Never the Same #33 Mid-season Madness and Mayhem Part 2

Stop the madness!

Cue: “Highway Star” https://youtu.be/W2BO3UTOhZ8

 

Kirk, sitting in his idling, rumbling stock car, swallowed hard with a gulp. The track steward had waved him away to the pits for what reason Kirk hadn’t a clue. Did they ban him from running the consolation race?  Why? Kirk sat there totally befuddled.

He leaned as far over as he could against the restraint of his shoulder harness to the side window. The steward seemed angry as he approached Kirk’s car.

“Hey, Tumble, you can’t run the consolation for fun you know. C’mon, head back to the pits.” The steward swatted him away like a fly. “You’re gummin’ up the works.”

Kirk could barely speak. “But why can’t I race? What did I do?”

“You qualified for the feature, rookie! Read the whole posting next time. Now move it.” The track steward moved on in a rush.

Kirk, still half confused and half overwhelmed with apprehension slowly backed up,  pulled out, and returned to his parking spot mulling the situation over. 

Qualified for the feature? How’s that possible? They never take the first four to directly qualify. Then it hit him. Ah ha, that’s how they get so many cars in the mid-season feature.  

After he parked and killed the engine, Don strolled over to lean in Kirk’s window.

“Wow! You really worked to get that spot in the feature. You did some great driving out there!”

“Thanks, but�"hmmm, I didn’t know they were advancing the first four to the feature. I just ran it like usual I thought.”

“But it was right there on the postings board that four advances. You didn’t see it?”

“No, but the track steward gave it to me for lining up for the consolation race and not knowing about the posted change in qualifications.”

“Well, that’s a hell of an accomplishment anyway. Your first feature is the Mid-season Championship! Twenty-five laps of pure marathon unadulterated racing.” 

“Yeah,” Kirk said, rather grim. “I don’t know how I feel about racing in the championship.”

“Well, you’d better get your game on big time!”

Kirk crawled out of his car through the window like usual, but while stepping down on the nerf bar his leg almost gave out from his nervous apprehension. He said that he didn’t know how he felt about being in the big race but intrinsically he knew how he felt�"scared, insecure, overwhelmed, and freaked out.

As the Late Models roaringly ran their heats with a few pauses for crashes, Kirk pondered his upcoming BIG, MOMENTOUS MID-SEASON CHAMPIONSHIP race. His first FEATURE RACE! He knew because HE qualified there’d be a large field of cars�"larger than usual for features. It then hit him like a brick recalling championships. He remembered one race with a large crash and subsequent engine fire. Even though the driver turned out fine, still, it was a fire. He recalled one long Charger race where one car lost a wheel and as it rolled down the track another car drove over it as it rolled along lifting the front of the car, the middle and then the back end. A sight to see, but something that would unnerve a driver. Kirk had fleeting thoughts like if that happened to him would the tire burst up through the floorboards or would he be off center and flip over on his side? He twitched with a twinge.

I don’t have to compete, claiming mechanical problems or using some other lame excuse. But. Don’t be a p***y, Kirk!  It’s not like I’m going to score any great finish or mix it up with the top dogs. He scolded himself. Except when they lap me, probably several times! This is an important experience and a possible claim to fame. Really? Fame? Who’ll notice? On the other hand, I should make sure the car is ready to go. What should I check? What should I adjust? Is the car�"am I up to the long race? He tried to reason with his spinning thoughts. 

The car handled fine; it ran well, probably best ever.  Better not tweak or change anything. Don’t screw with it!

But despite his inner voice telling him not to do anything, he had to tinker with whatever he could think of. He nervously fussed around his car just like when he scoffed at Mike. Kirk checked through all the fluid levels. He started checking for loose bolts. He wanted to readjust his air pressure, but if he made a mistake and let air out of a tire, he’d be hard pressed to find a source of air pressure. What about that axle I replaced? Will it slip out again? He went around and tightened all the wheel lug nuts. He checked the axle retainer bolts. He would never have done any of these things, but maybe a change in circumstances demand those things. Meanwhile, the Late Model heats roared like never before at least it seemed that way to Kirk. Bang! Crunch! Squeal! Yeah, someone or ones crashed. Got to push that racing envelope. Kirk tried to see what had happened but didn’t see much from his vantage point. A few minutes later, the tow truck brought out a mangled, steaming, bent car. Yeah, he’s not going to run the feature or maybe never race again. The sight of a wrecked car didn’t help Kirk nerve one bit.

The three men walked over to the posting board to see where they started the Mid-season Championship. The list seemed excessively long looking at it. Usually, the feature starting position was determined by how the drivers finished the heats and consolation races, but for the championships, the starting positions follow the point standings. Kirk automatically dropped his eyes toward the bottom. There he saw his name standing out like a beacon, Kirk Tumble almost last, just three cars behind him. Looking over the board, of course the cash car number 29 sat on pole. Kirk wondered how many laps it’d be before he’d lap Kirk. Kirk knew after that he wouldn’t be racing much just staying low and slow to let the faster lapping cars past. Mike sat on the fourth row in eighth. The heat postings still hung on the board. Now, Kirk saw in bold print that the TOP FOUR would qualify for the feature. How’d he over look that?

Unlike the usual feature races where Kirk goes to the stands and watches, Kirk just sat on his car’s tire and contemplated his upcoming race. All his contemplations leaned to the negative side, of course. Starting the championships, the Mini-Stock feature had a crash that left two little compact cars crippled and were towed back to the pits. Kirk had thought that the Minis didn’t go fast enough to seriously crash. Ha! He tried to cheer himself up. It didn’t help. When the Chargers went out for their feature, Kirk and Mike got in their cars to strap in. Kirk gave a nod and a grim look to Mike who gestured in return.

His hands trembling, Kirk pulled the shoulder straps over and laps belts over. Pulling up his crotch strap his finger fumbled it and it fell back through the hole in the seat. Kirk cussed silently as Mike fired up his car to pull out. He fumbled the strap again. He took a deep breath and pressed and wiped his hands down on his thighs. Slowly, patiently, he pulled up the crotch strap and held it firmly while he stuck the shoulder and one lap buckle in place. He held the cluster with a shaking hand and shoved the other lap buckle in tight and slammed down the latch. He let out his breath as he pulled each strap tight.

It’s always easier than this, he thought.

He pumped the gas, punched the starter and the engine turned but didn’t fire off. What the? He paused before pulling on the kill switch. The engine fired off with a finger stab. Get your head out, Kirk! He pulled on his helmet and cinched it down. He backed out and followed a couple other cars from his class to the staging area. He saw both the yellow and orange cars that he fought in the heat made it to the feature. Must have been from the consolation, he reasoned. Kirk knew he started behind the blue number 33, driven by Charlie.

Waiting for the Chargers to finish up, Kirk sat in his idling car on Pit Road quite a ways from the track entrance because of the long line of cars. Just the shear number of cars was enough to unnerve a driver. He sat there knowing what he had to do and that was to stay out of trouble and not be oblivious to possible flag and light changes. After several minutes, the pit exit opened and the Chargers rolled out. There was another short wait for the victory lap and special photo-op for the winner which usually included sponsors and family so it took even longer than usual.

Finally, the winner rolled out and Kirk’s class slowly rolled in following the shiny new pace car with its warning lights flashing. Kirk had never been in a race with the pace car before because he hadn’t been in a feature. The rumbling of engines reverberated in his ears as the long line of cars went up the hill, over the crest and onto the track. From Kirk’s vantage point, it proved truly a sight to behold. As he entered the track gate, the line of cars stretched around turns three and four following the pace car. Yes, the line was gappy, but there was no denying it, there were a lot of cars out there.

They motored around the track a lot slower than Kirk was accustomed to in his low-key heats and consolations that were always rushed to finish. He saw nothing from the flagman to indicate the slow pace under the yellow condition, but maybe from experience the pace had to be slower to close up the gaps and of course with a pace car that probably was in contact with the flagman. Kirk’s pulse rate went up expecting the usual one lap warm up but as they rounded the track most of drivers held up one finger for another lap. To be a cool, experienced stock car driver he stuck his finger out the window as well. When in Rome… Now heading down the straight the field of cars closed up. To Kirk it looked like a double-row freight train. An awesome sight! Again, they stuck their fingers up. Around they went.

Kirk recalled some bench racing myths that Mike had related once that in high stakes, long races the most dangerous laps were between the third and sixth laps. Apparently, the drivers needed a little time to get their blood up, let the tires warm up, and maybe consider early strategy before hard charging and maybe charging too hard. Kirk using common sense, thought it was so because drivers wanted to get forward positions before running into traffic meaning Kirk and the slow pokes. So he figured they’d be running him down between those laps!

This time around the pace quickened. Kirk had his eyes glued to the trunk lid of number 33 running so close he couldn’t see his bumper. He white knuckled the wheel, his foot remained steady on the gas pedal shaped like a aluminum footprint but poised ready to floor it. The pace car sped out of the way ducking into the infield kicking up a cloud of dust while avoiding getting run down by the marauding horde of roaring stock cars. Without looking but hearing the roar of accelerating engines, he saw the light flick to green. His heart in his mouth, he pressed down on the gas feeling the slight acceleration. He touched number 33’s bumper with a slight rub. Rubbin’s racing as they say in the movies. Number 33 bobbled and went high. Kirk shot his front wheel underneath and stayed on it. He grimly smiled as he took the position fully, actually two places because 33 blocked the other car on the outside. On the first lap!  Don’t let your guard down�"ever.

The noise and action around Kirk boggled his mind. Dust and fumes swirled about in the roiling disturbed air of twenty-five cars going wide-open, hell bent for election. He saw someone a little farther ahead hit the dirt on the infield sending up a thick whirling cloud. The dirt and pebbles sprayed across Kirk’s Plexiglas windshield like a sleet storm. Kirk tried to keep his focus where he wanted to go like they say you must, but the cars stayed around him just too tightly, too jostling for position by swerving and moving about for him to look out ahead. He glanced in his mirror to see the yellow car had stayed with him maybe thinking that Kirk would make openings for him as well, but everyone in that bunch of cars knew that they wouldn’t gain much on the rest of the field.

Damn! A red car appeared out of nowhere and clipped his side nerf and front bumper and wrenched his car a foot sideways as he went past and ducked down. One of the hot dogs! Kirk tried to go with him but with all the shuffling of positions and a lot less horsepower the red car disappeared into the mess ahead. Kirk didn’t even contemplate why the red car had come from behind. As he flashed under the flagman, he only saw a green flag. Into the race at what, five laps? Kirk had already lost count. No major crash�"yet. They pushed on. Another lap.

Suddenly, the lights flashed yellow. Apparently, the myth played out. He slowed but stayed with those around him. He knew that he couldn’t pass anyone under yellow but that didn’t mean that drivers didn’t try. Damn! One of the hot dogs sat in the infield with a bent wheel and another up against the guardrail. They filed past and the pace car sped out in front of the field. All the gaps closed up as they coasted around. Now in a single line, he looked in his mirror with a shocking realization that the leaders weren’t all that far behind Kirk and his personal competition. They coasted round for three laps as the track crew dragged the broken car down to the infield and had thrown out some speedy dry on the track where antifreeze or oil had spilled. Speedy dry is basically kitty litter they sprinkle on liquid spills to soak it up. It makes a dusty cloud when the cars drive over it.

With the track clear, the drivers swerved about to re-warm their tires. Kirk didn’t bother just focusing on the restart. After another lap with drivers sticking their fingers up, the pace car sped off and the green flag waved. Kirk felt like he lost his rush with the yellow flag rest. He still sat behind the blue car with the yellow car tailing him. Laser focused on staying close while not allowing anyone to sneak up beside him proved the name of the game. He couldn’t afford  for anyone to sneak below him which meant a position loss for sure.

    A lap with no change. Another lap. Kirk glanced behind and the slower cars behind him suddenly all slid to the inside of the track. The hot dogs were coming! Kirk kept fighting for a position with another blue car knowing that his time for open racing drew to a close.

Sure enough, the flagman waved the blue with a yellow stripe out. Kirk complied and stayed to the inside. Number 29, that brownish cash car motored by like he was out on a Sunday drive in the country with hardly any exhaust noise, coasting along, and headed into the turn at a speed Kirk thought was twice as fast he and his competition were going. Kirk felt demolished. Following about three car lengths after 29 was a black hot dog hot on the heels of the cash car. Another and another car followed suit. Just when Kirk thought it, Mike passed by at what Kirk thought must have been still eighth place. It was difficult to pass another car no matter what position a driver may have started when the line up pretty much followed the capability of each car and driver team. That’s why number 29 had smooth sailing. A-hole! Kirk decided to hang on and stay out of trouble if that was at all possible. The laps ticked by one, two, three and no matter what Kirk tried he couldn’t get by that blue car and at the same time he held off the yellow car while staying over for the lapping cars. Yeah, he had his hands full with movement all around and engine noise rattling his brains.

Just when Kirk realized he had been lulled into monotony, something happened up ahead. He saw dust and the back end of a car rising up above the other cars. Kirk stabbed the brakes expecting the worse, but in rapid succession he checked right, left and behind to see what everybody else was doing. RED LIGHT! The cars in front of him slowed down really fast and Kirk slammed on his brakes to avoid slamming into the blue car. They stopped where they were. Lights flashing the tow truck, track truck and ambulance all went out ahead. Still strapped in Kirk strained against his restraints to try to see what had happened. As far as he could see, there were at least five cars sitting astray. One car laid on its side up against the guardrail its underneath facing him. Kirk thought the worse, but he wasn’t sure if it was true. The cars around him sat idling, the rumbling low and car body trembling. The track crew drove up to the car on its side and the five guys jumped out and together pushed the car back on its wheels. With what he saw and had dreaded, Kirk sucked in his breath.

It was Mike’s car on its side. Kirk imagined what it had to be like hanging from your harness like that. He recalled Mike saying that belonging to the “Upside Down Club” meant you were a real racer. Kirk thought at the time he’d rather avoid that situation and this scene only reinforced the thought. Three cars sat in the infield. The track crew pushed the fourth car down and off the track as the tow truck backed up to Mike’s car. Apparently, Mike was just fine because the ambulance pulled back to sit in the infield. The EMS crew stopped by to talk to each of those drivers who had gotten out of their cars by their own accord.

A car revving his engine near Kirk broke him from his inner ponderings. Maybe the other guy’s car was overheating. Kirk checked his temperature gauge and saw it wasn’t as high as when he was racing. Suddenly, a precipitous alarm struck him like a bolt.

What about my gas?! I only put two gallons in the tank without knowing what was already in there. Kirk had no inkling that he’d be in a twenty-five-lap feature, with stops and restarts instead of his usual eight lap consolation race. How many laps are left? Ten? Twelve? Should I turn the engine off? Would it start? How much gas do I really have? Am I on fumes already? If I did run out, could I just coast to the infield? Or would I get smacked along the way? He gripped the steering wheel and nervously wrung it.  

The tow truck hauled Mike’s broken car to the infield as the track crew spread Speedy Dry and pushed it around with brooms. The tow truck lowered Mike’s car and unhooked it probably in case there was another victim to be pulled off the track. Kirk couldn’t tell how bad Mike’s car was from his vantage point, but he hoped deep down that he wasn’t that next victim. In a few moments, the track crew deemed the track was back in racing condition. The pace car ran up past him up close to the guardrail until he got about two-thirds around the track from Kirk, in other words, not all that far behind Kirk�"again! He saw the red light change to yellow and slowly the long train, though not as long as before, started moving. Kirk thought that they had indeed put on a good show for the spectators that filled the stands to the brim.

A fleeting thought: If only Babe could see me now! Of course, I’m not out front, but I’m in the Mid-season Championship! (Remember as a young teen he spectated the races with Babe.)

They coasted around as the cars tightened up their positions. One lap, the Speedy Dry flew up in a cloud with their passage. Another lap and another. Kirk ventured a glance at Mike who leaned over the top of his broken number two car watching the racers go by. A sad way to spectate. Kirk couldn’t tell how bad Mike’s car was damaged as he cruised past. Four coasting laps and Kirk began getting more antsy about his fuel supply. Yeah, he knew the track crew wanted to make sure the track was dry, but c’mon! The drivers held one finger up. Okay, one more lap. Kirk saw the orange and yellow cars behind him swerving about. Kirk didn’t bother. He tightened up on the blue car. The one lap went by and the flagman waved the white flag. Okay. On the back straight the pace car headed into the infield accompanied by a cloud of dust. The crescendo of angry engine exhaust rose up with the hungry pack’s increase in speed.

Kirk didn’t want to press the blue car, but the yellow car seemed to press Kirk. He went deep into the corner trying to duck down below blue, but his mistake, it was the Speedy Dry turn. Kirk’s car suddenly oversteered with the back end hanging out to dry. Bang! His back bumper hit the side of the yellow car. Kirk steered into the slide and thanks to yellow car he straightened it up with hardly missing a beat. His body tensed. He gripped tighter. His heart beat harder. As soon as he settled back into his groove his mind went back to wondering about his fuel level.

The yellow car slid back into the same slot he had been alongside the orange car. Kirk worried that the orange car would try to slip by him on the inside, the yellow on the outside. He fended them off while trying to slip past the blue car or alternately staying out of the way of the lappers. More laps were raced but Kirk couldn’t call it racing unless position progress was gained or lost. As the laps accumulated, Kirk thought if the race was any longer one could get lulled into a apathetic ambience of why bother. Kirk forced himself to focus because he knew if he let his guard down something bad would occur or he’d miss a sudden opportunity. 

More laps and Kirk got his wheels down beside the blue car but lost it and the orange car did the same to him. When will it end? If someone makes a mistake. Again, the “you’re being lapped” blue and yellow flag flew. Geez, that number 29 just motored by with the wannabes hot on his tail but not threatening the cash car. Another lap and the white flag flew. Damn! Kirk wanted to make some kind of move. On turns one and two he pushed hard trying to get his front end below the blue car.

The engine stuttered. Gasp. Slowed and recaught. Kirk’s stomach jumped to his throat. The blue car slid away. Down the back straight Kirk went hard again the engine seemingly more powerful. He got below the blue car again going into turn three. Sputter. Sputter. Gasp, went his engine. It jerked and gyrated a couple times before it just died. Kirk hugged the infield as he coasted down the straightaway. The yellow and orange car streamed past just before he went under the flagman and the checkered flag. Kirk felt totally drained and defeated. He coasted slowly into the infield.

Well, everyone motored out the exit gate except, yeah, number 29 who stopped for his checkered flap lap. No one was surprised with the outcome. The track crew truck came up behind Kirk and he gave them a thumbs up. With a gentle bump, the truck pushed Kirk across the infield and out the gate. They picked up speed on the pit road, gave Kirk a hard shove and pulled away before heading back to the track. Kirk had just enough momentum to get next to the trailer to park.

On the other side of the trailer sat Mike’s car. Kirk didn’t think it looked all that bad from his seat, so he crawled out to get a closer look. His legs seemed a bit stiff from sitting in his car so long with his legs stretched out flat. Mike had been rummaging around in the trucks tool box and dragged out a chain and come-along. Walking around Mike’s car, Kirk saw that the car did take some real damage. The right-side body had an evil scrape from the side up to the roofline that was crushed in. It appeared that the car must have slid on its side because the metal had been scraped down to the metal devoid of paint. The silver flake paint that remained appeared shattered like glass. That’d be hard to fix because the roof had bulged out along the top but was now flatter than a pancake. The body would have to be lifted off the cage to repair that mess. The side nerf bar had been ripped off, the front axle twisted, the tie rod broken, and the right front tire flat. 

“Not too bad, could’ve been worse,” Mike said examining the car with Kirk. “What happened to you?”

“Ran out of gas. I sure didn’t plan to run a long feature, ya’ know?”

“We could’ve topped you off before the feature.”

“Yeah, could’ve but I didn’t even think of it until during the race.”

“Well, I can’t get my car up on the truck,” said Mike. “So we need to get your car gassed up to load up on top. Go check to see if Bill has a can of gas.”

Kirk didn’t realize that Bill drove the blue car that he had tried so hard getting past. He wandered over there down the pit road.

“Howdy, Bill,” Kirk said.

“Hey Kirk, I thought you had me a couple times. A little tight racing, huh?”

“Oh yeah, I almost bought a couple times along the way. Could’ve ended up like Mike,” Kirk said, with a thumb gesture towards their rig. “Hey, would you happen to have a can of gas?”

“Don’t tell me you ran out of gas at the end there? I wondered what happened. Like you just stalled out and coasted away.” Bill said, getting the gas can off his trailer right there next to them. He handed it to Kirk.

“Kind of embarrassing for me. What I owe you?”

“Down here in the pits? We share everything, maybe I’ll need something from you guys later on. Hope old Mike can fix his car easy enough. You guys’ silver cars add class to our class.” He grinned big.

“Well, thanks for that and thanks for the gas. I’ll bring back your can in a couple.”

“Think nothing of it.” Bill grinned again. “Hey, tell Mike that he should’ve went over on his padded vinyl top. Cushion the impact, less damage.”

Kirk scoffed a laugh. “He’ll be happy to hear that suggestion. You’d better tell him when you see him.”

Kirk walked back and put about a gallon of gas in his tank. He just needed to start the car and to load it which meant driving up�"the ramps, the trailer, the ramps and then the truck. He gulped. He never had done that before and it had taken several times to get used to just loading on the trailer. Kirk crawled into the car. He pumped the accelerator knowing darn well there wasn’t any gas in the carburetor.  He pressed the shiny starter button to crank the engine. It cranked, and cranked and cranked to the point Kirk thought he might run the battery down, but just then, it fired off. Giving the engine a couple blips of revs for good measure, he backed up and then lined up with the long series of ramps. At least the rig seemed long to Kirk knowing he had to go all the way up. He took a deep breath recalling how Mike runs his car up quickly with total abandon. He took it easy getting up the first ramps and onto the trailer, but upon hitting the steeper ramps to the truck the slope stopped him. The car started rolling backwards and, in a panic, he slammed on the brakes.

Mike shouted, “You need to get enough momentum to get on the truck then hit the brakes!” He paused. “You want me to do it?”

Insulted, Kirk shouted, “NO, I got it!”

He let the car roll off the truck ramps, but without intending it, rolling all the way down the trailer and back towards the ground. He got a bit wonky and the front tires slipped off the sides of the ramps with a bang and a bounce. Damn! He backed up and realigned himself. Feeding the gas, he let the clutch out hitting the first ramps, bang, across the trailer, rattle, up the truck ramps bang, and suddenly, he saw only sky, but he stayed with it and the car flattened out as the back wheels rolled onto the truck. The truck’s cab came up fast! Ommmph! The car hit the stops hard, and he hit the brakes. Perfect! (More or less.)  He killed the engine. Don and Mike threw the chains and binders into place and cinched him down. Kirk let out his breath.   

After his car was secured and he crawled out, Kirk wondered how they were going to load Mike’s broken car. Mike instructed Kirk to pull the ramps off and to stand by. Don got in the truck and making a big circle, he pulled out beyond pit road. He then carefully backed up towards the rear of Mike’s broken car. When he got within ramp length behind the car, he shut the truck off. Kirk and Mike put the ramps back on. Mike hooked the come-a-long to the truck and stretched the cable out. Kirk and Don hooked the chain to the car’s back bumper and the come-a-long. Mike started rapidly winching the cable in, but slowed down when the car started moving dragged slowly along by the winching. It proved hard work moving a whole car with the device especially one with a flat tire. Don spelled Mike on cranking the device. As the car moved up the ramp backwards, it didn’t want to track straight with the flat tire and compromised steering so when the car started to track off the ramps Kirk would muscle the wheels back into place. They ran out of cable so they re-stretched it and shorted the chain. Kirk took over the winching, the task was indeed hard work, but slowly and surely, they got the car on the trailer. Not to be outdone by the older guys, Kirk had to bend over, spent, and overheated from his effort. Don slapped him on the back with an “attaboy.” They cinched down the car, stowed the ramps and headed for home.

Kirk didn’t know how Mike would fix his car, but he knew Mike could do it because Kirk had seen him perform amazing feats of fabrication and restoration, so it was only a matter of time before the car would be track ready.

In summary, Kirk had raced his first feature albeit an especially long Midseason Championship. He wished that his old girlfriend or his friends had seen him run. Honestly, though, he couldn’t say he was actually proud of his performance especially the running out of gas part, but as momentous things go for Kirk, he would be Never the Same.

Will Kirk get the real racing bug, perhaps even winning some day?

We’ll see.