Never the Same #33 Mid-season Madness and Mayhem

Electric exhilaration surrounded the Mid-season Stock Car Championship; for Kirk it would be another night of also ran. Or was it?

 

Cue: “Misunderstood” https://youtu.be/HA7h6-KYr_A

Only a couple days to the Mid-season Championship at Holland Speedway under the bright lights held on Saturday night. Perry Raceway would have their championship on the week after on Sunday. Kirk had little or no interest in the championships because he knew that they would have little or no impact on him; he who never qualifies for a feature race. So, instead being wired and tinkering on his car, he worked on the project that he had held off on for long enough, namely his van’s paint job.

We last left Kirk with four rolls of quarter inch masking tape intently scrutinizing at his van. What does one do with masking tape of that thickness? Normally not much.

Starting in that offending upper panel where Kirk last week had painted those splotches of blue and red, Kirk took a deep breath. Starting on the driver’s side while standing on an upturned five-gallon pail Kirk pulled the end of the masking tape and placing the sticky end up in the left hand corner about five inches from the top and the left. He eyed the horizontal plane and stuck down three inches of tape and then did a tight ninety degree turn vertically down. Bending even quarter inch tape in a ninety-degree turn is an art in itself. Mind you, Kirk wanted the turns tight, as tight as he could. To do this, the outside of the tape’s bend must be stretched, without breaking, and the inside needs to be compressed without wrinkling. It would be easy if turning the corner was around, say the size of a baseball or bigger, but Kirk had his heart set on making the inside of the turns around the size of a coin quarter. Almost an impossible feat, but Kirk tried it anyway. He doesn’t want the undertaking to go easy, and it had to work to fit his vision.

Pressing on and pressing the tape down, he went straight down about five inches before turning again to the right to the horizontal. He took the back of his fingernail to smooth the corner down that looked a little puckery. Then went a couple inches on the horizontal before turning back up vertically. He used a razor sharp Xacto blade to cut sections out like corners that he ripped or puckered too much. When crossing over a line with another layer of tape, Kirk had to be especially careful to press down the intersection’s crossing with a fingernail. He knew from his normal experience when masking glass, chrome and so on that if there is a gap where the tape is not pressed tightly, the paint will migrate right underneath and spoil an otherwise clean line. Every turn formed part of a small box with none of them bigger than two by three inches.

Anyway, I believe you understand the beginnings of Kirk’s vision, and I could go on with the ups and down’s, right and lefts of quarter inch tape for pages and pages. But what Kirk desired would be a custom painted endless line like he had seen in those old custom car magazines. He would fill the entire panel with the boxes formed by tape that would hopefully end up connecting with where he started all done with one continuous line of tape. No doubt the task was tedious and not for the impatient, but Kirk remained realistic in the outcome knowing that his finished paint job wouldn’t be anything like what he saw in the magazines, though he could dream and he tried his best. He actually dreaded the last part after the final coat of paint over the taped design. He knew that he’d have to time it right because there was the possibility of pulling the paint off from under the tape AND pulling the top coat paint off along the tape.  The paint couldn’t be too hard nor too fresh and wet. Nonetheless, that’s later, much later, for the final result wouldn’t be revealed until the top coat of paint is on and all that tape is cautiously, judiciously, and gently pulled off. In three hours of work that first evening, he only covered maybe a third of one panel. It would be a long, finger aching, eye straining job. Hopefully, it would be worth it all and not so stinking bad in the end that Kirk would have to sand the whole darn mess off and start over. Or give up!

Meanwhile, Mike, Kirk’s brother-in-law must have had visions of racing grandeur. Mike went over his car with a fine-tooth comb as they say. He didn’t want to leave anything to chance by checking every suspension pivot point bolt, every critical connection and fastener. He readjusted the air pressure in all four tires to make sure the stagger was perfect. He put a little more wedge in the suspension from right front to left rear. Kirk never saw Mike with this kind of intensity and focus in readjusting his car. Kirk grinned to himself as he worked on his custom paint preparation because he thought his car remained good enough for him. After all, it’ll be just like usual as he wasn’t going to qualify for the midseason championship feature by any means unless somehow, someway half the field of cars got wiped out. He went back to concentrating on pulling, twisting, bending, and pressing all that tape down making those little boxes with rounded corners.  

So that’s how it went that week. Kirk looked at his stock car a couple times with a re-experiencing the sensation of driving on the race tracks, but other than looking he never touched the car. As Friday night rolled around, Kirk finally finished with one side panel of the van. And yes, he managed to end the endless strip where he wanted, well, not really ending because it was a endless line, but he finished the stripe by butting it up at where he had started. He stood back, took it in and deemed it good! Enough for him, anyway. Not quite through the second roll of tape, his sore fingers told him he tried hard enough and his eyes crossed from staring at all those strips of tape. How many yards? At least 100 yards Kirk had pulled out and stuck down. Of course, omitting the damaged bits and pieces of tape that ended up stuck on or littered the floor.

 Mike, in the meantime, worked on the engine of his stock car probably in an aspiration to glean or squeeze out some more horsepower. Kirk thought he should take a few pointers from Mike and work on his own car, but nah, he didn’t think so. All he did was charge the battery because, remember, the stock cars didn’t have charging systems. He felt as he usually did on Friday night before the races as rather indifferent. Besides, he had another pull on him on Friday night.

 One thing for sure after that week of taping, he needed to spend some time with Earth Girl, Hippie Chick, Bohemian Lass Sarah Elizabeth. Kirk never got over his breakup with Dee, but whether he realized it at that time or not, Sarah E. was the best thing that ever happened to him. They clicked and fit together often and perfectly. In all ways that come to mind, Sarah was better for Kirk than Dee, Babe, Bonnie, Linda, and even poor Farah who he absconded in a lurch with no explanation. Sarah and Kirk spent some quality time together on Friday night. On a side note, she didn’t go with him to the races even though she probably could have, but it was a restricted high testosterone zone. That is, riding in the truck with Kirk and Don and then at the races she’d have to sit in the stands all by herself. Maybe the situation would change later on, but for now, that’s how it played out. He did have that squirrel on his car’s trunk lid that she painted for him so it was like she rode along.       

Getting in late on Friday night, Kirk slept in on Saturday morning. His mother was as cheerful as always despite Kirk’s overbearing father who gave Kirk the evil eye at breakfast. Yeah, Kirk felt sure that his father had visions of hay baling on his mind but apparently, he accepted Kirk’s commitment to racing. Kirk didn’t feel let down one iota for not being involved with farm work when his father hired a local kid to load hay when Kirk went off racing. In fact, that didn’t bother him at all he would probably say if asked, but Kirk being Kirk, he felt a bit guilty and didn’t have a thing to do on his car so he decided to help his father with maintenance on the farm equipment. That kept Kirk occupied until lunch which he shared with his parents. His little sister had run off somewhere with her school chums on summer break.

Kirk had loved high school especially those fond memories of his time with Dee. He particularly enjoyed raising the ire of the teachers with his blatant hands-on affection for Dee by inviting the whole world to see how he felt about her. Besides that, nice reminiscences of the school that had been good to him. For those reading from the beginning recall that he got along with everyone though he was no Ferris Buller. In some ways, he thought of himself as a nonentity, but because of that he had no major fights or hassles. Kirk had a couple close friends during school that seemed to instantly avoid communication after he went to college and those friends remained no-shows at his races. His only possible avenue to fame and no one seemed to care. Anyway, a note about his studies: he didn’t think about it at this particular juncture, but he’ll wish that he had studied harder on more academic subjects instead of auto shop. We’ll see how that works out in a much later episode. I prevaricate with this episode. Off to the races!

Even though Mike seemed hyped about the Midseason Championships Kirk couldn’t be less excited. Yeah, he hadn’t competed in a championship and wasn’t sure if Mike had, but Kirk had watched the championships over the years as a spectator and recalled they were exciting with many laps of rubbing, bumping, and overtaking. Kirk also remembered the Mini-Stocks and Charger championships just dragging on for far too long unless there were multiple crashes with rollovers, crashes, fires and the like. Such fun! Maybe secretly Kirk didn’t want to compete in the championship.

Anyway, they made usual trip to Holland International Speedway stopping off for the usual high octane gas for the cars. Kirk got his usual two gallons which was enough to run the heat and consolation races. He had no idea how much gas was actually in the tank. Upon arrival at the track, Kirk thought a certain electricity hung in the air with more hyperactivity, louder engines and excitement in guys’ actions. Even the Tech guys seemed wired.  No doubt all the cars that ever raced showed up. In Kirk and Mike’s class all the hot dogs were there especially that brownish cash car that would probably win it all. More along Kirk’s speed was the old near black 039 sedan, that orange car and the yellow car. Kirk could have made friends with those drivers but never had any interactions to speak of until they were on the track. HA!

Unloading the cars, Kirk noticed that warm ups for the Late Model class were running already. And it seemed like they were running hard! Rarely there are wrecks on warm ups, but a loud crunch occurred and what sounded like a high-revving engine out of control. Through the fence Kirk saw flashing lights of the track crew and tow truck. Yeah, running hard all right. Kirk’s pulse rate hiked up a few notches despite him reassuring himself that he had just a regular night ahead of him. He went out for his warm ups and found his class members pushed harder as well. Kirk simply stayed low on the track well out their way.

After warm ups, he moseyed on over to check the board to see where he sat in his heat. He was astonished to see there were three heats in his class. Yeah, a lot of cars for the championship night. He sat sixth in the third heat pretty much same as usual, which meant he had three guys to pass. The yellow car 23, Dusty Rhodes and the orange car 19, Max Powers were the two cars of the three he needed to pass for feature qualifying and maybe could�"depending. The third car, a purply smashed up Ford Pinto of all things, number eleven, Will Phast sat at third. Kirk had never been able to get close to passing Will. 039 Mark Skidwell sat behind him not posing any threat in Kirk’s book anymore. Just like almost every other night race, but�"but Kirk always held a faint possibility that someone in the heat would mess up and allow him to qualify. Highly doubtful probability.  

As usual Kirk just poked around waiting for his time to race. After the Minis and Chargers his class prepared for battle. Mike wore an expression of shear confidence and determination. Odds were in his favor to win another heat because he was in the second heat and the brown cash car ran the first heat. Of course, Kirk couldn’t watch his brother-in-law race because he’d be sitting in his heat lineup ready for their release into the coliseum of speed. After the first heat, which the brown car won of course, Kirk got ready making sure all his safety equipment was on right and tightly secured.  

Mike sat third in his heat lineup. Kirk silently wished him luck. He sat in his car with the engine idling with a steady burble. As he waited, he saw flashes of cars going by through the gaps in the guardrails, but he really couldn’t tell any of what was going on. The heat ended just like that and the losers filed out without Mike! Kirk caught a glimpse of him continuing around to receive the checkered flag. A minute later Kirk saw the flash of the silver car under the bright lights and a flicker of the flag. Well, that was an experience Kirk couldn’t relate to. Someday. Someday. He vowed.

When Mike rolled out and past, Kirk gave Mike a thumbs up who returned it with a big grin. A good night to win a heat in front of a big crowd and lots of competition. At that moment, Kirk and his own competitors rolled out onto the high banked turns. Kirk felt like he wasn’t mentally prepared to race on a big night that would end the same as always. One lap warm up and they were off. On the first lap, Kirk was surprised that old 039 was right on his a*s, he was right there 039’s windshield in his mirror! Kirk gritted his teeth figuring the Mark must have squeezed some power and/or handling out of that dark old sedan. Kirk wasn’t planning on fighting anyone off but there he was in the thick of it. He held off 039 for two laps, but as everyone garnered their oats out there with the electricity of the night they pushed. Watching his mirror, when 039 went high Kirk countered and pushed a little harder. BAM! Kirk hit the orange car hard on the left-hand corner and with a squeal of tires the other car slid neatly out of the way allowing for Kirk to slip down underneath! He sat in fifth. He gripped the wheel hard with his sights set on the yellow car a length away. Kirk knew that even if he took down yellow, and ended up fourth he still wouldn’t qualify, but hell, it was a honest-to-goodness thrill to pass any other car under racing pressure. He looked behind him and somehow the orange car had slipped in front of 039. Like they say, and what Kirk had just experienced, “what is behind you is not important!”

 Like a professional, Kirk knew his line, the groove his car liked, but of course it was the same for most cars. A thought sprang to mind that maybe if he whammed the yellow car, it would spin out like orange. He knew better, an intentional impact would bring the black flag out for him. Keep it clean, Kirk! Only two laps left and he hadn’t made a real move on yellow car. He got closer and closer thinking that if he tapped him, well if he tried too hard, might change up his finish, but getting a black flag on the last lap? Not Good. Whatever!

 Kirk pushed hard and saw the flash of the white flag out of his peripheral vision but he also he saw the orange car sticking his wheel up beside him. Taking a risk out of the second turn heading into the last straight, Kirk drove hard, harder and got his front wheels down beside the yellow car’s and then even with yellow’s door effectively scraping the orange car off his side and out of contention. Kirk ducked down so deep his inside tires kicked up dust from the infield. Kirk stayed on it inch by inch, side by side and suddenly the yellow car backed off. Kirk shot out ahead to take fourth. He took a deep breath of satisfaction and with his adrenaline really up, his nerves in his arms tingling, he was ready for the consolation race.

As usual routine, he drove out the exit gate and circled back around to line up for the consolation. The gate steward with clipboard and com headgear positioned the cars already lined up. The steward walked down the line pointing and shouting positions. Kirk wouldn’t want that stressful job with adrenalized guys ready to do battle on the track. The teward got to the car in front of Kirk and stopped short when he noticed Kirk. He looked at his board and talked into his mic. He stood up and sternly pointed at Kirk and waved him away to the pits. Kirk experienced a chill of total misunderstanding and complete letdown. He raised his arms with an over-exaggerated shrug. He mouthed, “what?” Kirk wasn’t about to be turned away from the consolation race with a simple wave and a point.

Had I been black flagged? Banned from the track after tapping that guy and spinning him out? Was my car leaking more oil than usual? Kirk sat there befuddled as the steward worked his way closer. Kirk leaned over as far as he could to his side window toward the steward.

“What’s the matter? What did I do wrong?” Kirk shouted over his engine’s exhaust noise.   

Will this situation stunt Kirk’s growth?  Will this cause Kirk to quit racing? Will Kirk be Never the Same?