Never the Same #58 Mad Rush/Arrival

Nothing like waiting ‘til the last moment to prep for the big day.

Cue: “The Final Countdown” https://youtu.be/9jK-NcRmVcw?si=BnBE6G_HQnrxXU8T

 

            Kirk really wanted to take time off from work at the plant to focus on his stock car and the bigger, higher priority, if you can believe it, trailer fabrication. But knowing Kirk like we do, he didn’t want to relinquish his position as “Rock Handler” at the plant because someone might find out it’s an easy job and bump him out of the position. That happens occasionally but usually the guys don’t bid on jobs unless they are posted openings. But Kirk wasn’t taking any chances, so he worked all day and almost all night on his trailer, ugly as it was.

            After wolfing down a dinner his mother kindly and tastily made, he hurried out to the garage. To fabricate his envisioned beavertail trailer, Kirk took his trusty cutting torch and cut pie-shaped pieces out of the frame leaving the upper rail partially intact. After the second cut the rear of the frame tipped down under its own weight. Of course beforehand, he measured kinda’ sorta’ from the front corners and marked it with chalk, so the frame’s tip down would be relatively even from side to side. To make sure nothing changed as work progressed, he fired up the arc welder and laid a good bead to bond the frame cut together. Standing back to eye it, he decided the tip down looked good enough, so he welded the frame the rest of the way. With his tape measure, he ran it out a few feet and angled it this way and that to figure out an architecturally strong brace. Cutting two lengths of heavy angle, he clamped one into place to take it into consideration. Good enough, but he trimmed the ends with the torch so they would cleanly fit into the frame. He spot welded them into place. Yeah, real sturdy. And so, he worked for three nights until he had the framework for the ramps spot welded. He let it sit it that state because the unfinished stock car was calling him.              Friday. At work, Kirk finally admitted to himself to which became undeniable: He would not make practice Saturday night under the lights though Sunday afternoon? Perhaps...

            Jumping on his ring-ding motorcycle after punching out, Kirk ran off to the DMV to register and get plates for the trailer even though it remained unfinished. After acquiring the plates which he slid under his hoodie. He stopped off at Burger King to get a Whopper, fries, a shake and wolfed it all down. On the way home, he picked up a trailer light kit to make the trailer completely legal, at least in the eyes of law enforcement. He stuffed all the lights and wiring under his sweatshirt as well. Ripping in the home driveway, he directly headed out to his garage in the big red barn. With a walk around of the car, the sunlight streamed through the dirty window putting a frame of inspirations on the side of the entirely green car. Kirk’s creativity perceived a blank canvas to paint on. So, he set to it.

            Usually, stock cars have neat, often professionally painted, numbers and name on their sides. Kirk blew that notion off, grabbing the John Deere yellow paint and the narrowest brush he had, a one-inch chip brush. Not really an artist brush, eh? He wanted a big bold number three so he roughly started at the top and made a number three in a single one-inch brush stroke. Not an artist by any means Kirk just worked out the bulges in the back of the three and the two inner loops for the front of the three. Not perfect by any means as well, it suited Kirk just fine. Something he had seen before which he admired, he added streaks, like elongated horizontal tear drops streaking behind the three to indicate high speed. Yeah, this sucker will fly! After adjusting these and the number to his satisfaction he called it good.  On to the other side.

            Well, the sun went down as he worked on the first side, so light waned inside the garage. Moving the trouble light to where he didn’t stand between the light and the car’s side or in a position where there were shadows or glares Kirk went to work on the other side. He thought the second side, the left, wasn’t as important because it was not for grandstand spectator viewing.  He started painting just the same and with a couple peeks at his first number three he eventually finished the second side though unquestionably it appeared a little skinnier with different sized bulges. Oh well! Kirk figured, no one would EVER see BOTH sides at the same time to compare them. He added the streaks. Good enough. Tomorrow with a smaller brush, a steady hand and more light he would add “Uncle Kirk” on the on the spectator side roof.

            As he wandered off to a shower and bed, Kirk knew he had a ton of work to do tomorrow, Saturday, if he wanted to make practice Sunday afternoon because he wouldn’t have much time Sunday morning to get anything significant completed. Unfortunately, he pondered all those things he needed, no, he had to get done to get to the track and have a car that could go around said track. Finally, he drifted off.

            No sleeping in on Saturday, Kirk wolfed down his cereal and sloshed back a hot cup of coffee. He went to it. He had artists’ brushes from when he made plastic car models, so he got his nickname on the car’s roof. Happier with that than the number threes he painted on Friday night with nice, straight, neat block letters with single quotation marks around the ‘uncle’ which is an improper use of the punctuation.

            Anyway, he went to work on the trailer. He had the steel framework built though hadn’t welded it all together. He decided to start drilling and installing the planks with the bolts he bought for the project. He felt a sense of relief when Jon showed up to check on Kirk’s progress and see if he was  going to practice that night. Kirk said there was no way he’d make it but was trying hard to make Sunday afternoon practice. Jon volunteered to help.

            Kirk put him on finalizing the welding as Kirk continued for hours drilling and bolting. Kirk thought the extra set of hands was heaven sent. After getting all those planks bolted on, Kirk had to step back and take the whole trailer in. Yeah, it was ugly, obviously hick-built, but Kirk thought it would suit its purpose as long as he cinched the car down securely. He didn’t want the car to bounce to one side and tip off the side which was possible without skid proof ramps with raised sides on them to keep the tires from doing what Kirk dreaded. As Jon continued to arc weld with buzzes and lightning flashes still going, Kirk went ahead and mounted the lights on the back of the trailer and ran the wiring up to hitch. With quite a few zip ties, he secured the wires onto the frame the best he could considering his time constraints.

            Kirk turned back to the stock car wondering if he should have been working on it instead of the trailer. Which was the priority? What good is a car if you don’t have a trailer to get it to the track? What good is the trailer if the car can’t run on the track? Yeah, both equally essential. 

                  Kirk knew what needed to be done. First off, the throttle linkage which he should have attended to before the deadline looming on Sunday. As stated before, this new carburetor worked ninety degrees off from the stock one. Hmmm, it shouldn’t be too hard to rectify that, should it? He already knew he needed to engineer a new linkage set up from that big, aluminum footprint pedal all the way to the carb.  He had plenty of swivel ends and adjustable rods to make it work. Supposedly. Starting in the cockpit Kirk unhooked all the linkage. He determined that the pivot arm would have to be raised up and reoriented to accommodate the change at the carb. He fabricated a longer pivot that would twist behind the engine with an arm below and above oriented in the correct directions. With a little trial and error, he found the sweet spot with maximum movement at the pedal relating with enough movement toward the carb. A bit tricky, but he managed to attach it well enough.  After much trial and error with repositioning and adjustments, he got it done. He tightened the fittings and relocated the return spring. With his hand inside the cockpit, he worked the pedal a few times to make sure it worked. It operated okay after hours of sweat, puzzling dinking around.

            As he had worked around the carburetor, Kirk wondered what to do about the air inlet of the carb itself. He had noticed at the track that some racers just used stock air cleaner canisters and filters with extra openings for more airflow. Others had fabricated special air boxes to sit on the carb and have large opening and stacked two filters to allow easier airflow. The name of the racing game is to allow as much air into the carb as possible. Kirk felt under the gun with Saturday waning to get all this stuff done. He spotted an old metal coffee can sitting with loose parts in it. With a ruler, he checked its width and compared it to the carb’s width. Amazingly, the same! He ran to the house and asked his mother if she had an empty coffee can. She didn’t, but always eager to help out her son, she dumped the remaining coffee from the can into a bowl and handed him the empty can. He ran back to the garage.

            Looking at the situation, it dawned on him that he had no idea how much room he had between the carburetor and the underside of the hood. Would he have to chop a hole in the hood? That would be a cool look where he could make an air sucking hood scoop. Probably, if he had the time. He set the hood on and saw he had about six inches of space.  Well, he could not even in his worse hick-building mode just stick a coffee can on his carburetor. First off, he’d be sucking air from underneath the hood and then, stuff could just be dropped in the carburetor which was not a nice thing to do to a new engine. He decided to cut wedges out of the coffee can on one side to make the coffee can into a coffee can elbow with the front facing forward to suck air. Kind of like am under hood air scoop. Well, it still could swallow unwanted things. Easy peasy, he just put a chunk of window screen over the open end of the can and secured it with a large, actually two, clamps. It’ll keep the big debris out anyway. Like all the other last-minute things he worked on to get ready, he would address them and make them better later on. Yeah, right!   

            After Jon finished the welding and cleaning up, he stood there in the doorway watching Kirk busy around.

            “Are you ready to go tomorrow?” He asked.

            Kirk took pause and gazed about. “Yeah, I think it is all coming together in time for tomorrow.” He caught himself. “Thanks for your help, I’d still be working on the trailer if you hadn’t helped.”

            “Glad to help. How about tomorrow�"want help to load and get ready?”

            Kirk could be dense at times. “Sure, that would be great.” Silence for a few moments. “Hey! You want to ride along? Be a mechanic?”

            “Yeah sure, I’d like to experience the pit activity. Maybe help out when you need another hand?”

            “Sounds good. Heading home now?”

            “Yep, see you mid-morning or so.”

            “Okay, night.”

            Lastly on Saturday night as he envisioned all the newly built and painted cars roaring around the track under the lights, Kirk put a simple trailer ramp together made out of angle iron and wooden planks. Like the trailer overall, he wasn’t all that enthralled in the way it looked. Well, the trailer wasn’t even test loaded yet. Tomorrow morning, he’ll load up and see if it’ll hold the car while going down the road. Nothing like leaving things to luck, eh?  Did Kirk have good luck? He had said tongue in cheek, “If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.” Kirk, in all reality, couldn’t complain all that much.  He hit the bed excited imagining how his newly updated car would feel out on the track and with nothing to worry about, he went into a sound sleep.

            Kirk jumped out of bed, which was, as a rule, uncharacteristic of him on a Sunday morning. He did take time to perform his usual morning ritual of cereal and coffee. His mother offered a couple slices of toast which he accepted.

            “So what are you up to today? More work on your race car out in the barn?” His mother asked as she buttered his toast.

            Kirk didn’t want to remind her that it was a garage now nor let on that he was excited to go because he had that persistent preconceived notion that no one ever cared what he did with his time from early childhood to the present.

            “Yeah, a few things to get ready,” he said nonchalantly.

            “What are you getting ready for?” His mother asked, appearing a bit confused like she had missed something.

            “I’m taking the car to the track later for practice day.” Kirk said, biting down on his toast. After swallowing, “Jon is going along to help.”

            “Oh, that’s nice. Do you need your racing suit washed?”

            “Nah, It’s still clean from last year.”

            “Hmm, mm. Are you eating lunch before you go? I can make something special.”

            “Ah, no. We’ll get something later on the way or at the track.”

            “Well. Be careful out there racing,” she paused with a concerned expression. “Have fun.”

            “No racing, it’s just a practice day.”

            Kirk got up quickly with a squawk from the chair scraping on the floor, and he was out the door. He knew that his mother dreaded him dangerously race never wanting to go watch him race last season, and so he knew without asking, which he wouldn’t, that she wouldn’t watch him race this present season. Such as it often was with mothers and their only sons even though Kirk was never a “perfect” son in any way towards his mother.

            Kirk hadn’t even checked his lighting job on the trailer, but he didn’t have any doubts they would work. He hooked up the van to the hick-built trailer and hit the four-way flashers.  He had found while working at the dealership that if the four-ways flash, the turn signals and brake lights work. Well, pretty much as usual his assumptions proved wrong. Kirk checked and the right-side lights weren’t flashing. With a sigh, he pulled out a Philips and a test light. It seemed that he found power there, so it could be only one thing: a bad ground. He hadn’t planned on messing around with stuff like that, but there he was when Jon showed. Was Kirk running behind? He asked. Kirk twitched internally. Jon volunteered to help but Kirk couldn’t think of a single thing Jon could do for him. He unfastened his ad hoc light mount and saw that where the light contacted the mount there was a dusting of red rust. Hitting the mount with a wire brush, he remounted the light and it worked, so he reassembled it. 

            With Jon’s assistance, they set up ramps to the trailer from the garage doors. Usually, Kirk easily drove the car onto the ramps, but seeing he had doubts about the whole set up, he couldn’t be 100 percent sure of the viability of the weird-looking trailer with wood planks and such. Having a wheel chock at the ready, they backed up the car a couple feet, aimed the front wheels, and gave the car a mighty shove until they couldn’t go any further. Kirk kicked the block under the back wheel. As you can imagine, the car’s front wheels only made it up the ramp and barely onto the trailer. Kirk had anticipated this hence, the block. He got his come-along hand winch out, affixed it to the front of the trailer, and stretching it full length, he attached the cable to the front bumper. He commenced to winching slowly but surely. BTW No one ever called him Shirley. It took longer to load than he wanted, but that’s how it always goes.  They cinched the car probably down tighter than needed, but Kirk didn’t know if the car might shift on the trailer. They loaded the tool box, floor jack and other assorted items they thought they might need.  

               Seeing practice day lasted all afternoon, Kirk decided they start off early not knowing how fast he could tow the trailer. Not to mention that the pink van wasn’t all that powerful for towing anyway, but last year, it did the job. We will see. He grabbed his helmet and firesuit and said a fleeting goodbye to his mother out the door. Kirk and Jon sped, well, moseyed along on their way even though Kirk, internally, was hyped, excited. As he drove, Kirk kept a closer watch in the wing mirrors than out the windshield expecting something bad to happen with the trailer and/or stock car riding thereof.  

            Sort of out of the way, not even a quarter of the way to the track, Kirk had a stop to make: Sarah Elizabeth’s house. He parked along the road in front of her house and ran across. Sarah had been prepared for some time. Upon not seeing her for a couple weeks, Kirk always had to take in her long silky blonde hair, cute little figure, pudgy cheeks, and alluring overbite. After a quick smack on the lips, the couple headed out. Letting Sarah in first, she climbed in and sat on the engine cover. Sarah and Jon exchanged greeting pleasantries. They proceeded onward.

            “You must be really excited, Kirk,” Sarah rhetorically asked from her high perch.

            “Yeah, well, that goes without saying.”

            “So you’re not going to admit it,” Jon quipped.

            “I’m trying to stay calm over the whole situation,” he shrugged while checking the mirrors again. “It’s just practice. No competition. No problems. No stress. The engine isn’t even broken in properly yet, so I can’t even push it at all.” He shrugged again. Sarah and Jon looked dubiously at one another, apparently not buying Kirk’s calm, collected elucidation.

            From there, Kirk and crew fell into the weekend voyage’s routine like stopping for gas at the favorite station with low-test for the van and high test for the stock car. Along the way, they waved to fellow racers as the other racers with better and more powerful rigs speedily passed them by. No one seemed to point and laugh at Kirk’s rig as they passed, but he felt their belittlement.

            So onward as they went along, Kirk at the wheel of his under-powered van with so-so brakes, knew when to downshift and when to gingerly use the brakes because as we know the trailer didn’t have brakes of its own. Despite what he let on, Kirk’s mind spun on the excitement of rounding the track at high speed with his better, much improved stock car. Before he even realized, they were pulling in across the dusty two track heading for the track’s pit gate.

            Kirk had arrived at his fateful destination and for now, the currently keyed-up Kirk remained the same old young guy.