Never the Same IC#25 The Big Day

Sitting in shot gun position, Kirk felt so excited he could barely restrain himself, yet on the other hand he suffered a dread worthy of vomiting. It wasn't about racing!

 

Kirk didn’t regret spending some quality time with sweet red-haired Farrah despite his thoughts returning to stock car preparation soon after the movie American Graffiti had ended. The couple stopped off for snacks before heading home, donuts and coffee sounding good to relax, or try, and sit together. Farrah said she enjoyed the time out with him and thought the movie he picked was very well done, fun and entertaining. She reiterated that she really enjoyed the time out and so glad he asked her. Such was Farrah fully her: mild, nice and even mannered.

Kirk tried to stay in the moment, but in his head a turmoil existed, erratically going back to the stock car: what he needed to do and what it’ll be like to race.  Once or twice, Farrah gazed at him knowing that he was elsewhere in his head though she didn’t ask or say anything. Likewise, when Kirk came back to reality he took in Farrah’s perfect statue, pretty red hair, her even temperament.

Suddenly, Kirk experienced something akin a panic attack!

He reflected that she actually enjoyed being with him, but he couldn’t possibly fathom why. Maybe that’s why he had thought she would probably go out with someone else while he had seemingly ignored her for a couple weeks.

I sure do not deserve her. I’m not very engaging nor exciting, not overly good looking or an attractive male physical specimen. Farrah definitely exists on a different level than I do and deserves someone better than I.

After bidding Farrah a good night and having one more kiss, Kirk headed home. It was late Wednesday night; Kirk realized with a shock that he only had two more evenings to finish the stock car. All the tasks drifted into his conscious mind though he being in a rather mellow mood after spending time with Farrah those tasks didn’t seem to bother him�"too much. Driving home at the speed limit, he shrugged over what he had to do and a little smile formed on his face with a recall of Farrah’s placid manner, sweet poise, and warm fragrant embrace.

When he got home, he quietly coasted through the yard and parked. Strolling to the house in the pitch dark, Kirk took in the wide expanse of stars in the Milky Way. Oddly for him, he felt one with the universe. He decided that he owed Farrah for the good feeling for a change. He slept soundly that night dreaming of Hot Rods and high school romances with a girl that looked a lot like Dee. He just could not shake his memory of Dee no matter who he spent time with.

Well, Thursday arrived. Two evenings to get the silver stock car ready to go. Kirk could take the days off of work, but he still felt guilty for taking the previous Friday off. On the way home that afternoon, he stopped off at the auto parts store to stock up on everything he thought he may need. He got a set spark plugs, wires, points and things associated with a fresh tune up back in those days. He got oil and filter besides as he might as well freshen up the whole engine not that the engine was anything special.

Heading to the garage on Thursday night, Kirk was amazed to find that Mike had done all the wiring and the finished the fuel lines that Kirk had started. No matter what mechanically Mike did, Kirk was impressed. The wiring routing looked all neat and tidy wrapped with tape where ever necessary. Mike told Kirk that he hadn’t started the engine, so directed the young wannabe mechanic and racer in that direction.

Kirk did all the tune up work, something he was well-versed in from his high school vocational training, and changed the oil which he learned way back at the old corner gas station. Despite doing oil changes probably a hundred times he still didn’t like it�"a dirty, greasy job you have to get underneath a vehicle to do. Nevertheless, Kirk finished up the work and with little adjustments, he started the engine. He revved up the engine a couple times just to relish the engine noise. With straight pipe exhaust, the car made a lot of noise, but it didn’t have that rocking race engine sound, because of course it was literally an engine straight out of a junkyard.

After discussing the upcoming tech inspection and practice day, Mike asked Kirk about his fire suit. Momentary shock! He couldn’t remember if the suit had been discussed before, but thinking about it he seemed to recall the requirement from the rule book. Kirk didn’t really read the rule book to learn all the requirements and rules, he more or less perused it so was likely to overlook important things in the book. With another evening shot, he headed home and dove into bed. His thoughts on the whole racing thing riled in his brain still unsure what he felt about it.

Friday at noon lunch break, Kirk jumped into the hot Firebird and sped further downtown to the speed shop. He hoped for the best of finding a fire suit that fit him. Business seemed brisk at the shop with all the different kinds of racing beginning soon. Much to his relief, they told him that they had a new shipment in with plenty of sizes. He took the one that was his size but decided to try it on. He had to take his boots off to pull the pants over his feet which didn’t seem too uncomplicated. Otherwise, it fit perfectly. They didn’t have a mirror like a department store, but he thought that the suit made him ‘look’ like a stock car racer. The suit was white like all suits with red flashy racing stripes down the sleeves. All the closures on the suit sealed with Velcro which the desk man told Kirk were required to be pulled up tight when racing. Made sense in case you were indeed exposed to a fire. He already had  helmet for riding his bike along with leather gloves so he should be outfitted just fine.

That evening, because Mike did most of the work on the stock car Kirk worried about, he didn’t have all that much to do to get ready. No doubt Kirk carried a bit of nerves with him. There was lug nut tightening and the checking of tire inflation. He had changed the oil but he went around and underneath to check the other fluids. He sort of remembered the transmission remained low because a bunch of heavy oil ran out when Don and he brought the engine home. Manual transmission filling was always a pain without a pump and rubber hose. Kirk dumped the oil into a smaller can, fabricated a makeshift funnel out of cardboard and got it done. Later, he sat on the car’s tire and talked to Mike for the rest of the evening. Kirk got a basic understanding of what to expect the next day. Maybe they covered a bit of “bench racing” which is when you talk or relive racing action.

Saturday morning Kirk sprang out of bed, an out of character action for the normally sleepy head Kirk.  He made coffee and had his usual bowl of cereal. This time Shredded Wheat. After wolfing that down, slogging down two cups of coffee, he wondered what to wear. Didn’t matter. He wore his usual bell-bottom jeans and a tie-dyed  tee shirt, his low work boots, and his blue and white striped engineer’s hat which was in style at the moment. He didn’t fit the ideal stock car driver image, but he didn’t know how he felt about it all. Was he destined to be just a wannabe racer? He grabbed his helmet and gloves which he had prepositioned the night before because he was SURE he’d otherwise forget them. He motored over to the garage.

The garage was already abuzz with activity. The compressor emitted its usual loud hammering as it built up pressure. Kirk had used a little air from it last night, but it looked like Don aired up the tires on the car hauling truck. Mike meanwhile had the welding cables out to weld hinges on the loading ramps. Sparks flew and snapped. The welder growled. Kirk seemed a bit lost not knowing what to do with all his angst-up energy. He ended running for welding rod and metal for Mike’s welding job. After a couple tries to make sure the ramps worked right, Don maneuvered around to hook up the trailer and park it on the roadside which was on the lightly traveled road, so it didn’t matter they blocked part of it.

Lined up straight, the three guys positioned the two sets of ramps, one set behind the trailer and then one from the trailer to the truck bed. Kirk didn’t like the looks of that set up. Satisfied with it, Mike got in his stock car (number 2) warmed it up a bit with a few blips of the throttle, and he backed out and lined up the truck trailer. Kirk thought Mike’s car sounded a whole lot more race car like than his. Relatively quickly Mike loaded his car: up the ramps, across the trailer, up the other ramps and onto the truck sitting at an angle front end pointing to the sky. He killed the engine, but stayed put apparently foot on the brakes.

“Get the front binder on,” he called.

Don had one in his hand and dragged it out to the road. A binder is a heavy, levered device with hooks on each end.  Kirk knew how this worked. He took one of the chains from the pile and looped one end around the front axle and the other to the crossmember of the truck. There was a lot of loose chain in between where the binder came into play. Don took one hook placed it by the axle and the other near the crossmember. He levered it over, but found it too loose, jumping four or five chain links he tried again, found it too tight. Then setting the hook back a couple links, it tightened up just right holding the car in place. Mike got out and they tensioned the back axle down as well. They pulled those truck ramps off.

“Okay Kirk, load up!” Said Don.

Kirk trotted over to his car (Number 3) and fired it off. He hadn’t sat it while running before and the sensation rattled him. The engine sounded louder, better, but also with the engine mounted directly without cushioning made every engine vibration reverberate through the car’s floorboards to his feet, his butt and hands on the wheel. Working the throttle a bit, which was shaped like a big aluminum footprint, he backed the car out of the garage.

 Carefully, because his hands shook, Kirk made it to roadside. After a couple overcompensating alignments, he got it lined up with the ramps. Not as fast as Mike, he drove forward but getting the front wheels halfway up the ramps he stalled the engine. He let it roll back down. Feeling a bit sheepish, he fired off the engine and with a quite a bit more engine speed he shot up the ramps and slammed on the brakes atop the trailer. Don gestured him forward until he hit the stops. Mike signaled to kill the engine. Kirk did and sat with a foot on the brakes until he felt the tensioner pull the car down but waited until Mike sat they had it. Even though Kirk had crawled in and out of the car numerous times in the garage knowing the proper exiting procedure well, Kirk nervously fumbled about as he made his way out to stand on the edge of the trailer.

Kirk’ sister prepared and delivered sandwiches out to the three guys. Apparently, Mike had informed her that they were about to depart. After eating the few bites and sucking down a Coke, Mike told them they should get on the road. Don said for Kirk’s benefit that he was well versed in the route to the track.

“You ready, Kirk?” Don asked.

Kirk thought, paused, froze. “One sec.” He ran to the Firebird. He almost forgot his driving gear namely suit, helmet, gloves. “All set.” He glanced to Mike. “Ahh, you’re not coming with us?”

“No, I’ve got a few things to take care of first. See you at the track.”

Kirk wondered what was up with Mike, but he figured Mike wanted to have a grand arrival with the gaudy silver Dodge Charger to match the stock cars. Kirk jumped in the truck and set his gear on the seat between Don and him.  

Kirk didn’t think about their route to the track when they started out but knew the trip usually takes about an hour by car. Going by old truck hauling two stock cars undoubtedly would take longer by quite a bit. Don seemed like a good driver taking the heavy load and shifting of the gears all in stride which he needed to do often with the relatively hilly route they traversed. The two silver cars bounced happily on their suspensions free to move about with their axles securely tethered to the truck and trailer decks. Taking in the movement of the cars in the rear views made Kirk nervous at first, but he settled in for the long haul.

Along the way, they decided to fuel up at a Sunoco station. Sunoco was well known to be the fuel of choice of racers across America. Kirk ran their mid-range octane in his Firebird. They rattled into the station and parked. They first filled up the truck with regular then moved up so Kirk could fuel up the stock cars. Well, the gas tank in his car was strapped down in the frame rails in the area used to be the trunk. Trouble is the trunk had bee welded closed and covered over a long time ago. The only way to fill it was to reach in from underneath the wheel well or in over the top through the oversized rear window. Kirk figured the window was enlarged to see competitors behind. The thought shook him a bit. Anyway, he put in five gallons of super high test which would be plenty gas just to run around a little. He thought it was a race car so you need to have race-type fuel even though the engine was anything but. They hit the road again.

 After thirty or forty minutes, Kirk realized that they were headed to the small city of the county seat. Normally, not  big deal to even mention, but this county seat had a disastrous event occur just a couple years before. The city sat nestled in a very deep valley. He knew there was no way around the huge hills when the huge warning sign with flashing lights appeared above the road.

The sign warned that all semi-tractor trailers needed to stop and go an alternate route to avoid the steep hills. The sign said no vehicles were allowed to proceed over nine tons. Another sign said vehicles should use a lower gear. With a heavy truck with a stock car pulling a trailer with a stock car are we over nine tons? Must be close, thought Kirk. He gripped the steel door handle as they rolled over the brink of the west hill.  Don downshifted. The engine revved up trying to slow the load. Kirk eyed up his fire suit that lay on the set beside him. Maybe I should be wearing it, Kirk thought as he gripped the handle harder.

The steep hills of the city were called the “Fruit Basket” before the major disaster. A truck loaded with bananas had headed down the west hill where Kirk and Don drove. After a brake failure the banana truck went out of control and rolled over dumping fruit and vegetables all over. The firemen said they ate bananas for weeks. Some other time a truck careened down the east hill before crashing with a load of watermelons hence the nickname. Those instances aren’t the one that perturbed Kirk to his very core.

Anyway, they headed down the steeper hill section after a rough set of railroad tracks that allowed Don to gear down again. They slowed even more with Don using the brakes gingerly to keep from the truck from gaining too much speed. The downhill was pretty straight with only a slight curve where the road flattened out to the downtown. They continued down the hill the engine beginning to run extremely fast with the engine compression not nearly enough to slow the heavy load. Don used the brakes a bit harder. Kirk noticed that Don white knuckled the steering wheel with eyes staring straight ahead. No jokes being told, Don wasn’t so easy going right then.

 As they headed toward the bottom, Kirk found himself pressed back into his seat with distress. Gaining more speed Don laid heavy on the brakes. Don eyed Kirk for a split second when they both smelled brakes burning. They both hung on and wished the flat road would come up faster without them going any faster!

Finally, the truck’s engine calmed a little as they settled down onto the city street. Don moved his foot from the brake and breathed a sigh of relief. A few moments later, he actually stepped on the gas and up shifted. Kirk loosened his grip. This particular numbered route ran down the west hill across Main Street and then up the East Hill which had “Dead Man’s Curve” partly up the hill. Both driver and copilot knew about the hill, but going up the hill shouldn’t be a problem, right? But everyone remembers the city’s disaster!

Kirk and Don pulled up to the Main Street signal light. Those few years ago, the manhole covers up and down Main Steet blew off with some going thirty feet away from the explosions! Where the pair were headed which was the east hill, the disaster occurred. The disaster started when a gasoline tanker truck went out of control on the downhill. The driver, who jumped out his cab, said that the truck had gotten away from him as it careened around the east hill’s sharp curve dubbed the fear-provoking title “Dead Man’s Curve.”

The subsequent fiery disaster began when the truck flipped over, the tanker broke open, and ignited by the skidding truck. One vehicle heading up was engulfed by the gasoline fire blaze killing the driver. Four houses along the road were engulfed and burnt to the ground because the firemen couldn’t get near the blazes. As the gas spread down the decline, the fire spread. It dispersed even more because the gasoline and fire went into the storm drains.

Twenty-two fire departments with over 300 people fought the fire for three days! Firemen couldn’t actually fight the fire because of its intensity and heat, but they managed to save houses on the surrounding streets adjacent to those engulfed. The gas-fed fire traveled underground two miles to the water treatment plant before ending up at the creek. To say the least, coverage of the event was broadcasted across the country. Miraculously only the one driver died. Nevertheless, the rules and warning signs for heavy loads went up soon after.

There they were stopped at the signal light, both breathing a sigh of relief with the smell of burning brakes lingering in the air. With a green light, Don took off across Main Street, but acceleration wasn’t a factor with the old, over-laden truck. It basically took half a city block to gain enough speed for second gear. Obviously, Don wanted to get up some speed before entering the east hill in half a mile, so he revved the engine up as much as he dared in each gear: first�"wait, second�"wait a little longer, and then, eventually into third. The hill rose before them with Dead Man’s Curve right there, maybe a hundred yards up the grade. Barely starting up the hill, the engine bogged in third gear so Don shifted as swiftly as he could to second gear. The engine still handled the load as they began rounding the turn with the hill rising at a quicker rate. The engine bogged down to a grunting groan. Just as they headed under the railroad viaduct at the accursed curve, Don quickly pushed in the clutch in and jammed the shifter toward first. Crunch! Grind! He missed it and just like that! the truck/trailer combo stopped forward motion! Don slammed on the hot brakes and they halted�"hanging on the steep hill. In the mirror, Kirk saw a line of cars already behind them and not so impatiently very far behind!

Don mixed the shifter around and made sure the transmission was ready to go into first. With both guys taking deep breaths. All at once Don released the brake, quickly revved the old engine, pushed the clutch in, jammed the shifter hard into first gear to make sure, released and slipped the clutch. The heavy rig rolled backward a few feet. Kirk looked at the cars behind and with a flashback of the fuel truck disaster and the cars behind too darn close, and foreseeing their own backwards fiery crash, Kirk thought he might puke!

The clutch began to stutter with a bang! bang! bang! The front of the truck bounced up and down in time. The whole truck, trailer and cars noisily bounced and rattled. The bogged down engine sounded as if it was about to stall. Don had his foot plastered to the floor on the gas pedal. They inched forward, the engine protesting, clutch stuttering, the occupants hanging on to a prayer that they’d make it, but there was a lot of hill before them to climb yet. They had just started the steep part! The truck began a rhythmic lunging, but the engine had picked a few revs and they moved along at maybe five miles an hour. They hung on and stared up the hill.

Bit by bit the engine gained revs as they gained speed maybe to ten miles an hour. Neither of them even considered shifting. They just kept going up, so dreadfully slow with the line of cars behind them growing by the second. Yard by yard they growled onward. Up a little higher, the truck seemed to be having an easier time at it but Don kept it in first gear. As they got past halfway up, they could see ahead the lane split into two. They just pressed on with fingers crossed.

The temperature gauge neared “hot” up near the limit of the gauge. As they neared the lane split, Don moved over as far right as he dared on the hard shoulder and the long line of cars roared past. After a few more minutes, the hill began to flatten out and Don bravely shifted quickly and smoothly into second.  Momentarily, the truck bounced and groaned but caught and continued on getting them to a hurtling pace of twenty miles an hour. Eventually, they made it to the top with third and fourth gears, but the guys vowed to never haul the cars that way again. And to think Mike missed all the fun!

With only about twenty minutes to the track, the twosome continued on over the rolling hills with farm fields flanking both sides. This was deep in Dairy Land. Just a couple minutes from the east hill they passed over the cow underpass, a tunnel where the cows mosey on through to get to their pastures without disrupting the roaring highway traffic. A herd of around a hundred wandered in the distance. They made the last turn, went over few rollers, and there it was: A fenced-in bowl of automotive speed sat out in an old hayfield field replete with spectator stands and vendor booths. Kirk’s heartrate double-timed and he swallowed hard taking in the scene of the small, low dollar race track. He couldn’t tell if the hill near-disaster or their arrival was more stressful!

From their approach only the north side of the banked track (turns three and four) could be seen. The open field next to the track became the pits on race days, Kirk recalled as a spectator. Today, newly built or at least newly painted cars of all classes sat here and there in field along with tow trucks and trailers. Bright blues, reds, oranges, and yellows stood out, though no silver that Kirk could see, no boring black or white cars, nor, heavenly racing god forbid! any green cars which everyone knew were bad luck.

Kirk had arrived at what could be his true calling, his destiny, though he remained unsure. Nevertheless, it would be an experience that would leave him Never the Same.