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.
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.
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