Never the Same #47 Snowsnakes, Shared Scotchies and Secrets

Kirk managed avoiding the snowsnakes’ peril, experienced a ravenous desire, and became privy to very revealing secrets.

 

 

            The winter set in with sub-freezing temps and bouts of snow. It wasn’t bad, so far. Back when Kirk was a kid, a school boy, the winters were nastier where the snow fell two to three feet or more deep. A couple times the Biscuit family were stuck, unable to get out of the driveway. Even the old putt-putt tractor couldn’t handle it. One year back then, the family hand dug a path out to the road. Well, in fact, mostly the kids. There’s nothing like putting child labor to good, hard work. Remember they had a long driveway, nearly a quarter of a mile long so it was an effort. Well, the winter we’re talking about unfolding was nothing like that.

            Kirk’s van became his winter rat vehicle. He had, in the past couple winters, bought the cheapest throwaway cars he could find so he didn’t have to drive his precious Firebird in the winter snow, slush, slop and worse of all, road salt. The van wasn’t that bad to drive in slippery conditions because, remember, the engine sat between the driver and shotgun seats albeit with an insulated metal cover on which the girls sat on. Yeah, there were seatbelts in the vehicles, but back then no one believed in them and the police didn’t enforce their usage, so the girls could perch themselves on the nice warm engine cover next to their honey/drivers like Kirk. 

            Anyhow, Kirk hadn’t even opened the door to his barn stable garage that housed his stockcar which was now devoid of its custom silver metal flake paint job. It now had splotches of gray primer, old blue paint, and bare metal. Kirk got sick to his stomach thinking about the car sitting there but attempted not to dwell on it. Being conscious of mechanical things in general, he had remembered to drain the cooling system in the car, being unsure if it had antifreeze in it at all and had no way to check it.

            With the temperatures diving and his concern and action he had taken by dumping the coolant from the stock car, Kirk worried about his van. He had driven through the previous winter, but that doesn’t mean a whole lot so he decided to go to the local auto parts store. He had money in his pocket, unlike other times, so he bought a gallon of antifreeze, a cheap tester, and while he was there tune up parts, such as points, plugs and condenser. He had heard his van skip a bit in its wiring so he thought he’d address it before maybe stranding him. Not a good time being stranded in the winter time. Just as he checked out and handed the parts guy his cash, a voice spoke behind him.

            “Hey Kirk, how have you been since the racing season?”

            Kirk whipped his head around not knowing who it might be knowing him by name far from home and acknowledged the racing season which his so-called school friends never mentioned. He recognized him as Chuck, a fellow class stock car racer. Kirk knew Chuck by appearance though he hadn’t exchanged more than two words with him at the tracks. Chuck ran as a middle of the pack racer which kept him out of trouble so it seemed and way out in front of Kirk and the rest of the back of the pack wannabes. His car was an immaculate Ford coupe, blue in color with gold trim and wheels. His engine compartment remained so clean you could cook on it and then eat off of it. Chuck and his clean machine, you might say. Anyway, Kirk was slightly taken aback to have someone recognize him AND speak to him seeing he was not a socially astute guy.

            “Ah. Hey Chuck. How’s it going? What brings you out to this neck of the woods?” Kirk asked, extending his hand. The two shook hands.

            “Oh, these nice guys here ordered some special parts for me. So here I am. Been working on next year’s car?”

            The question took Kirk by surprise because he really hadn’t thought about racing next year. “Well, no, ah. Maybe.” He shrugged. “I have stripped off the silver flake paint job.”

            “Really? It was quite distinctive out there on the track. I overheard a lot of comments about it.”

            “Yeah, I s’pose, probably mostly bad comments, but I never liked it. It was all Mike’s idea and I went along with it.”

             The parts man bellied up to the counter where the two talked. “Chuck, I got your parts in the back. Want to pay and you can pick them up at the overhead door.”

            “Sure. Sounds good,” Chuck said. “Hey Kirk why don’t you stop over Sunday afternoon at my place for cup of joe and we can sit and bench race.”

            “Yeah sure. I’ll be there. Good seeing you, Chuck,” Kirk said, shaking Chuck’s hand again.  

            “Hey, do you know where I live?” Chuck asked as he headed for the door.

            “I think so. Out on Highway 98 on the corner of High Rapids Road? Right?”

            “You got it, good. Anyway, I need to get my parts, here.”

            “Sounds like fun, see ya.”

            So Kirk drove home feeling warm and fuzzy for a change, seeing someone remembered who he was and was interested in socializing. But soon after that thought, he pivoted thinking that Chuck must have just felt sorry for him. Kirk thought no one in their right mind would socialize with him. He pressed on, drove home and did his maintenance on his van. Kirk wondered about his next day’s visit. Maybe he’ll gain a racing friend, he didn’t know.

            Anyhow, on Sunday after lunch, Kirk cruised over to Chuck’s place only about ten miles away. Winter hadn’t hit them too hard, but as he drove the backroads, where  plentiful snow snakes slithered across the road as he ventured forth. Kirk had driven past Chuck’s place once or twice, but pulling into the driveway he got to really see it. The place, undoubtedly, expectantly, was as neat as a pin, bushes neatly trimmed, a concrete driveway that was perfectly dry and clean, (no oil leaks there) and a modest house with what appeared to be a two car and a half garage. Parking, which Kirk felt self-conscious about potential leaks from his van; he saw bright, florescent lights illuminating the garage. He knocked on the people door which was answered promptly by Chuck.

            “You made it right on time,” Chuck said, with a smile.

            “I did? Didn’t know what time to show, actually. How’s it going?” Kirk asked, sheepishly realizing that he used the phrase way too often.

            “Good, good. Come on in. I’ve got the coffee on and the wife just made fresh cookies.”

            “Sounds good, great!” For several moments Kirk stood in the garage entry in utter shellshock. “WoW! Nice garage!”

            Like the driveway, the concrete floor looked sealed and completely spotless. Chuck’s Royal Blue and Gold stock car sat in the far bay appearing like a trophy of sorts. No dents, rubs, scratches or dirt marred the perfect finish like it had never been on the track. The car’s hood stood against the wall and a very well-stocked triple tier toolbox stood next to the car’s engine compartment. A radio played a talk radio station on the work bench. Kirk eyed the tray of cookies on the bench with ravenous, drooling desire.

            “Working on the car?” Kirk asked, with an elbow point.

            “Well, not really, not yet.” Chuck said. “I picked up those parts on the counter, but haven’t done anything on the car since the season ended. You?” He paused. “Oh right, you said you stripped off the paint from your car. How about that vinyl top?”

            Kirk let an exaggerated groan. “First thing I did after I left Mike’s garage.”
            Chuck paused in his tracks. “You and Mike parted ways?”

            “Well. I guess. Maybe. He joined up with Chet Gonzales from Late Models and I didn’t have a place for my car so, I ah, took it over to my parent’s farm.”

            “So you’re on your own, huh?”

            “Yep, looks that way.” Kirk said to the spotless floor.

            “Maybe that’s a good thing. It seemed to me that you were on your own towards the end of the season. Never saw anyone in the pits with you.” Chuck paused. “Coffee or soda? Got some in soda in the fridge.”

            Kirk then noticed the mini-fridge under the workbench which by the way, looked like it belonged in a kitchen not a garage. The Mister Coffee sat there full, steaming away.

            “Coffee would be great. Straight up black.”

            “The only way to have it,” Chuck said, pulling a couple mugs from hooks under the overhead cabinets. He tipped out coffee into the mugs. Kirk wondered if Chuck ever did any kind of messy, dusty work in the garage. He decided right then and there that he’d NEVER invite anyone over to his mess of a so-called garage. Chuck handed Kirk his Champion Spark Plug mug, Kirk took a sip.

            “Good potent coffee, thanks.”

            “Here have a cookie. Scotchies the wife just made.”

            “Thanks. Scotchies are my favorite,” Kirk said, running a sleeve across his lips before taking a big fat cookie. Right away, he had to take a bite and found them delicious. “You’ve got everything a guy needs out here,” Kirk said smiling, holding up the coffee and cookie.

“I spend a whole lot of time out here. Have a seat,” he offered with a gesture one of the tall upholstered bar stools. They sat down sipping their coffees and nibbling on cookies. “So, what do you have planned for next season?”

            Kirk paused breathing in the warm, stimulating coffee fumes into his nose. “Actually, ah, I haven’t really decided if I’m going to race again, you know, after my separation from the dealership and being left out of Mike’s garage.”

            “Oh, you’re not working there anymore? Was that part of the sponsorship?”

            “Well, kinda. Mike arranged the sponsorships, for the two cars, with Chuck Westchild. I can’t say I benefited much from the sponsorship, well except the expensive paint job and that er, vinyl top. And when I quit the job there, so I made the break.”

            “Do you have another job now mechanically? I’m sorry, maybe I’m prying too much.”

            “No, it’s okay. I’m working at Georgia Pacific,” Kirk said with a shrug. “It’s not a bad job and good money.”

            “Well, money is important with a money-suck hobby like this, eh?” Chuck thumbed towards his car.

            “Yeah, for sure.”

            “I never knew what engine you ran this year.”

            “Most of season I ran the Chrysler, but switched to Chevrolet when I quit.”

            “A good decision because Chevys are most the plentiful with plenty of parts to be had.”

            “I heard that but the rules about not using performance parts…”   

            Chuck sipped at his coffee. “It’s well known among racers that there are ways around the NASCAR rules. Do you know about those modifications around the rules?”

            “Huh, no. I didn’t have time to work on the chevy engine so its fresh out of the junkyard. And I always thought that the way the rules read that you can’t do much to your engine. ”

            “Yeah, I know that feeling of a stone stock engine. Not too exciting nor competitive. Let’s get you more competitive, eh? You might be surprised what you can do.”

            “Sure, okay, but the rules say only manufacturer internal and external parts except for the headers which they allow. So what are you left with? Not much it seems to me.”

            “Quite a bit really you can do to your engine for more horsepower, but what you say about the rules is also true. Okay? Easy stuff first. Headers exhausting more efficient aren’t much of a benefit if you don’t have more fuel and air going in. The rules say that the intake manifolds must stay stock but you can set an adapter on it and put a bigger carburetor on top of that.”

            “You know, I have noticed something like that on other cars, but I didn’t look closely and wasn’t sure if it was legal.”

            “Yep. Get a big two-barrel Holley on there. I know a guy tried a four barrel but that’s too much. The whole deal is really a cheap upgrade. Relatively. “

            “Hmmm,” Kirk contemplated. “But even with those upgrades, the engine won’t run right without a bigger cam.”

            “Yeah, you know your performance mods interaction. Well, some guys have bragged, quietly that is, that they bought aftermarket cams figuring that the officials won’t ever tear the engines down and inspect them.” He shrugged. “Maybe not, but more likely if you finish well consistently.”

            “So you can’t legally do a performance cam?”

            “Ah, here we go again, a way around it. Legally as far as I know. A California company, Hardy’s Cams, regrind cams for performance.”

            “Regrind a cam? Really? Never heard of that.”

            “They take a stock chevy cam and grind down the low part of the cam which makes the lobe higher. They can then grind it to any spec you want. Wait, a sec.” Chuck went over to his tool box, rustled through some pages and pulled out a couple sheets stapled together. Here you go.”

            Kirk eyed it up and down. “They do grinding for any make it looks like. And they look pretty cheap. I’ll take the number down. I feel faster already!” Kirk grinned and handed the paper back. “But I’m stealing your performance secrets.”

            “Nonsense. None of these upgrades are secrets by any means. Racing friends share all these upgrades freely, so its just a matter of knowing someone who knows them.”

            “So why share them with me? We barely spoke two words over the season.”

            Chuck looked over at Kirk. “I think you have skills and a talent driving out there. And, because you didn’t win anything out there and kept coming back week after week shows you have passion and a perseverance in you. With a little work and some cash, you could do well next season if you decide to compete again. I think you should consider it, that is, if you have the means.”

            “I may be rethinking my non-competetive inclination right now.”

            “Sure,” Chuck said, and stood up. “Another cup?”

            “Yeah, thanks.” Kirk said, holding his mug out.

            Chuck brought the steaming cups back and handed Kirk’s back.

            Kirk grinned. “So Chuck, what other words of wisdom or modifications can pass on?” Kirk really thought that had to be it.

            Chuck grinned back. “Yep, a do, and this is the biggest one though like the others almost everyone is aware of it. We’re talking a bigger chunk of change, but if you got it, you can gain some real horsepower. Simply, bigger pistons.”

            “You mean boring the block and replacing the pistons? How can anyone get away with that?”

            Chuck appeared a bit smug about revealing this tidbit. “By using Chevy 327 pistons! Amazing, huh? Someone, sometime in the past found the bore is just a bit bigger and they fit right on the stock rods. So Wa-La, instant horsepower.”

            “Really? I can see this costing a bit more with the machining and all. And taking your engine to a machine shop, I can imagine the escalation in build and money with more and more work done on it. So. Do you think all the hot dogs out there have done all these so-called legal upgrades?”

            “You can bet they have and most likely other upgrades that are way more expensive with less of a horsepower gain.”

            “Yeah, I can imagine all that. Hmmm, you definitely got me thinking now.”

            “That was my intention inviting you out here. I thought, seeing you’re new and young you needed a leg up so to speak. So if you decide to race next season, a little horsepower gain would help your finishes.”

            “Oh, yeah. I appreciate everything you passed on because I didn’t know any of this stuff. And we all know, bottom line: Horsepower equals more fun,” Kirk agreed with a grin.

            “You got the idea all right. I just thought that we racers need to share what information that we can.” Chuck shrugged. “It’s only fair in my book and keeps the competition tight.”
            “That’s quite right. I’m sure to share all that info to any new racers I deem worthy.” Kirk said, letting out a laugh.

            “There you go!”

            Kirk noticed that twilight approached through the spotlessly clean windows. He got up and set his mug down on the work bench.

            “Well chuck, I really appreciate all those performance modification secrets that apparently aren’t so secret. Well, they were secret to me, so thanks. And thanks for the good coffee and thanks to your wife for the cookies, it’s been a great visit.”

            “So what are you thinking about next racing season? Going to go for it?”

            “I feel about the same, undecided,” Kirk shrugged. “But I never make split second decisions so I have to mull them over, and over. But the modifications you told me definitely would make a better, faster season.” He reached out his hand and the two men firmly shook hands. “Until the next time. I’ll let you know if I’m going to jump in with some of those mods.”

            “Good to see you, Kirk. Yeah, let me know what you decide, eh?”

            “Will do and take care.” Kirk said, walking out the door. The cold wind blew snow about hitting his face and neck. He pulled up his collar as he stepped up into his pink van. To him it felt colder inside.

            As Kirk drove home, he contemplated what he learned about making his car faster. Am I really a talented driver? With skills? I always thought with my field car fun and donuts and skids in the snow, that I could handle a car on the edge of chaos, but does that translate to the oval track? He shrugged despite himself.

            Kirk remained just the same young/old Kirk.