Never the Same IC#27 Kirk's First Competition

Kirk sensed a certain sizzling electrical energy charging the scene. It could’ve been the smells, the noises, and the competitors’ combined energies, or just perhaps his own trepidation.

Cue: “Rapid Roy" (That stock car boy) https://youtu.be/4BNwA4WfXHQ

 

One thing we remember about Kirk is that he was responsible, but being responsible wasn’t good enough to improve your destiny or standing in stock car races. Though it did mean that Kirk would show up at his very first race under the lights at the high banks of Holland International Speedway. Problem was, Kirk’s resolution and emotions remained in a twist. He knew after last week’s practice day that he lacked experience, guts, and power, specifically horsepower in his old inherited stock car.  With money, time, and a little gumption, Kirk would improve his chances out there on the stock car tracks. Kirk didn’t seem to be overly enamored with the prospects of doing well, i.e., winning races so he didn’t really apply himself to the racing cause and his car�"yet.

Despite the looming first real race the following weekend, he just ignored his stock car. It would pass inspection when he installed the window netting having fixed all the other minor discrepancies. The car started, ran, and rolled so Kirk didn’t worry about it, so he turned his attention back to his van project.

Well, Kirk’s one-hundred-dollar van sat in the old tractor garage in the same condition as he left it before he began preparing the stock car for the track. As a recap, he got the van from his dealership so cheaply because it had a collision on the driver’s side front corner. Not bad, he pulled out the crunch, did some body filler work and replaced the driver’s door. The rest of the work van wasn’t in horrible shape, but overall it needed a good paint job and Kirk would apply that himself. The van had been a heating and air conditioning repair van with a sign painted across the upper panel but then covered up with a coat of sloppy house paint probably after the crash. Don’t want to imply the heating and air conditioning guys were bad drivers, do we?

The van’s inside was beat up worse than the outside from repair tools and parts being thrown in and moved about. At the moment, Kirk had thrown in those four “free” Rallye wheels he had acquired from the dumpster at work because they had been replaced by warranty. They had splits where air leaked out which Kirk could fix by a little welding. Anyway, he went back to work sanding the paint with his trusty electric orbital sander and a pile of sandpaper. Faster results would have been accomplished with a grinder but that would have scarred the metal which would just lead to other work to cover up the scarring. He sanded and sanded every evening.

Kirk concentrated his sanding on that upper panel where the sign had been. Come to find out, the sign on the van had somehow etched or distorted the metal under the paint. He couldn’t see how it was possible but with all the paint removed and the shiny metal all exposed he could still see the letters of the sign. This definitely revealed a problem Kirk had not foreseen. It puzzled him on how a simple painted sign could change the metal and puzzled him farther on just how he could resolve it without leaving a shadow of the sign still visible on a brand-new paint job. Would he have to put several coats of primer and sand each one or would he have to use some kind of filler to remove the shadowy letters? He was befuddled.  Anyway, the surface of van was undoubtedly large, so he continued to sand and sand turning off white with dust while breathing in his share of old paint dust. Not the healthiest of circumstances.

  On Wednesday afternoon, he returned to his seemingly favorite place of late the Speed Shop where he purchased his window netting. He thought it was absurd to install the netting in one window, the left, when his seat placed him dead center in the stock car, but what the NASCAR inspectors wanted, they get. That is if you want to race on a NASCAR track!

 When he moseyed over to the garage to install his netting, he saw that Mike had already installed the netting in his car. Yeah, there wasn’t too much interaction between those two guys. He found the installation relatively easily using the included brackets to mount the netting to the car’s upper window frame with a few screws. There included a strap to tie the netting up when not racing, but after installation Kirk found he could just tuck the loose netting over the top of the rollbar, good enough. So, he wouldn’t get tangled up in the netting, he decided to remember to always get in and out of the car from the right side. The week went by fast and soon the dreaded weekend arrived.  

Early on Saturday morning, Kirk’s heart did a little flutter when he rolled out of bed. This would be his first real competition and these races would be under the lights. Throughout his younger life, he recalled all the crashes he witnessed on the tracks as a young impressionable spectator. Would he succumb to a crash right off the bat? Kirk imagined all the possible stock car racing scenarios all week long and here he was to finally find out. On one hand, he thought that with his slowpoke car he could just hug the infield out of the fast-racing action, yet on the other hand wondered if he could be involved as a secondary impact victim just because he was there.

Kirk grabbed his helmet and firesuit off his bedroom dresser and carried them downstairs. He was glad that his father had to work at the plant that Saturday. Even though the garage crew didn’t have to leave for the track until early afternoon, Kirk finished his cereal and coffee quickly and headed out, but he stopped in his tracks. He asked his mother for a pair of scissors. He carefully opened the bottom pant seams on his firesuit about six inches. He pulled one over his boot to find it was sufficient opening so he didn’t have to pull his boots off every time he put on or took off his suit. He departed after a “be careful” caution from his mother, as she always provided.   

At the garage, the only thing Kirk remembered he had to do was to put the battery charger on his car for a couple hours. The car does not have a charging system because an alternator robs horsepower to spin and charge the battery so stock cars go without. In reality, the cars only need battery juice to crank the starter and power the ignition which is only a trickle. Anyway, charging the battery sounded easier than it was because Kirk had to crawl under the car to get inside the trunk area, unbolt the lid from the metal box, and then hook up the charger cables. A couple hours were all it needed to freshen up the charge. Mike in the meantime was hard at work on one of his many, many side jobs repairing a car for sale. Kirk sure didn’t have anywhere close to the amount of Mike’s impetus to work.

Near lunchtime, Kirk volunteered to fetch take out in town. After taking orders, he jumped into his trusty Firebird and headed out. Always one to show off, he cruised down main street with the outside chance that there’d be fellow gearheads hanging out at the shelter or maybe girls that might be impressed with his loud, hot car. Not a chance, so he motored on to his errand. Of course, after getting the food order filled he had to burn the tires a bit and make a lot of noise in first and second gears to get everyone to look. Did they look?  Kirk wouldn’t know, he was heading down the street at a high rate of speed. Suddenly, his upcoming race night intruded into his current consciousness which gave him a little jolt of nerves. Kirk lived constantly in a stew of mixed emotions, indecision, and self-doubt.

As morning had become afternoon, Mike loaded his car on the truck and Kirk followed suit with his car on the trailer. Kirk seemed to get the hang of loading with a good aim and correct amount of momentum to ride up the ramps and roll to the wheel stops. Gathering up his driving equipment, Don and he climbed into the old truck and ventured off. The duo headed on more southerly direction than the easterly direction the previous weekend. There would be no scary hills to traverse to the south. Instead, they couldn’t make great time driving through more residential areas with lower speed limits. Kirk just sat back and took in the sights he had seen before.

Halfway to the track, Don turned the rig onto the expressway and put the hammer down on the old truck. Well, the truck being really loaded down and being, well, old it didn’t accelerate all that quickly, in fact after a couple miles they barely reached 55 miles per hour. There was no way they ever get up to the expressway speed of 65. Kirk jumped out of his doldrums with a roar when they were passed by a new shiny truck hauler exceeding the posted speed limit. It hauled a pristine, primped-out Camaro ready for the track. They pressed on with a few other car haulers passing them as well. After a half hour, they had to get off the expressway and went right back into a residential zone with restricted speed limits. Soon though after going on a tight serpentine secondary road, they were there at Holland International Speedway.

Still relatively sunny, it was a couple hours to sundown. Kirk found himself holding his breath, taking a new, different perspective of the track that he had seen many times before but not as a competitor. A bigger track with the higher banks and better facilities than the Perry track, Kirk felt intimidated taking it all in. He let his breath out long and slow as they pulled into the pits. Three NASCAR outfitted officials stood there with clipboards. One of them waved Kirk and Don off to the side. Kirk was unsure of what was happening.

After they stopped, the official strode to Don’s side of the truck and asked if they were the drivers. Kirk told him he was the number three car driver, but the number two driver wasn’t there. The official kind of blew off the missing Mike and paged through his clipboard. He said that he was going to reinspect the cars. Kirk rolled out of the truck. To Kirk, it seemed the official wasn’t all that concerned about the reinspection. He looked at his clipboard, checked under Kirk’s hood, then peeked inside the cockpit tugging on the window netting, and the lap belts. He scribbled on his clipboard, peeled off a green sticker and stuck it over the yellow sticker on Kirk’s car’s windshield frame. Kirk could officially race, now! But he wasn’t jumping up and down in elated enthusiasm. Stepping up on the truck, the official then looked over Mike’s number two car and after a scribble gave it a green sticker as well. The official told them they were both “good to go, now.” Kirk and Don remounted the truck and headed into the pit proper.

 The pit areas for each class were plainly marked and so Don pulled in alongside one of cars that Kirk recognized from practice day. Kirk was pretty sure by the looks of the car and its performance the weekend before that the car and driver were not track burners meaning they weren’t all that fast. Kirk thought everyone was faster than his own combo.

As more and more car haulers with stock cars pulled in and parked, Kirk felt a certain stimulating sort of electrical verve charging the scene. It could’ve been the competitors’ combined energy or just his own damn trepidation, but the noise level of engines running and revving, the banging and clunking of loading ramps, and the chatter of voices all combined made Kirk’s heart rate go up. He got of the truck, undid the tie downs on the trailer, fired up his car, and backed it off. He parked the car alongside the trailer. Kirk looked around the pits not being there before. He noticed right away that the driveway onto the track was further from the third turn with a longer slope to it than the other track due to the higher banked turns. Kirk thought the set up would probably keep him from scraping his oil pan and frame as he did on practice day. He and Don sat on the trailer waiting for Mike’s arrival. The sun still hung relatively high in the sky, so Kirk figured warms ups would most likely get done before sundown. The realization made him feel just a little bit better.

Kirk and Don watched the parade of all different makes and model cars get hauled by. The minis that came in were beat up compact cars and were required to be pretty much stock, so at that time not very fast or exciting on the track. Can’t say that the Mini Class was much of a crowd pleaser. On the other hand the Charger Class was a proven crowd pleaser that had been carried over from the dirt track days when racers didn’t care what their cars looked like. A few words on Chargers.

Chargers were older stone stock cars that looked like they came straight from junk yards. They were required to have automatic transmissions and no engine modifications. Basically, all the glass was taken (or smashed) out, all the flammable materials removed from the interior, and the doors had to be secured, in some cases with log chains if that tells you anything. The cars had to have roll cages and bumpers reinforced. Stock tires guaranteed a lot of spin outs and mishaps not to mention oil and cooling system leaks and an occasional fire. Usually, the drivers were Kirk’s age trying to break into racing and make a name for themselves or more likely just wanting to wreak havoc on each other for big fun. The Charger pit was appropriately located down in the swampy area. 

Mike showed up in the pits just as the announcement came for the drivers’ meeting. The three men walked over to where the meeting was held. A small crowd had already formed. The officials stood in front of a well-weathered board to post bulletins or something, Kirk wasn’t sure.

“Welcome to the first races of the season and the first races here sanctioned by NASCAR. As you’ve probably noticed, there have been upgrades to the facilities and the track has been resurfaced. Everyone should take a look at the rule books if you haven’t done so before. NASCAR plays by the rules and so should you. Rules will be upheld to the fullest, so if you are shaky about them, you’d better take a close look at the rule book. Just a word to the wise. For those of you who haven’t attended the practices you must have a green inspection sticker on your car to race today. No exceptions.

“For you new drivers, you’re starting positions will be posted out here on the board. We will try our best to be as timely as possible. I know everyone is chomping on the bit to get out there and push, but I can’t over emphasize this, don’t push on this first race. You drivers are rusty and need to fine tune those skills and reactions, and your cars have to be fine tuned as well. So take it easy. Make sure your car is dialed in before you push and maybe take a risk you and your car cannot handle. Don’t lose it on this first day, we want you competing all season.

“Okay. Those needing inspection get lined up here. Warm ups will begin shortly. Everyone, good luck and play nice!”

The warm up announcement came shortly afterward. The still shone from over the spectator stands and tree line, but it wouldn’t be long to dusk. As the first warm ups began, Mike seemed to take it all in stride when Kirk told him that his car had been inspected and was approved for racing. Mike unloaded his car and parked on the other side of the car hauling rig. Kirk seemed to mesmerized by the late model cars out on the track. He thought that even though they limited the number of cars on the track they sounded louder and faster. Kirk believed they sounded like they meant business when compared to practice day. When his class were called for warm ups, Kirk wanted to see if Mike was all fired up to get out on the track.

Kirk held back and pulled on his firesuit casually and unhurriedly even though his fingers trembled with anticipation. He definitely noticed that the suit slipped over his boots easier because of the ripped-out seam pantlegs. He carefully set his helmet and gloves inside the car and crawled inside. He pulled on his helmet, then draped over the shoulder, lap, and crotch straps and secured them. Unhurriedly, he drove to the staging area, an inclined driveway to the gate.

As the sun disappeared beyond the horizon and dusk settled in, the first wave of cars rolled out on the track, and Kirk felt glad he wasn’t going in first. As they waited, Kirk saw Mike pull in a couple cars behind. The cars already on the track seemed like they were going race speed in contrast to the speed a bit reserved back on practice day. A couple cars Kirk waited with revved their engines eager to get out there too. Kirk felt his fingers grip the steering wheel a little bit tighter. 

It seemed to Kirk a long time before the cars on the track filed out. He followed the other cars onto the track without a problem at the apex of the track. As he turned heading into turn three, his peripheral vision caught Mike pulling on also. It wouldn’t matter, he told himself. The yellow lights and yellow flag were out. Damn! The banked turns seemed so steep a person couldn’t walk up them, he felt like his body slid to the left instead of right with centrifugal force. But of course, they weren’t going fast enough for that yet.

He shifted to second, his racing gear. They cruised around with a couple drivers swerving back and forth to, in theory, warm up their tires. Calm down guys, this is JUST A WARM UP on a minor NASCAR track! He hung on carefully guiding the car around and around. The green dropped and they were off albeit reserved in Kirk’s case. Kirk gained some speed through staying low on the turns. Hardly on the second lap into the hot warm up, cars began passing him. There went Mike hot on the heels of the other cars.  He pressed harder on the accelerator, but the high banks just felt weird with the angle and how it affected the car. After a few laps, Kirk thought he floored the accelerator a couple times, but he obviously couldn’t match the speed of the others.  He could tell he was the slowest car out there. Is this how racing going to go for him? Soon enough, the white flag dropped followed by the red and black flags. Kirk and his wave finished their warm ups.

Soon afterward, the mini-class started racing as Kirk and Mike strolled over to the posting board. Kirk noticed that the spectator stands on the far side of the track looked quite full, the early season crowd eager for some early season crashes that would surely soon take place. The minis on the track provided a background whining buzz to the already noisy pits. On the board, his number three glared big at him like he was important or something for being on the list. He was in the second heat. On the outside of the third row. That meant that there would be several cars chomping at the bit to pass him. The position reveal did not make Kirk feel any better. At least Mike was in the first heat, so Kirk wouldn’t have that added pressure. The heats would be more crowded than warm ups with twelve cars in each heat. A note said that five from each heat would advance to the feature race.  He noticed his class consolation race positions sheet had eight blanks to be filled in after the two heats. A note was scribbled on the bottom that only the first two finishers of the consolation race would advance to the feature not that Kirk had to worry about that. The Chargers were running their heats which to Kirk went by pretty quickly.

Kirk crawled into his shiny silver stock car, sitting down in the seat that fit him like a glove and wrapping around his right ribs. He pulled up on the red run/kill knob. He thumbed down the chrome start button. He fired off the engine. Gave the accelerator a couple blips. He pulled on his helmet and secured the strap. He pulled on his gloves wiggling his fingers and then cinched down the wrist straps. He pivoted one way then the other while draping the shoulder straps down his chest. He pulled the newly positioned lap belts across his stomach. He put the shoulder loops through the crotch strap loop end followed by the lap belt ends. He slammed the locking lever down. One by one, he grabbed and tugged on the tighteners for the shoulder belts and then the lap belts to firmly cinch them down. Kirk sat held firmly in place for his very first race.

He backed out from next to the hauler nearly backing into another car from his class rolling by pretty quickly. He slammed on the brakes and took in a breath. He saw Mike trot over and climb in his car. Kirk headed to the line up on the incline to the track where a score of cars already sat. Mike drove past him and settled into his place for the first heat.

As the Charger heat filed out the first heat with Mike filed in. Kirk let his car idle this time as he waited. Suddenly, he realized with a start that he didn’t pull down the window netting. Leaning hard against his restraints, Kirk fingered the netting down from above the roll cage. It flopped down into place, and he managed to secure it along the bottom. He let out his breath. Mike’s heat roared on for a few minutes without a yellow or red flag to stop it. The gate steward went and unlocked the gate and swung it open to let the first heat competitor out. Mike came out with the rest, so Kirk knew that he didn’t win the heat race. Kirk and his heat had to wait until the winner made his lap with the checkered flag. The winner was a clean-looking orange coupe not entirely unlike Kirk’s coupe. The steward waved Kirk’s heat unto the track.

“Here we go,” Kirk muttered to himself with hard breath.

Coming around the first form up lap, the gate had closed. On the straightaway, the flagman hung out the white flag. For the first time, Kirk drove around the track in the second higher groove in a formation of two rows. The banks felt higher yet as he drove in the middle of the track within the pack. It felt like he was heading into a big-time race with the cars running up with engines thunderous as one. For some reason, the drivers stuck their hands out the window with a finger point up. One lap? Obviously, one more. The flagman waved his arms together in a motion indicating that the drivers need to tighten up the pack. Kirk assumed the flagman meant him despite thinking he had been close enough already. Looking in the mirror, the car behind him appeared right up tight against his back bumper. The car on his left seemed closer than when normal street cars sit at a signal light. Kirk thought if he wasn’t strapped down tight he could reach out and shake hands with the other driver, how absurd! He accelerated slightly carefully moving closer to the car in front of him as they rounded the second turn. He couldn’t see the car’s bumper he was so close. What if he bumped him? Well, he didn’t�"so far.

They speeded up on the back straight heading into the third turn at a pretty good clip. Kirk could feel the centrifugal force pressing him into his right ribs. At least he could stay with the pack before the green!  When they rolled around the fourth turn, the green light flashed on and the flagman, well, Kirk assumed he waved the green flag, but he didn’t actually see him because he had his attention laser focused on the car directly ahead, with eye flicks on the cars closely beside him and behind in his mirror.

Kirk didn’t really slam his accelerator down as he passed under the flagman’s stand , but apparently, he was the only one who didn’t. Rooarrrr! Roooaaarrr! Rooooarr! Cars just passed him like he was parked. Two between him and the infield went on ahead and the other one went the long way around on the outside. The one on the outside dropped down in front of him so close he thought they’d hook bumpers, which is a possibility the way the bumpers were designed, but no contact was made.

After a few laps of higher speed driving without interactions with the other cars who had more or less left him in the dust, he got into a rhythm of sorts. Kirk recalled the technique of oval track racing because his mind had turned to mush with nerves before that point. Decelerate and drop into the turns, accelerate and rise out to the straightaways. It seemed just as he attempted the technique, the white flag flew and in less than a minute the checkered flag flew. In his rearview, he saw that the race leaders had been approaching from behind him at full speed. As the exit gate flew open for him and the other losers to leave the track, Kirk saw the single car going around to get a picture taken and carry the checkered around for a display lap.

Yep, just as he had thought earlier, it was the pristine, high-dollar car he had noticed. Number twenty-three with the ugly but pristine red-brown paint job was the force to be reckoned with. There’s no beating money as they like to say in racing. 

The gate steward waved him around to immediately line up for the consolation race. There were eight of them with the top two going to the feature. Kirk knew he wouldn’t make it to the feature under any circumstance save six cars dropping out or crashing and taking each other out. At least he’d get more track time even though the consolation race ran even shorter at six laps. As he waited, Mike didn’t show up for the consolation race which meant Mike had made the feature race. No surprise there. He recognized the last three cars from his heat race but the other cars that he didn’t recognize must have come from the other heat. We shall see how this consolation race pans out, Kirk thought to himself, these are all the slugs in the class.

The gate steward told each driver in turn where they would be in the lineup. Kirk was on the last row, of course. In front of him was an old 1930’s sedan that appeared top heavy and unwieldy. It was dark gray primer, almost black, with zero-three-nine sloppily painted on in yellow paint looking like it was done by a four-year-old. Maybe it was, Kirk didn’t assume a thing. Up and over the edge of the track and formed up as they went around turn three.

Startling Kirk, they barely got formed together with not even a quarter lap around the track and the green light flashed on! Kirk fumbled getting the transmission into second gear as he saw the other cars accelerating away. CRRRIIIIKKKK! With a grind he shifted and floored the accelerator not that the acceleration would snap his head back. As he motored down the straightway the other cars rounded the first and second turns, so Kirk concentrated on his technique. Yeah, maybe he could maintain a bit more speed by rounding out the turns, but even the slugs in his race seemed to be outpacing him. He stayed on it feeling like he had a hang of it, at least all by himself on the track.

But after a couple laps, he noticed he actually GAINED on that old sedan. Kirk clenched his jaw, gripped the wheel, and set his sights on that ugly 039 car. As he gained, he noticed that the old sedan had no handling whatsoever and so Kirk gained ground on him on the turns, but the sedan pulled away a bit on the straights. Just as Kirk thought he could catch up with him. The white flag flew but Kirk kept pushing almost catching him on the second turn, but then again, the sedan pulled a little away. On the third and fourth turns Kirk came within two car lengths, but by then the short consolation race was over. On the cool down lap with the adrenaline rush over, Kirk finally understood the true enticement of stock car racing.    

So back down in the pits, Kirk saw Mike working on his number two car under the hood. Kirk asked what was up and Mike informed him oil was leaking from the top of his engine. Too much of a leak. He was in the process of cinching down the valve cover and spark plug seals to maybe stem the flow. Mike appeared truly perturbed by the problem, a characteristic Kirk hadn’t seen him in before. Mike finished up by wiping down the engine and the few drips and smears on the frame and body.  Kirk looked at his engine and saw seepage as well though not as bad. He didn’t care right then because he was done racing for the day, but Mike would be in the feature race which is longer than the heats. Kirk wished him good luck and headed to the concession stand.

The one thing you have to eat at the races are the salty vinegar French Fries, what a treat! Armed with the fries and a Coke, Kirk headed back to the pit stands. There were only a couple other drivers, indicated by wearing a firesuit, sitting in the stands. Those drivers like him who didn’t make the cut!

Despite his very first two short races and eventually sensing the fun behind it, Kirk had accepted the inevitable realization that racing for him was going to be the same as everything else he had participated in like running high school track where he always finished last. He accepted the fact that he would be an “also ran” all summer if he stuck with it. At least there hadn’t been any bumping or crashing�"yet.  Nevertheless, Kirk was Never the Same.