noise)," that translates to "You'll only have to fight with them for 15 minutes, not an hour or two." But this was a statement I could have taken at face value. I positioned the first bearing over its hole just to get it ready for the press, but the frost on the bearing made me lose my grip on it, and it fell out of my hand... and slipped right in (slurping noise). We were so thrilled that we flipped the upright over to get the other bearing in from the other side -- and the first bearing slipped right back out. A few minutes of Three Stooges re-enactment later, and both bearings were in. By the time the upright cooled to the point that the bearings would not fall out, it was after 5pm. I wrapped the assembly in racer's tape to ensure that the bearings would still be in the upright when I got home.

Reassembly was only a little more work than disassembly, but not by much. When everything was back together, I spun each axle and listened for any noise. The right axle had a little noise that seemed to be coming from the inner CV joint, so I took that joint apart to examine it. There was a little wear inside, and a couple of the balls had a little discoloration, so I decided to replace it. First I would need to grease the new joint. Which took a little longer than I anticipated, because I had to look for my grease gun (I'm still unpacking from the move). And the grease gun was empty. No problem, I have more grease in the basement. Twenty minutes later, the grease gun was loaded with fresh grease and so was I. Ten minutes later the new CV joint was installed and the car was on the ground. It was about 9pm at this point, so I was well ahead of schedule. I got the car on the trailer and went to bed.

I think I've mentioned before that I'm not a fan of being in the first group of the day. I'm not a morning person to begin with, and I don't like having to rush to be ready. But the truck was running well and the prior weekend's head wind had died down, so I was able to get to the track by 7am. The good people in Registration and Tech got me through in plenty of time to set up a work area. We got the canopy set up with the sidewalls on (50 degrees with a stiff wind is not nearly as pleasant as 50 degrees with no wind at all), unloaded the truck, and got some hot chocolate.

The first practice session was incident-free. Despite the cold, I turned a 1:21. The engine was very strong -- cold weather typically makes more horsepower than hot weather -- but the cold air seemed to be right at the limit of the carburetor jetting. There was a definite lag getting on the throttle, and the exhaust would pop frequently, but I had no competition, so I wasn't too worried.

We huddled around the car under the canopy during lunch. The warm tires, brakes, and engine were like a campfire in our tent. One quick nut-and-bolt check (and refueling) later, and we were ready for qualifying. The afternoon was slightly warmer than the morning, so the engine was running a bit better and the tires were gripping better. I qualified at a 1:19.6, which put be 8th overall in the group, but the official grid confirmed that I had no competition. I was the only car entered in CFF for this race. Of course I have mixed emotions about that. Every trophy and every win still means a lot to me, and running alone makes for a very relaxing race. On the other hand, it also makes for a boring race, both for me and for anyone I talked into coming to watch. It also means that the average number of entrants in the class is coming down. Still, I needed to run this race in order to keep my license current, so I wasn't about to go home.

We checked over the car before buttoning it up for the night. Everything looked good, but we struggled for a while with the zippers on the sidewalls. The car is just a little bit longer than the canopy is, and the sidewalls are only just barely long enough to go all the way around the canopy -- IF the legs are perfectly vertical. Which they weren't.

It was a bit like another Three Stooges episode. We'd close the zipper a little bit, then it would refuse to budge because the opening was too wide. Then we'd pull up the stakes holding a couple of legs down, move the legs in a bit, stake them back down, and try the zipper again. Better, closer, but still a bit too snug. Pull up the stakes, move the legs in, stake them back down, try the zipper. That one got us another 3/4 of an inch. (Before you yell, "Idiots! Why do you keep pounding the stakes back in before you try the zipper?" Please understand, it was windy. As soon as a stake came up, the canopy began dancing in the wind. We had to get the stakes back in the ground as quickly as we could or we'd lose the whole thing.)

We finally got the zippers almost all the way to the ground and called it good. Driving away, my father remarked that the canopy looked remarkably like a tomb. Yeah, let's not bring up death at a racetrack, okay?

Sunday morning was clear and nowhere near as windy, but we were greeted by a layer of frost on everything. Thankfully the sun was coming out when we got to the track, so it felt even warmer than Saturday. Unfortunately, that meant the frost on the canopy was melting quickly, and it was dripping on everything. We pushed the car out and left the canopy to dry in the sun.

I warmed up the car, changed into my driver's suit, and waited for the calls to grid. Normally, they will announce three calls to the grid over the PA system. When they give "third and final call," they will often warn that the grid will close soon (typically 5 minutes). Anyone who is not on the grid when the grid closes will lose his starting position and will have to start the race from the back of the grid.

The PA was eerily silent. Several of us were standing around, wondering out loud when the grid calls would start. Finally, about 5 minutes before the race was scheduled to start, they gave first call. I walked to the car and suddenly heard an oddly frantic voice over the PA shrieking, "Grid is at 5 minutes!! Grid is at 5 minutes!!" The grid had signalled that the race would begin in 5 minutes. I drove the 50 feet to the grid and was informed that I was late and would have to start at the back. Was this someone's idea of a joke? One grid call, and then we're suddenly late? What happened to second call, third call, and the warning that the grid was closed?

Actually, I wasn't that close to the back. Only four or five cars had made it to the grid "on time." The rest of us were being lined up as we came, and at least four cars were behind me. Suddenly I was very glad that I didn't have any competition. If I had been trying to beat someone, I'd have been furious. Or at least as upset as my dad was. I actually had to try to calm him down while I waited for the pace lap to start.

For the start of the pace lap, cars pull out from the grid and stop on the front straight as they wait for the rest of the field to line up behind them. Once the entire field is lined up on the front straight, the pace car pulls out to start the pace lap. I waited for the cars behind me (maybe it's more than four, this is taking a while) and saw the pace car pull away. The cars in front of me began to move, I went to pull away -- and stalled the car. I have never done that before -- have I? Maybe once before. Or twice. But not in the last 5 years, certainly. I think. I got the car started again and rejoined the field for what was perhaps the fastest pace lap of my life. Nobody had a chance to scrub tires or warm their brakes, but I'm sure we warmed up the track a bit.

The grid mix-up had put me behind several FVs and FSTs, which I decided to use for entertainment. I would gradually pull up behind a slower car and watch the driver's technique, looking for any little tricks that I haven't seen before. I learned a few new lines through some corners (not all of them successful), but after a corner or two behind each car I would begin to look for the safest and easiest place to pass. Some were easy to pass, either under acceleration or braking. Some drivers nearly pulled over and stopped to let me pass. When I finally reached the F500 which should have been gridded behind me, I realized that I was working very hard to pass him and even harder to keep him behind me. Since we were running in different classes, I let him re-pass me, choosing an easy finish over a potential mistake.

Two cars did make the kind of mistake I was trying to avoid. An F500 and an FST tangled in corner 6 on the first lap. The FST was one of the few cars who had made it to the grid on time, but his qualifying time was the slowest of the group. It appeared that the F500 (who had not made it to the grid on time) may have been trying too hard to pass the slower car, or at least may not have realized how much slower the other car was. Both cars were unable to continue.

I settled in behind the F500 and concentrated on running a conservative race. My fastest lap time in the race was a 1:20.4, which was likely when I was trying to chase down the F500. Most of my laps during the second half of the race were in the 1:22 to 1:23 range. But I finished the race and set a new record -- for the first time, I finished the last race of the season with a car that will not need any repairs over the winter.

While we were resting after the race, a photographer approached me and told me he had been looking for me for two years. He had taken pictures of my victory lap at this same event in 2005, but he hadn't seen me since.

He only needed to look on my couch; I was there pretty much the whole time.

Losing my Bearings

I forgot the cardinal rule of auto racing: When everything looks like it's falling into place, you've missed something. Put another way, if anything can be described as "too easy", it is.

I purchased replacement bearings (four, in case we damaged any on installation). I took the upright off the car (it came off without any trouble). I packed everything in a box and arranged to take it all to LMI Thursday evening.

The first thing Bruce did was to take the stub axle out of the upright. As soon as he did, he could see that I had purchased the wrong bearings. Nothing about them was correct -- wrong size (by about 1mm on the OD), wrong type (double-row ball instead of single-row ball), and much too wide to fit the upright. He got the old bearings out without much trouble (he makes it look so easy), but there was nothing else we could do. The parts stores were closed, and none of the other cars in the LMI shop use the bearing I needed. I put all the loose parts back in the box and drove home.

The real shame is not that I wasted all that time driving to Darien. I felt worse that I asked Bruce to stay in the shop three hours after they closed so he could help me. But this morning I have an upright with no bearings, and no access to the proper way to install the new bearings once I get them.

The proper way to install bearings in a cast aluminum part is to start by warming the aluminum part to about 300-350 degrees. This makes the bearing bore slightly larger, making it easier to slip the bearing in. Ideally the bearings should also be chilled to shrink them slightly for even more clearance. Finally, a press should be at hand to squeeze the bearings into place. I have two out of those three here at work and at home. We have a press and a freezer at work, but no oven. We have an oven and a freezer at home, but no press. If the bearings arrive in time today, we may try to warm the upright on a gas grill. If not, I'll have to go shopping for a press on my way home tonight. And then I'll have to do a lot of explaining and apologizing for putting my car parts in the oven.

I'm giving myself until midnight tonight. If the car isn't on its wheels by then (or at least making significant progress), I don't think I'll make the race this weekend.

Getting My Bearings

The good people at Lindstrand Motorsports have helped me identify the mysterious noises I thought I was hearing. The noises were real, and they were the result of worn wheel bearings. The left rear wheel can be moved about 1/8" up and down, although it is still tight side to side.

The left rear wheel on a formula car is typically the most heavily loaded wheel in road racing. Road racing courses are generally run clockwise, which emphasizes right hand turns. Turning right transfers weight to the outside wheels (the left side), and the rear of the car is heavier than the front, both because of static weight distribution and because weight transfers to the rear wheels under acceleration. I won't speculate on what percentage of the car's weight is carried by the left rear wheel in a right hand turn, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was more than half. This is the same force that ate up the VW wheel hubs I used a couple of years ago.

What appears to have happened is the outer race of the bearing has become egg-shaped (pointy end up) from the extra weight it has been carrying. It hasn't just generally worn out, which would cause the wheel to be loose in every direction. If you put one hand on the tire at 3 o'clock and your other hand at 9 o'clock and push and pull, you won't feel any play. But put your hands at 6 o'clock and 12 o'clock and you can move the wheel up and down with an audible clunk.

The plan for the next few days is to take the upright off tonight so that I can deliver it (and two new bearings) to LMI tomorrow, as Bruce has offered to stay in the shop after hours to help press the old bearings out and install the new ones. Depending on the hour when I get home Thursday night, I may try to get the car back together that night so I can load up Friday night and head to the track Saturday morning. I don't know if I'll make it in time for the first practice session in the morning, but I should be ready for qualifying in the afternoon.

That Loooong Race '07

"Couldn't ask for better weather" was the most often heard phrase last weekend. The late October weather in northern Illinois has not been the best for outdoor activities in the past. Rain, cold, wind, bitter cold, snow, and cold are typical conditions for "The Looong Race," but cloudless skies and temperatures in the 70s made the stiff breeze tolerable all weekend.

This was my first race at Blackhawk since losing the oil pump in the rain last May, and I was looking forward to it. Blackhawk is a fun track with a welcoming atmosphere. Pro teams test there, but the track doesn't host any pro events. Unlike other tracks that cater to the pro racer (and to the spectators), Blackhawk hasn't clearcut groves of trees to set up grandstands or paved everything in sight. The creek where I used to catch tadpoles and snails and grasshoppers as a kid is still a creek. The track is still shaded by trees in many areas. Yes, the bathrooms are far from glamorous and we all paddock on grass or gravel, but the place feels more like a park or a picnic area than a business.

Most of the races we run are short sprint races, somewhere around 30 minutes or 50 miles. The Looong Race is a 100 mile race (technically, it's 97 1/2 -- 50 laps around a 1.95 mile track). Many cars stop to refuel (as I would have to do), and many people co-drive the event (as my competition, Mike and Paul Schindlbeck, would do). Most of our races don't involve pit stops, so this race can see some real entertainment in the pits. Unless the race is going to decide a championship, many of us take a fairly laid-back approach to setting up a pit crew. I hadn't actually arranged for a crew to help me refuel, but the great thing about club racing is that I knew could count on someone to help me. My parents were there, and my father agreed to hand me the fuel jug and hold the fire extinguisher ready while I poured in the fuel. That was all I needed, and I only needed enough fuel to make it to the finish.

Practice was relatively uneventful as I got reacquainted with the track. It was amazing how quickly some of the reference points came back, and equally amazing how baffling some of the corners seemed, even at the end of the session. Still, I turned a 1:20.655, which is only a few seconds off my best time. The car ran flawlessly, and I was even able to buckle the belts without holding my breath this time.

Practice didn't go so well for everyone. For some reason, people in fast cars seemed content to follow slower cars for many laps. I caught up to a group of cars including FCs, FFs, a CSR, and a CS2000 (all faster) following a slower car. I was directly behind a Reynard FC, just watching and trying to copy his rhythm, when the CS2 spun entering corner 3A. A couple of cars went right, one car went left, a couple of cars stopped, and the Reynard went off the track to the left. He must have hit a curb on his way out, because the car went bounding over the grass like a huge metal puppy. He came back on the track in front of me, but he slowed and pulled off at corner 4 with a bent suspension.

I shouldn't have put so much emphasis on qualifying, since winning this race would not earn me any points. Only one other CFF was running (Schindlbecks), and I would still get a trophy for second place. They would probably beat me in the pits anyway, since they have co-driven this race in their car more times than I have in all the cars I've driven. But I didn't come to finish second. I worked hard during qualifying, turning a 1:19.7 to Paul Schindlbeck's 1:22.5.

Paul told me during lunch that they had found their two and a half seconds -- the ignition points were badly burned out, keeping the car from making any power above 5000rpm. With the new set of points, he predicted he'd be right on my tail. I didn't doubt him. But what he didn't tell me is that they wouldn't need to refuel. They would only change drivers. That would be a big advantage for them.

The pace lap was incredibly fast. I don't remember the last time I was in 4th gear during a pace lap. (That may have been my fastest lap of the race.) Once the green flag dropped, I tried to settle in to a conservative pace, turning 1:22 laps and driving as smoothly as I could. Traffic spread out almost immediately, which was surprising after the clumps in the morning practice session. Soon I was all alone. No faster cars in sight in front of me, but more surprising, no cars in my mirrors either. Where was Paul, and when would I see him flying past me? I started cursing my decision not to burden my mother with the stopwatch and pit board. I really wanted to know what was going on around me!

A peculiar thing happens when you're all alone with your thoughts in a noisy racecar. The noises seem to change, though it may only be your interpretation of the noises that changes. Every click, every buzz, every pop, and every rattle worries you. Is that clicking sound new? Was that pop the sound of something breaking? Is something wearing out? Is this car going to last the entire race? You can go crazy listening for new sounds, trying to picture just what the sound is, and trying to calculate how much longer you can afford to push it before the sound turns into an explosion.

I started to worry about the gearbox. This was the same race that cost me a transmission in 2005. I had checked the oil level before this race, though, and it was fine. I kept telling myself to concentrate on the track, on the steering, the throttle and brake. But I kept hearing a rattling, popping noise. I kept picturing a tooth broken off of a gear, bouncing around inside the transmission, waiting for just the right moment to jump between two meshed gears and jam everything solid. I actually stopped using first and second gears, thinking that shifting less often would be less strain on the gearbox. Not that it would have helped. If something had broken off and was rattling around, it could have jammed everything regardless of what gear I was in at the time.

I had a very loose plan in place to stop for fuel somewhere around the 25 lap mark. On my 22nd lap, I recognized my fuel jug being waved in the air at the pit wall. But the person waving it was wearing a helmet, and I couldn't figure out who it was! The next lap, the person had taken his helmet off, and I recognized that it was David Cox. I pulled in the next time around and hopped out of the car. I found out later that David had approached my father and offered to do the fueling so I could rest. I'm so thankful that he did. I had forgotten how tiring it is to race for that long.

I pulled out of the pit lane and saw that my lap timer showed a time of 5:49.5. I had lost 4 minutes in the pits -- most of it spent struggling to buckle myself back in the car. I found out later that the Schindlbecks had changed drivers in less than 30 seconds, and their total pit stop, including entering and exiting pit lane, cost them only about one minute. After both pit stops, I was one lap down. I would really have to turn some seriously fast laps to catch them.

Or I could rely on luck. The next thing I knew (which was about 15 laps later), I passed Mike on the track. He was going very slow, and the car didn't sound right. Even with a helmet on, I could see he wasn't happy. Shortly after they had changed drivers, Mike spent about 5 minutes in the pits because the car was overheating. Several laps later -- probably shortly after I passed him -- he pulled back in with a blown head gasket. Their race was done after 35 laps.

I nursed the car to the finish, turning a best lap of 1:21.5. This was my first time ever winning The Looong Race (and only my third time making it to the checkered flag) in 9 tries. I was so worn out at the end, I know the car was in better shape than I was. I could barely hold the checkered flag because my hand was so sore from gripping the steering wheel. I couldn't push the clutch pedal because my foot hurt so badly from bracing myself against the footrest. My eyes were as dry as the Sahara and I could barely hold my head upright. But it felt great.

Now I need to open the gearbox and find out what is going on in there before the last SCCA Regional race of the season at Blackhawk this weekend. Wish me luck.

Wisconsin Grand Prix

There are epic tales of legendary races. There are very short stories about not-so-interesting races. And there are a few stories of races that never were.

The SCCA had planned to host a race on the infield road course of the State Fair Park racetrack (the "Milwaukee Mile" -- I don't call it that because the road course is two miles, not one). Everything was arranged, and the cable company was even going to send out a film crew to cover the event for the local sports channel.

I got to the track just after 6pm, when registration was scheduled to open. The paddock was already a little crowded, but I parked and went to stand in the registration line. On the way I passed a few people who were on the board of directors for the SCCA region, and they didn't look happy. The phrases "looking pretty grim" and "may not happen this weekend" were overheard. Someone else filled me in: The race may be cancelled because the track was not ready. It would take a lot of work to make the track safe for a race, and nobody knew yet if the project could be completed in time. They would try, and we would wait.

A handwritten sign on the registration tent didn't inspire confidence either: "Registration closed until futher notice." I decided to take a spot in line and wait for the final word.

The State Fair grounds were hosting several other activities that same weekend, including a very large cattle show. (That's a very large show for cattle, not a show for very large cattle. Though some of the cattle there were indeed very large.) They had decided that the best place to park all the cattle trailers was just outside the track -- circling the registration tent. The smell wasn't too bad, but apparently it soaked into my clothes pretty thoroughly during the two hours I waited in line.

More details came filtering in bit by bit. Barricades were not in place for the road course because an Indy car team had been testing on the oval all day long. Stacks of tires, which had been supplied by and assembled by members of various sports car clubs, were now missing. The pavement of the infield course was much higher than the surrounding shoulder, resulting in a severe drop-off. The track had been instructed to fill in the shoulder to make it safer if a car spun off the track. Instead, they dumped a lot of rocky fill dirt on the edge of the track, building up a berm in some spots and leaving large (6" diameter) boulders sticking out in other spots. The track didn't have the equipment required to grade the dirt and make the slope of the shoulder more gentle. They were now trying frantically to scrape it down and redistribute the dirt with small Bobcat loaders, working by the light of the safety trucks' headlights.

Around 8:15, the club made the official announcement: It had become clear that there was no way the track could be made safe for a race before Saturday morning, so the event had to be cancelled.

I was disappointed and a little frustrated over the work we had done to get the car ready in time, but then I realized how many people -- drivers and crew and volunteer workers -- had taken the day off to drive in from all over the midwest, only to find there was no race. I have to be thankful that this race was (or would have been) in my own backyard.

Someday I should have my dad tell you the story about the time we pulled up to Grattan Raceway in Michigan back in the '70s and were met by the track owner, drunk and at the wheel of a bulldozer, blocking the entrance.

Back In It

Since the car was already set up for Road America, I decided to run the Midwestern Council races there last weekend. I wouldn’t be able to earn points because I would be running on an SCCA license, but I figured the seat time would be worth it.

I wanted to drop the car off at the track on Friday night, but the forecast suddenly called for strong storms overnight with high winds and hail. I didn’t want to leave the car outside in weather like that, so I left the car in the garage for the night and drove up to register. The weather cooperated and rained on and off while I was there, with a few lightning strikes thrown in for good measure.

The trip to the track was much less interesting than last time (thankfully) and I found a spot on the paved area of the south paddock, very close to where I had parked last month. The only drawback was a stiff breeze which continued until the early afternoon, but spending a few minutes in the sun was enough to get rid of the chill.

The schedule was similar to last month (one morning qualifying session and one afternoon race each day), but my group was later in the day, which made the pace much more relaxing. Because the races are longer than the qualifying sessions, the later groups get more time to prepare for their races. That has always seemed to me to be much more important than being able to leave the track earlier in the day.

My goal for qualifying was to find Pete Wood (or another fast driver) and spend the session following him. That has worked very well for me at Road America, and I’m not exactly sure why. It could be because the draft is so important because of the high speeds on the long straights. It could be that I don’t run the track often enough to have good reference points for braking and turning. Or it could just be that I get a little bored on the long straights and lose concentration, which of course leads to mistakes.

I managed to find Pete a few laps into the session, and as soon as I began following him, my lap times (and his) started falling. Pete eventually got the pole with a 2:44.6, and I qualified right behind him with a 2:44.8. The session felt great, and the day was off to a good start.

The race, on the other hand, didn’t start so well for me. Somehow I lost five positions (two of them in my class) before corner 5. I was now behind Scott Reif in a 1976 Tiga with Scott Durbin in a 1975 Tiga challenging Pete for the lead. I decided to settle in and draft Scott Reif for at least a lap or two, figuring that our cooperation would get us closer to the two lead cars, who I expected to slow each other down a bit in their battle for the lead.

I passed Scott in the Carousel on lap 3 and worked on chasing down Pete and Scott Durbin. I managed to turn a 2:39.5 before I spotted them in the distance. Unfortunately, I got stuck behind another car and couldn’t quite catch them before the checkered flag came out. We finished within 4.2 seconds, and according to the lap times, if I hadn’t been held up by the other car (and IF I could have kept turning 2:39 laps), I could have caught the leaders (or at least I could have been right on their tails). I was happy to settle for third place out of 8 Club Fords.

Sunday went much better for me, not so much better for the other Club Ford drivers. I couldn’t hook up with anyone for qualifying, but I still got the pole with a 2:39.4. Pete had pulled in after three laps with his transmission popping out of gear, and Scott Durbin pulled in one lap early. I had out-qualified Scott by 2 seconds, but we later found out that his gearbox had cracked, so his weekend was over.

I couldn’t relax just yet. I suggested that Pete’s gearbox problem sounded a lot like the problem that I had experienced in October of 2005, when my transmission had run itself dry. The heat generated by the dry gears and bearings made the shift detent springs relax, which left nothing holding the car in gear. He checked and found out that he was indeed very low on oil. He refilled the gearbox and test-drove it around the paddock to make sure everything still operated freely. He would be starting 11 spots behind me (make that 10, since Durbin was out).

And speaking of gearbox issues… during the first few corners of the pace lap for Saturday’s race and the first few corners of Sunday’s qualifying session, I had missed third gear on a few downshifts and once on an upshift. It seemed to be better when the gearbox warmed up, but I couldn’t explain what was going on. I don’t like when I can’t explain why the car is doing something. Fortunately, I checked the valve lash during lunch on Sunday. Stick with me here, because it will make sense in a minute. To adjust the valve lash, I put the car in gear and push the car to turn the engine over very slowly, one valve at a time. The last step in the process is to put the car back in neutral. When I did that, I noticed the shift lever felt and looked very loose. Closer inspection revealed that one central bolt which holds the entire shift linkage in place had indeed loosened. That allowed just the right amount and type of slop into the linkage that it wouldn’t go into third gear unless I really slammed it home (which, apparently, I do when I’m driving hard). Simply tightening the bolt cured the problem. One more issue off my mind.

Sure enough, Pete passed me on the second lap of the race. I had gotten stuck behind a high-horsepower but ill-handling sports racer, and Pete took full advantage of it. I managed to pass the sports racer on the next lap and caught up to Pete. I decided to stay behind him for a while, since cooperating with him early would get us away from the sports racer and allow us to concentrate on racing each other later. I drafted him for several laps before finally deciding that it was time to make a move.

I tried passing Pete in the Carousel, but the track had become dirty enough that I didn’t have enough traction to pull it off. I tried drafting him between corners 3 and 5, but I didn’t time the move quite right and all I could do was draw even. I didn’t think I could outbrake him into corner 5, so I pulled back in behind him and tried to look for another option.

That same lap, I bobbled a little bit entering corner 14, which could have cost me a lot of time since that corner leads onto a very long front straight. But somehow I managed to salvage the corner and come away with good exit speed. Good enough to draft past Pete into corner 1. Well, almost. I timed the passing maneuver correctly so that the draft helped to “slingshot” me past him, but I could only get about halfway past. His front wheels were still ahead of my rear wheels, and I couldn’t pull away. But I knew that I could brake later and carry more speed through corner 1, so I held my position and waited for what seemed like hours. Finally I spotted his brake marker and heard him get off the throttle. I waited a half a beat later than I normally would have before hitting my brakes, just to avoid tangling or crowding him. I was off the proper line, so I should have slowed down even more than I normally would have, but I dropped one gear (I could hear Pete downshifting twice), got off the brakes, and made it through the corner at full throttle.

Pete wasn’t about to let me go without a fight. He was on my tail entering corner 3, but I managed to carry a bit more speed through that corner as well. He was a few car lengths behind me along the straight leading to corner 5, but I still expected him to try to pass me under braking. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep him behind me if he tried it. I braked as late as I thought I possibly could, and he didn’t try to pass me. I finally felt like I could breathe again.

He was still on my tail on the hill from 5 to 6, but I gained a little ground coming through corner 7. He was back on my tail entering corner 8 though, but I knew I could get a better lead through the Carousel. The Tiga hooks up so well through that long sweeper that it’s actually hard to follow other cars through there. In fact, I think I passed more cars that weekend by driving around them in the Carousel than on any other corner.

When I set up for the Kink, I checked my mirrors and saw just a small purple spot behind me. I concentrated on building up a lead for a few laps before I couldn’t see Pete any more. Once my mirrors were clear, I relaxed a bit. As I exited corner 5 the next lap I realized what a mistake I had made. I could see the purple nose of Pete’s Crossle just a few car lengths behind me! But it was already the last lap of the race, and corner 7 and the Carousel were in front of us. I told myself I just had to do the rest of the lap correctly and I’d be home free. No banzai craziness or super speed. Just be smooth, don’t over-brake, and drive the correct line. I think I repeated that mantra about two dozen times over the next nine corners. But it got me to the finish line 0.945 second ahead of Pete.

I can’t count all the bruises and sore muscles from the unfamiliar exertion. Honestly I can’t tell where a bruise ends and a sore muscle begins. But even the aches and pains feel awfully good right now.

Kettle Moraine Regional 2007

The day got off to a bad start. We were already running late when I realized, about 20 minutes down the road, that I didn’t have my helmet bag in the truck. I had put everything else in the kitchen near the back door, but that bag (with all of my driver’s gear and the car log book) was still sitting in the living room where I had left it after packing it the night before. We turned around and got it (along with the thermos of coffee we had also forgotten, and my electric razor, and a bag which I hoped had my SCCA ID in it) and sped off again, now about an hour behind schedule.

We then discovered that the bag did not have my ID in it. This didn’t help matters, because it meant I would have to take more time (and $8) at registration getting a new photo ID. We finally pulled into Road America at 7:15, 45 minutes later than I had planned (but only 15 minutes later than I had expected when we first left, and 15 minutes earlier than we had feared after leaving the second time).

The first miracle happened at registration. I ran to the registration building, but the registrar had seen me coming and had my file ready before I got to the window. I explained that I couldn’t find my ID, but he said I’d be fine just wearing the event wristband. I was registered and on my way into the track before I knew what had happened. Bless you, bless you. You saved my day.

The next challenge was to find Tech. The entry form said that Tech would be “at the pad,” which I took to mean the concrete alignment pad next to the gas pumps. There was nobody there. I circled around to the Lindstrand Motorsports trailer and asked Nicole where Tech was. She told me they were at the scale pad, which I knew as Impound. Of course! That’s where Tech belongs anyway. I drove off in search of a parking spot.

The East-West Challenge drivers had a reserved paddock area which was about 100 yards or so from Tech. But when I spotted the Tech tent, I realized there were several empty paddock spaces in the paved area right next to it! I pulled into one of those spots, rolled the car off the trailer and into their tent, and spent a relaxing few minutes with a crew of very friendly and helpful tech inspectors.

We rolled the car back to our paddock space and unpacked the truck. I tried to start the car and found that the jumper pack (which I had charged for three days) was nearly dead. I tried the on-board battery and finally got the car started. I shut the engine down after a minute of warming up… and noticed the puddle of oil. Panic! The oil pressure gauge line was loose. One frantic search for the correct size wrench later, and the leak was cured.

I had just enough time to put air in the tires and to put on my (still a little too snug) driver’s suit before qualifying. I squeezed into the car and noticed that the shifter moved very freely, maybe even too freely. It felt like the jam nut (which holds the front half tight to the rear half) had come loose, and only the front half was rotating. Panic again! After Amy verified that the rear half was actually moving, I realized that the new Lindstrand shifter was simply no longer binding and rubbing against everything like the old one had. It was actually working properly, which I wasn’t used to.

I pushed the clutch in to select first gear. The clutch pedal seemed very stiff, but I wrote it off as an atrophied clutch muscle in my leg. I tried again and the pedal went down – and stayed there. Panic again! I frantically stomped on the pedal to try to wake it up, and it popped up after a second or two. That was the only trouble the pedal gave me all day, and I still don’t know what happened. I have to guess that the seals in the release bearing had dried out from sitting, and a few strokes of the pedal lubricated them enough to operate freely.

Qualifying would have been uneventful if I hadn’t spoiled a few laps for a group of FVs. I was locking up the front tires while they were trying to carry momentum through the corners. Then I would try to outrun them by powering down the straights, but I couldn’t get far enough ahead that I wouldn’t spoil their next corner. I finally let them go (or did I finally get in front of them?) and ran a couple of laps alone. My best time was 2:47.4, well off my best time but still good enough for 5th of 6. Not too bad after a two-year absence from that track.

We were about to head to breakfast when a woman stopped me to ask some questions about what I used to race, with whom, and when. It finally dawned on us that she was looking for my father. Her husband, John Daugherty, used to race Formula Vees with my father, and had been trying to track him down for a few years. Their son Michael is now racing Spec Racers, and we had a good time comparing notes and reminiscing.

The nut & bolt check did not turn up any surprises. I changed the break-in oil to synthetic and refueled the car before grabbing a quick bite to eat and changing back into my driver’s suit. Race time came sooner than I had expected. I was once again in a rush to get ready and get to the grid, but I got there in plenty of time.

The pace lap was a sight for sore eyes. I didn’t realize how much I missed being in a string of formula cars darting from side to side, warming up tires. The qualifying order was Crossle, Crossle, Tiga, Tiga, Tiga (me), Tiga! The pace car slowed us to a crawl up the front straight hill (3000RPM in first gear), but we got a green flag and a clean start.

A newer Formula Ford which had started at the back pulled out to pass me going into corner 1, and I gave him the corner. I was still unsure of my brake bias, and the pass wasn’t for position, so I had no interest in challenging. I tried to settle in and stay on the tail of Marty Handberg’s red Tiga. The next lap, he pulled out to pass Joe Marcinski’s silver Tiga, and I stayed with him. That took me to 4th place, but I couldn’t challenge for third. I kept up with the pack and cut 6 seconds off my qualifying time. It felt great to be one of a half-dozen Formula Fords running nose-to-tail for so long.

I was only able to keep up for a few more laps before I realized how sloppy my driving was becoming. I was mentally exhausted, physically spent, and still using too much energy worrying about the car. I backed off a bit, but it didn’t take much before the pack was out of sight. The next few laps were mostly uneventful as I tried (with increasing difficulty and decreasing success) to put a good lap together. I finally finished sixth, but the car was still in one piece, and I had a finish.

I realized last night that the tires I was using were the same tires that were pretty much used up at the end of 2005. Suddenly I feel a lot better about not being able to keep up with the pack.

When All of a Sudden...

Sorry to spring this on everyone after such a lengthy delay, but there has actually been some progress on the car!

The engine was actively being built (yes, by me) starting around June-ish. The big delay was due to doubts about the oil pump and how to solve a major clearance issue between the pump and the gearshift linkage. Short story long, the most common Formula Ford oil pump basically would not allow the use of the Tiga shift linkage. The second- and third-most common oil pumps also wouldn't fit the chassis because of clearance issues, but these issues were much more serious (think motor mount and oil tank clearance). With a bunch of help from (who else) Bruce at Lindstrand Motorsports, the shifter has now been modified to clear the most common oil pump. A new oil pump has been fitted, the engine has been assembled and installed in the car, and we tried to start it this weekend.

And we tried. And we tried. And we tried.

First, the easy part. I have now built literally more engines than I can remember. I am always very careful to install the distributor with the rotor pointing at the #1 post with the #1 cylinder at Top Dead Center. But I have never once managed to line it up at TDC on the compression stroke. I always manage to end up with it lined up at TDC on the exhaust stroke. This time was no exception. Fortunately, I will never forget what Pete Wood told me when we put the car together in preparation for him selling me the car: "My mama told me that when it 'pops' through the carburetor, you're 180 degrees off." And that's exactly what it did -- after a while. After the starter battery had worn down to the point that it was cranking the engine noticeably slower than it had that morning.

Off came the plug wires. I swapped 1 for 4 and 2 for 3, but several more minutes of cranking and cranking and cranking yielded nothing at all. Not even a pop. Checked the timing again. Gave it a little more gas. Cranked some more. More gas. Suddenly the car made a loud clunk that I've never heard before -- and I've heard this car make a LOT of noises -- and then the starter refused to do anything.

The drive on the old Lucas starters is an interesting, if convoluted layout. The starter motor is in front of the flywheel, but the drive gear is behind the flywheel. When the starter motor spins, the rotation forces the drive gear towards the flywheel by means of a screw thread on the driveshaft which engages a similar thread inside the drive gear. The rotation of the starter motor basically "screws" the drive gear into engagement with the flywheel. When the flywheel starts turning faster than the starter (when the engine fires), it spins the gear faster than the starter is turning, "screwing" the gear back to the end of the shaft. Sometimes when the engine doesn't start, the drive gear remains engaged to the flywheel, because the flywheel hasn't kicked it back out. You can turn the driveshaft backwards by hand to release the drive gear in this case. But once in a great while, the gear jams itself so tight that nothing will turn. And yes, we were now witnessing once in a great while.

Even the flywheel wouldn't budge. A prybar in the ring gear teeth couldn't turn the flywheel. Jamming the car in gear and bumping it back and forth only made us tired. Fortunately, Lucas extended the shaft out the other end of the starter motor and put a 3/8" square drive on the end for just such an occasion. It took the longest 3/8" wrench I had and all the strength I could muster to get the shaft to turn. When it finally disengaged the gear, you could almost hear the car heave a sigh of relief. Of course, the wrench was now stuck on the square drive, and it took several minutes of creative prying, chiseling, and hammering to get it off again. Back to cranking.

More gas. More cranking. More cranking. More cranking. Occasionally there would be a slight poof of one cylinder firing weakly, and a plume of acrid smoke would gently waft into my face. After I noticed the garage getting rather cloudy I pulled out my industrial-strength fan to get some fresh air. A few more cranks and I realized the starter needed cooling air more than I needed to breathe, so I aimed the fan square at the starter and went back to cranking again. At this point the starter battery had been run pretty much flat. Time for a Plan B. How about jumper cables hooked up to the truck?

Problem A with Plan B: You can't clamp a big jumper cable clamp onto the little battery quick-connector we use for hooking up the starter battery. So we made a "jumper jumper" by installing another quick-connector to a pair of cables, stripping the other end of the cables, and clamping the jumper cables to the jumper jumper. Only that made the starter turn even more slowly than it had with the dead stater battery. These were brand-new jumper cables from Wal-Mart, which must mean -- they're crap.

Plan B.2: Dad had jumper cables in his truck. Problem A with Plan B.2: They were so buried it took a while to get them out. No biggie. I wasn't going anywhere for a while. Several minutes later (it felt like an hour -- that man can pack 300 pounds of emergency supplies and tools into his glovebox) we came face to face with Problem B with Plan B.2: The cables were warm to the touch after the first attempt at cranking the engine. Reason 1 for Problem B with Plan B.2: These jumper cables were older than both of us put together. What were they using jumper cables for before they had cars?

Plan B.3: Skip the jumper jumper, pull the positive contact out of the quick-connector on the car and use some kind of adapter to clamp the one good set of cables (which have huge clamps) onto the microscopic contact. A small pair of needle-nose vise-grip pliers did the trick, but the weight pulled the positive cable dangerously close to the frame of the racecar, inviting a short. What did we have handy that we could use to prop up the cable? We had a half-full water jug left from filling the coolant, so we stuck the end of the pliers in the neck of the jug. Lovely. Electricity plus water. Hydrogen fuel cell, anyone?

Fortunately, the water jug did not actually qualify as Problem A with Plan B.3. Problem A with Plan B.3 was that the starter at this point was drawing so much amperage that the truck couldn't keep up at idle. So the new procedure was: Squirt gas into carburetor, Rev truck to 3000 RPM, Push starter button. Good thing we had two people. Bad thing we still had no noise from the engine. Could the race gas be so old that it won't even burn?

I took the air cleaner off with the intention of spraying some starter fluid in the carb. Fortunately I looked down into the throttle bore first and saw myself looking back at me. I had flooded it so badly that the gasoline was pooling on the bottom of the intake manifold.

New procedure: Hold the throttle wide open to get some fresh air in the engine while cranking the engine and revving the truck. Wait, we need a third person for that. I tried holding the throttle open and blowing in one carb throat, hoping the gas would evaporate and the fumes would blow out the other throat. Half an hour later, the reflecting pool was gone. We cranked the car with the throttle jammed open and it gave a promising pop, so we went back to just cranking.

The starter was now very warm, even with the industrial blower on it, and it cranked so slowly it sounded like it was just ratcheting the engine over. Dad promised to be home a half an hour ago. Still, we were just SO CLOSE. It had to fire soon.

Half an hour of agonizing cranking later (sorry Mom) we gave up for the night. Actually, I just sent my dad home for the night. I tried a few more times after he went home, with similar results. We concluded that the starter must have worn out from the strain.

I tried it this morning just for fun and it started on the second try.

I can't wait for Road America on Sunday.

Again, With the "Nothing to Report!"

December 1? Has it really been that long since the last update? Profuse apologies for keeping you waiting so long.

We've been working on our 2007 catalog, trying to cram in more new products and more information without adding too many more pages. I enjoy working on the catalog, and I get a lot of satisfaction out of seeing the finished product. I like being part of the production team, and I do feel like my contributions are improving the catalog. But there are some drawbacks.

Maybe it's because I enjoy the work so much, but for at least one solid week this month I kept working on it every night in my dreams. This week my nightmares have been all about mysteriously shrinking pages and words that keep multiplying and moving around, refusing to fit in neatly laid out text boxes.

And then there are the cool new products. We carry so much cool stuff! This is what gets me in trouble. When we bring on a new product, I have to get familiar with it, familiar enough that I can write a description that explains exactly what it does, why it does what it does better than anything else, and why you need it. And then I realize: I need it too. It won't fit my car, and I know this because I wrote the description that says very clearly "fits Van Diemen F2000, 1990 and up with 5.5" Tilton twin-disc clutch" and I've had my car apart enough to know that it's not a Van Diemen, not an F2000, older than 1990, and doesn't have a 5.5" twin-disc clutch... but it's just such a well-made, good-looking part, and if you have a Van Diemen F2000, 1990 and up, with a 5.5" twin-disc Tilton clutch, and you don't have one of these, boy oh boy are you missing out, and maybe you don't deserve to have one, maybe it should go to a good home, someone who really knows it and appreciates how it can solve so many problems... Good thing I don't work for the Humane Society.

A few of the new products that I have to force myself to leave here when I go home:

Gold heat barrier film. This is the new stuff that F1 teams use inside the engine covers. When you watch a race on TV, and a car pulls into the pits, and the crew pulls the engine cover off to see what's wrong, and all you see is gold -- that's what this is. It blocks the engine heat from overheating the bodywork and cooking off that expensive paint job. And it looks pretty zooty doing it. A few of those cars would probably look better if they put that paint job under the engine cover and covered the bodywork with the gold film instead.

Tripod Joints. This is a type of CV joint that has been used by Van Diemen since 1990. My car doesn't use that style, but they're so light and well-made, they just look fast.

Hydraulic Release Bearings for Van Diemen. A very reliable brand of clutch release bearings modified to replace the troublesome unit in the Van Diemen. My car isn't a Van Diemen, and I have an HRB, but these are just such a great thing that I can't understand why a Van Diemen owner wouldn't want one.

Lady Eagle safetywear. No, I'm not a woman, nor am I built like one. But it's about time that someone made driver's gear designed for women. I want to buy a set for all the lady drivers I know.

KOUL Tools. If you look in the encyclopedia under "better mousetrap" it will have a picture of the KOUL Tools. Installing hose ends onto braided stainless hose means pushing a collar onto the hose by hand -- a process which loosens and frays the wire braid while causing blisters and cuts and puncture wounds. These tools act like a funnel to squeeze the braid into the collar, even if the braid has frayed. I wish I assembled more of these hoses so I would have an excuse to buy these. I may give them as Christmas gifts next year.

E-Track. A moveable anchor system for tying down cargo (like a car in a trailer). Snap-in fittings snap into the track, which has sockets every couple of inches. You're not tied down (har har) to just one anchor point. If you sell the Miata and buy a Corvette, no problem! Just snap the anchors out of the track and snap them back in where you need them. If you need the race trailer for work during the week, no problem! Your friend needs help moving? Oh gosh, I'd like to help you out, but I'm out of town that weekend... My trailer is already tailored just exactly to what my car needs, but E-Track almost makes me wish it wasn't. I'm tempted to install some in the bed of the pickup truck.

AiM dash systems. Talk about a do-it-all digital dash system! These dashes are so flexible and capable of so many functions, it's amazing they don't cost more. I've heard that they will be introducing a formula car steering wheel with everything built in (dash, shift lights, and all switches) this spring. If they can keep the price reasonable -- and based on past history, I'd say that's likely -- these could be very popular. I have all new gauges in my car, and they're period-correct, but this thing is so uber-cool that I'm hoping it will either be dirt cheap or WAY out of my price range.

I'm off to find some oil pressure. I'll send a postcard.