The saga of Killer Bee Racing - 24 Hours of LeMons

What next?

2010-09-08T20:45:00.000-07:00

Well, I actually wrote this post late last summer, nearly a year ago. But as some of you know, a LOT has happened since then (heh-heh!). It took a while to let things settle down. In short, we had a string of bad luck that tested the Killer Bees to the very core as a team, twice.

They say if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. And THIS is why it has been so quiet here. This is a fun blog and a goofy quest. I had to wait till we could all laugh about it again...

I've received multiple requests to get back on that blogging horse (Hi Matt!) and quite honestly I've missed it. The hardest part was figuring out what to say next. I decided to just type, and let the story tell itself... So without further adoo... Lets get this party started! We pick the story up right where we left off, and just before our luck changed...

Exactly 2 weeks before in fact. Enjoy!

Pete

August 15 (2009!)

This summer (edit: THAT summer) was the most busy I have been in years, and was some of the most fun I've had too.

(Great photo courtesy Judy Kiel of Stick Figure Racing)

Shortly after the Fernley race and still stunned that we actually finished, I received an Email from the head-cheese Jay Lamm announcing the inaugural Concours De Lemons car show during car week in Monterey. So, I decided to enter the Killer Bee! Why not!? Could be fun. And there might be a BUNCH of these lemons racers there!

I also signed up for the next 24 Hours of Lemons Sweat-Arse-Palooza race in Buttonwillow. And, because we were all worried about running around in the severe heat all weekend with a convertible, I researched the internets on how to make a cheap homemade "Cool-Suit", which keeps you cool with ice water in rubber tubes from an ice chest. And then I promptly bought a real one.

What I did not realize however was that the Lemons SHOW in was on the same weekend as the Lemons RACE in Buttonwillow CA. WHAT?!?! Why the #$%& would they do THAT? I became quite confused with it all.

When faced with the dilemma of being entered into TWO separate events in very different parts of California on the same day, my beautiful "don't-you-dare-forget-spouse" made sure I did not forget it was ALSO my nieces 1st birthday. Oh crap. (Glad I didn't forget!)

None of my other teammates were interested in racing down in the Buttonwillow heat (dang wimps) so everything worked out. I blamed them and quietly withdrew from the race. Although now I have an unused, beautiful, expensive ice chest with holes in it, and a funny rubber tubed t-shirt.

Seeings how the race was off, I decided to enter a second car in the Concours show, my '67 Datsun RL411 SSS, the very same car that got me tangled up in this Lemons fiasco in the first place.

Super-Spouse was uncomfortable driving either one of these crap-heaps all the way to Monterey by herself, so we dropped the Bee off at the park the night before and we drove the Datsun down together early the next morning.

And what a show it was...

Pintos, and Gremlins, and Citroens, oh my!

Brownie gets new pipes!!

2009-11-27T14:00:00.000-08:00

July, 2009

After returning home from the Reno/Fernley race and loosing yet ANOTHER section of completely rotten and rusted out exhaust system on Brownie, "The World's Greatest Crappy Old RV" (tm) I decided enough was enough, really this time. Knowing I was finally going to get a good exhaust, I set about deciding what I wanted to do with the old beast.

I've never been a fan of the "rocks-in-a-coffee-can" sound of Flowmasters. They are out of place on anything short of an all out race car. I always thought it was mostly a classic case of everybody likes them, because everybody ELSE likes them. In rare circumstances they can sound decent both inside and outside the car, but that's the exception not the rule. They usually sound like valves barfing out the vehicles ass. Maybe I'm getting older, but I have peculiar tastes and prefer the vintage sounds. The exhaust note is like music, why ruin it with a soulless fad?

My first thought was a nice set of duals with Smitty's or Cherry-Bomb Glasspacks, but the real inspiration came from the unlikely source of my Stepfather who suggested Brownie "would look bitchin in a set of lake pipes."

Huh... Yeah, he sure would.

This set the way-too-creative hamster in my noggin whirling away, and I had a flash in my mind's eye of the mid 1970's van craze.

"AHA!" I nearly screamed at my "why-the-hell-are-you-screaming-and-interrupting-Survivor-spouse".

"What this time?" she said as she paused her TV show on the DVR and gave me the usual one eyebrow raised look.

"I know what I'm gonna do with Brownie!" I explained proudly.

"Sell him?" came the dry reply.

"No no, I have to fix something on him first. No seriously, I'm gonna turn him into a '70s Shaggin Waggin! Ha-ha-ha! What do you think?"

"I'd have to see it first." she said back with no hint of emotion.

Arg. I forget, she was but a glint in her parent's eyes in the whirlwind of polyester that was the 70's, whereas I still have the entire debacle burned into my mind's eye.

The '70s were actually pretty cool right up until John Travolta screwed it all up with that funny dance. Side pipes, feathered hair, slotted mags and spaced out fantasy murals all fell hand in hand with wide lapels, bell bottoms and trucker convoys on the CB radio.

EVERYONE had a CB handle, and The Starland Vocal Band was gonna grab some Afternoon Delight.. Those were the good old days...

But the little lady wanted more reassurance than just my enthusiasm and promises that "everything would be fine".

"Oh sure, easy. I'll just go dig up some photos off the interwebs and show you what I'm talking about, be right back."

And so I spent the rest of the night, and then the next few weeks trying to find photos of the old van craze. Searching revealed nothing. I was stunned to find that photos and mentions of the entire movement have all been erased off the face of the earth, as the first victim of the infamous sex-wax Disco revolt of the early 80's.

Huh. I must be the only person on the face of the earth who secretly thought the van craze was cool. I always wanted a van, and got slightly more than I bargained for with "Brownie". Turns out there are exactly 2 websites in the world dedicated to the old cruisin vans. And they both lack photos, which was the same problem I was having.

Well dammit.

Then I remembered the old "Truckin" magazines I used to read and a couple clicks later I was back on Evilbay, thus breaking an unspoken truce between myself and miss-don't-spend-anymore-damn-money-on-evilbay-spouse.

I found a couple issues in a lot from the mid '70s ending in a few hours and placed my bid. Lo and behold I won! Again. Sigh. I buy the weirdest crap.

While there, I also found and bought several brochures and catalogs for Swing Machine vans by Rodco and Sportsmobile from several years. It was funny to see the progression of style.
I also picked up a dozen Easy Riders from 1976 full of ads for tube tops, iron-ons, leather wallets, automatic BB guns and smoking accessories. The best part was and is still the kick ass artwork by David Mann.

I also ended up with a 12" disco ball! yeay! All I need is some more shag carpet to match the shag carpet already on the walls. Throw in some velvet and velour, and I finally have a use for all my 12 volt mood lighting and rope lights! Brownie, Club 51 - mobile edition.

When my Truckin Magazines showed up I was pretty excited to see back into the past, but I stopped in my tracks when I pulled out the May '77 issue. It was as if I was staring into the face of the devil himself.

My wife said I was as pale as if I saw a ghost...

When I was in elementary school I had recurring nightmares as a result of a bitter divorce and several other changes in the family tree. At the same time evil stepfather came on to the scene, whom I was deathly afraid of.

These two issues combined to create great stress, and triggered odd results such as nightmares and sleepwalking trying to escape "bad people".

As a backdrop, everyone in the family drove Ford trucks at the time - Broncos, Econoline vans, F-series pickups and Couriers, and Evil Stepfather had a Bronco that was bright orange.

My nightmare involved "Bad men" attacking our family, led by Evil Stepfather crashing through the house walls in an army of Ford vehicles with identical paint jobs - orange with yellow and black stripes- and trying to kill us by running us all over. They were followed by uncles on silver dirt bikes, a plane and a helicopter.

F@#$%^ Terrifying.

The nightmares eventually subsided, but this one is one of 3 or 4 vivid bad dreams I have never forgotten.

So imagine my shock when I pulled this magazine out of the package. There is now no doubt where the images in my dream came from, but first seeing this was like being transported through time in some sort of evil space warp. (Click me --->)

Other than the midnight-scream inducing visual on this front cover the rest of the magazines were full of neat old advertisements just like I remembered. How to customize vans by Barris, old CB radios, the movie SuperVan etc. Refreshed with the flavors of how it was done way back when, I had a clear picture of Brownie's future as a loooove machine.

I spent weeks looking for just the right side-pipes, but nothing was quite right, until...
BAMM! A vintage set of unused pipes from an show van showed up on Evilbay! Perfect. Click-click-click and they were on the way.

Arg! But when they arrived and I saw the inlet pipes were TINY dinky little things which would never let the mighty 440 breathe. Damn. So back to square 1.

Compounding the issue was the extra width of the camper and the propane tank on the passenger side so normal straight pipes just wouldn't work. I thought of having custom 6" chrome pipes done up by the speed shop or a big-rig company, but decided that would have to be a project for the future once more important things had been taken care of.

I ended up having dual 2 1/2" exhaust with 32" Glasspacks and side exits in front of the tires welded up by none other than Babe's Muffler at their new location.

Dang. Those things sound GOOOOOD.

I have more ideas and visions for brownie. But first I have to get the race car ready for the next race, then get brownie road worthy and winter ready. The generator is not working, the fuel lines all leak, I have half a dozen cans of "Stop leaking damnit" for the roof, I need to rebuild the camper door which was destroyed by vandals and rotted out, a new generator door, bad TV antenna, starter wire gremlins, exhaust manifold, etc etc...

Ok, the Shaggin Waggon can wait, but I DID put the disco ball inside. Oh yeah... now we're talking...

Groovy.

Previous: Fernley, we finished!

From the Beginning of this Mess: The Hook... (Part 1)

Fernley, we finished!

2009-11-08T22:30:00.000-08:00

Sunday Morning, 24 May 09

After a fitful night of sleep, we awoke early and attempted to make ourselves as presentable as possible for our masses of fans.

I got online real quick and saw that Murilee Martin had posted our team - the Killer Bees, as being in contention for the prestigious Index Of Effluency (IOE) win, which as any followers of 24 Hours of Lemons will tell you is the REAL winner of the race.

They showed us dukeing it out for the IOE with those pesky kids in the Scooby-doo van. DRATS!

My eyes narrowed... and I felt like Old Man Withers from the
haunted amusement park.

"I see I have acquired a new set of nemesis-es..." I called out to my "I'm waiting on you, mister internet, let's go - spouse".

After Scooby's "Block and tackle" tactics on me the day before, I was even more convinced they should get the People's Curse. Voting for them would be a hard sell to my teamates, but the idea gave me pleasure just thinking about it.

We stopped off for our now obligatory breakfast burritos and picked up a few odds and ends from the local "Flakgens" autoparts store. While there we spied an awesome black Dodge Challenger out front with a big block. We spoke to the driver for a few then turned to head to the track.

Someone else heading to the track took pity on Kevin "Hey WOW man" Chong shoehorned into the back of the smart car, and offered him a ride. More pleasant sure, and potentially more legal. But it spoiled what could have been the greatest entrance at the track... chuckle.

More last minute thrashing before the morning drivers meeting, and then Kevin was next on the rotation. The cars filed back out onto the track, the green flag dropped and the race picked up where it had left off the prior evening. Quite a few cars that had dropped out early were now back in the race after long nights of thrashing on their race cars.

However many of them soon came back off the track with more mechanical woes.

"Hey WOW man" unexpectedly came back into the pits as well. Oh noooo.... what's wrong?

We ran over to the car and Kevin showed me the temp gauge, which was pegged at the HOT mark. I cooled off the radiator with some cool water and went to check the water level in the tank. Kevin shouted that the temp came back down quickly, and I saw the tank was still full. This radiator just wasn't shedding enough heat at wide open throttle. I cold only imagine what kind of debris was hiding inside the cooling tubes.

"Run it till it blows!" I yelled to Kevin through his helmet. "There is nothing we can do, so let's see how far it goes!"

The temperature wavered between HOT and NUCLEAR for the rest of the day, but somehow the silly thing kept going. And Going. And Going. I thought about putting a big drum and rabbit ears on the car for the next race.

Lurch and Gargamel both took their turns behind the wheel, and the superheated motor kept on ticking. Then my turn came up again. I went out and had a pretty good session, and suddenly I had Black flag.

I was all by myself, had no contact, and my wheels stayed on the track so I was a little surprised. Rather than whining or arguing, I made a bee-line (puny me) straight to the penalty box to find out what I did wrong. I was genuinely curious, because there was a STRONG possibility I screwed up somehow. I actually looked forward to learning something so I would not do it again.

"What did you do?" asked Ed, Supreme Justice and one of the contributors to my present delinquency. Yeah, it was partly his fault for encouraging me at the lunches and at the last Thunderhill race.

"I'm not sure" I responded, trying not to sound like every other innocent victim. I was suddenly not sure if the flag was even for me. But if I screwed up, I need to know what I did...

Ed looked at me and said "You guys have been the cleanest drivers out there all weekend." He looked around with a scowl on his face, and I looked over at our pit, where I saw my team had finally noticed what was going on and starting to get off their asses.

Expecting at least a driver change, Ed said "Go on" and waved me through just as my teammates came huffing and puffing up to the penalty box. "Later dudes!" I yelled and back out on the track I went.

A short while later there were a few spin-outs and cars facing the wrong direction within a a few laps of each other on top of the hill. The last of these incidents resulted in a cluster of cars at the turn, dirt all over the track and the yellow flag came out. All the drivers raised their hands in acknowledgment and slowed except for one, the Jalopnik/Evil Genius Racing V8 Volvo.

It came screaming by me, then hit the brakes hard as the driver noticed the yellow.

The car slid completely sideways then snapped to the other direction at least 5 times right in front of the Bee, giving me a great view of a 4-wheeled "tank-slapper". Once he got it under control I gave him the thumbs up, and he returned it to me. It was a spectacular show of driving.

I later learned it was my old nemesis Jesse, and he had hit a patch of oil when he tried keep from passing me under yellow. The oil was allegedly causing all the spins (and not over eager drivers, sure) and resulted in a red flag for the track.

I pulled over just after the flagging station along with a half dozen other cars and we waited, baking in the sun. OMFG it was hot. We eventually lined up our cars Lemans style and shut off our engines to try and cool off while talking back and forth.

When the track went back to yellow a month later I pulled into the pits for a drive change and a drink of water, not to mention a badly needed potty break.

The day dragged on and the sun's shadows grew longer. For the final session of the day we sent out "Hey WOW Man" for the last hour of madness. "Tear it up, drive the tires off, just don't wreck it." was all I said.

The most exciting part of the day was upon us, and all the cars still running were in a frenzy out on the track. Several crippled cars were able to get out and do a few last laps just for pride's sake, and the checkered flag dropped at long last.

Finished! And our crappy little $500 MBG was still running! Not only that, but we placed 39th overall out of of 100+ cars, 12th in the "Not expected to finish class". Not bad for the car's inaugural race with a bunch of rookies!

The FrankenMiatallac won the overall race, and a front wheel drive Cadillac with antlers won the IOE award.

After the ceremony we packed up, the team went out for dinner then ice cream, and started the long drive home.

At 9:30pm we crossed the California state line and started the painfully slow trek back up the Donner Summit at 28mph, the dragging brakes on our rental trailer dragging our speed down to a blistering 28mph and 3.5mpg.

10:30 we passed grouse ridge and the Hwy 20 cutoff... and I yearned for a camping trip in the forest of my childhood home.

At midnight we were cruising along on the freeway and I heard something funny...

"What's that noise?" I asked "Hey-WOW-man", who had finally calmed down, quit talking a thousand miles an hour and was taking a nap.

Just then one of our mufflers divorced itself from the rig and left out the back. I saw a shower of sparks in my mirrors and watched in horror as it slid spinning behind us directly at my wife's smart car.

Without missing a beat she zipped around it, missing it by at least a foot. Last time I saw the muffler it was rolling off the road and into a dark ditch... we never saw it again.

We arrived home at 2:30am in a screaming cloud of thunder yet again (sorry neighbors, this is becoming it's own joke) and slept until 1:15pm the next day.

While unloading the trailer I checked the odometer on the Killer bee.

506 miles.

Daaaang! :-) Now THAT'S something.

Next: Brownie gets new pipes!

Previous: Fernley, End of day 1

From the VERY begining... The Hook

Fernley, End of day 1

2009-10-04T22:15:00.000-07:00

Back out on the track again, I started to find my groove.

I realized 2 things however. 1. my mirrors sucked. 2. I still had not learned the track. Ug.

Soon however an even bigger obstacle presented itself. In the form of a mini-van painted up into the Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine.

The MGB was still not revving like it should, which meant we ended up stuck in 3rd gear exiting the corners and lugging the motor, because in second gear the car fell flat on it's face. The result was not having enough umph to pass the slower cars if I got stuck behind them, and this is how I got introduced to "Mystery Machine", a Chrysler mini-van painted up as Scooby Doo's wagon.

I could have passed them by getting my speed up and trying to out-corner them, if only they were not driving all over the road. Several times I tried to get by, only to be run over each time I came along side. I found myself getting more and more frustrated. There was no line I could take that this thing would not cross. It was not long before a big pack of cars were backed up behind them and I decided to drop back to get out of harm's way and see how others handled getting around the waggy-wagon. They all had the same trouble, and it was amusing to watch the others dart left and right trying to get around.

Then the fast cars caught up, and all hell broke loose. I did not see what happened, but there was suddenly a bunch of tire smoke and cars bunched together in real close quarters. Whatever the outcome, the minivan finally moved over and stayed to the side letting everyone pass...

...Except me.

#$%^@!!

#$%&^$*^&$^$%#@$ why you sonofa #^%^$&@@$%$#@4!!!!! Round and round we went together, and every time I got a run on Scooby he cut me off.

This was starting to get personal, and I was out for blood. Next thing I knew it was the end of day 1 and the cars filed off the track and back into the pits, and we were still running! Not only that, but the day's standings were posted, and we were in 49th position! FAR OUT!! Exactly half pack, half were ahead of us, and half were behind. Damned good for our first day.

After the race we began to BBQ and rotate the tires while I bitched about Scooby and a wild driver from the Chevy pickup, and set around making a game plan for day two. The front tires were nearly bald on the outer edges, which surprised me. As we were munching on burgers and deliberating if we should mess with the car or leave it alone, someone said "Hey look, the car is drooling".

What?

Sure enough, the big tongue on the front of the car was drooling and a little puddle of water was starting to collect underneath.

On closer inspection there was a pinhole in one of the radiator tubes spewing a tiny but steady stream onto the backside of the tongue, making it drool. I pulled an old mountain engineering fix out of my bag of tricks and pinched the tube closed with a pair of pliers, but the leak tripled in size. Oops. I found the tube was completely rotten and so were all the others! I touched them with my fingertips and within minutes the entire bottom of the radiator had crumbled apart!

"Well gang, it looks like I get to change out the radiator".

"Where are you going to find another radiator?" Gargamel asked. I disappeared into "Brownie, the World's Greatest Crappy Old RV" and came out with a magic spare radiator.

"Where did you get that!?!?" asked my wife-who-has-her-own-MG-spouse.

Uh... I borrowed it? :)

MY wife slapped her forehead as everyone laughed, and I got down to swapping parts. Then I disconnected the rear sway-bar hoping to eliminate some of our under-steer. MGBs do not like rear sway bars. They were only introduced in the last few years of production in an attempt to correct some of the evils of being jacked up by the then-new government mandated ride height laws. Our car was lowered back to normal so it had to come off, and I hoped this would help with our heavy push condition.

We left Brownie at the track and loaded up the wife's smart car for the trip to the hotel.
BUT, it turns out Gargamel's Miata had no passenger seat, and the seating area was full of gear, so we had to find another way to get "Hey-WOW-man" Chong back to the hotel. We stuffed him in the back of the smart car, curled up like a circus bear with our travel bags piled on top of him.

By the time we got to the hotel we nearly had to use a crowbar to get him back out. People stopped and stared, jaws dropped in disbelief.

That night I had recurring dreams, and woke up in the middle of the night screaming "AAAHH!! PANDA!!"

Next: Fernley, we finished!

Previous: Goin for Broken #2, Saturday afternoon.

From the VERY beginning of this mess: The Hook

Goin for Broken #2, Saturday afternoon.

2009-07-17T00:12:00.000-07:00

It has been several months since the last post, and a LOT of interesting things have happened. But FIRST, we have to finish the race.

Saturday afternoon, 23 May 09, Fernley Raceway

One hour of track time after the green flag dropped at "Going for Broken", and 16 minutes of actual racing I came in for our first pit stop and driver change. I was hot, thirsty and could no longer feel my arms.

But I had survived. And better yet, so had the car.

A few moments of shaking my arms and clenching my fists brought the blood and sensations back into my upper extremities and I helped the team prepare for the next round of roundy-round.

After strapping in our new driver and performing basic system checks, I swapped video recorders and gave Kevin some last second tips and cautions. Then we slapped his helmet, guided him backwards out of our pit and sent him on his way with one last instruction... "Don't wad the car into a ball".

He went out and fought with glory, holding his own against some much faster machinery and some very talented drivers. More importantly he stayed away from the lousy drivers and crappy cars, giving us a good hour of consistent lap times and no black flags.

While he was out on the track, I set about transferring our flip video to an external hard drive in order to save space on my company owned laptop. This was to become my undoing, as we did not have electrical power, nor enough DC power outlets in "Brownie, the World's Greatest Crappy RV" (tm) to run the hard drive, laptop and video cameras at the same time, and my laptop battery was starting to run low. Ug.

I ended up having to to babysit the video equipment and make sure I swapped power adapters before each piece of equipment died. It was a juggling act that really killed my weekend and kept me from relaxing, enjoying myself or rubbing elbows with my new race friends.

At one point I got frustrated because the stupid Sony would not stay on, and we lost all but 5 minutes of footage from 2 of our drivers. Our Pit-mates from Free-Range-Racing clued me in to a setting on the camera that overrides the automatic sleep function which saved the day, but I had enough and swore to come up with a better solution for the next race.

Lurch was up next, and after refueling we spent much time adjusting the seat harness for his gargantuan 6 and a half foot, 1/8th Ton frame. Again the Bee went out and racked up lap after lap on a somewhat slower but steady pace. No black flags, no contact, no penalties. He came back into the pits and got out of the car whooping and hollering with a BIG ass grin on his bright red face.

Gargamel drove cleanup and kept up the good work. Round and round the bee went, stupid bouncing antenna balls announcing track position long before the car itself was visible from the pits. It would disappear behind the retaining wall on to of the hill, while the antennas hovered above giving away his position like the 2P opponent markings in a head to head video game.

A cold front came through and a micro-burst spurned a mini Tornado that swept through the pits, sending several shade tents sailing nearby while the rest of us hung on to ours for dear life while trying to remove the canvas.

And still the race went on.

No one wrecked the car, coolant stayed in the radiator, and I stayed continually busy until suddenly my second stint arrived. While I had NO idea what to expect the first time around, the second felt more like I was going back into battle.

Be brave. Show no weakness. Do not cry. "YU can DOOWIT!" I heard in my head from the movie "Waterboy" as I fetched my helmet and gloves from the RV.

"YUUU can DOOWIT!!" I heard again, this time louder and behind me. I spun around to find sweet-supportive-but-mind-reading-spouse smiling at me with big round happy eyes.

Whoah... I was just thinking... ha-ha, never mind, weird. I gave her a kiss and SWORE I heard her think "You look like a big blue panda", then I trotted off to strap into our little bucket of bolts with a big red tongue.

The sun was moving on and the shadows were getting longer.

I got off lucky the first round. Now the cars that were left were mooooving along and settled into a rhythm, and I had to find my own rhythm... somehow.

Next: Fernley, End of day 1

Previous: Just a Saturday drive in the country

From The begining of this mess: The Hook

Just a Saturday drive in the country

2009-06-20T09:16:00.000-07:00

Saturday Morning, Day 1 of race... continued;

Having just avoided becoming public enemy #1 by evading and not squishing the previously mentioned Hare from Hell in front of dozens of kids and spouses that lined the fence, I continued onto the track and accelerated down onto the front straight.

The exhaust rang off of the retaining walls and was music to my ears, that Siamesed exhaust providing the distinct MGB engine song I have always loved.

I snicked the transmission through the gears and cruised through the set of downhill esses, listening to the car and checking my mirrors.

And I was frigging scared.

There are whole programs and established processes to help you become a race car driver. You join a club, they teach, you learn and practice, then eventually earn a license to do this crazy crap, AFTER demonstrating some brains and an understanding of the basic rules.

Me, I had never been through any of that. Online research aside, the only thing I knew for sure, was that there was a WHOLE lot of things I still did not know.

And yet here I was merging into a crowd of 100+ cars, one of the largest fields of automobiles stuffed onto a racetrack in motorsports.

HOLY CARP...

It wasn't the going fast that worried me. Hell, any bonehead can drive fast right up until they go off in the dirt. It was the possibility of DOING IT WRONG. Of innocently doing something stupid that everyone BUT me knows about, of being punished, humiliated or banished from the island that worried me.

There are always unwritten laws in every group that newbies violate and veterans get to yell at them about. And there are really only 2 ways to learn these laws. A) Screw up and get yelled at, or B) Pay attention when OTHER newbies get yelled at.

What sets LeMons racers apart from other competition series is that they welcome newbies right into the mix. "Come on in, have a drink from the firehose, Ha-ha!" Sure, they do their fair share of teasing, but they also embrace and help the new guys in ways I have not seen elsewhere.

The secret here seems to be that this race is all about having fun. No one cares who wins. Much. So they say.

It is also much more accessible than the more famous clubs, where getting mired down in thick confusing rulebooks serves as a deterrent for many who otherwise would be interested. Here it is simple and easy to follow. And as a result, you end up with engineers, soccer moms and accountants mixing it up with veterans, professionals and mad men on the track.

My game plan was to play it safe, stay on the outside and out of trouble until I got in a groove. Perhaps find a car of similar performance on a good line, and follow them as I figure it out.

We did a bunch of caution laps under yellow/no passing conditions as they sorted out the transponder checks and such. It was pretty hot in the car but not unbearable as we played follow the leader around and around the track. We even had moments of spirited driving to make sure the cars were running ok.

Then my first mistake.

As I passed the start/finish flag station, the Honda from team LeMons Demolition merged onto the track, and I, being Mr. Polite and Conservative slowed down to give him space to merge in front of me. Besides, it was one of my favorites from the Altamont 08 race. How could you not love those caterpillar exhaust stacks?

STOOPID MOVE.

I retrospect I wish I had goosed it and let him fall in behind me. The damn thing smoked and had a horrible stench every time he mashed on the gas. I'm kinda fond of old engine smells including smoke, especially the worn-rings blue-tinge perfumed variety, but THIS was the acrid engine of death kind of smoke. Awful. I soon found myself with a headache and watery eyes, trying to keep my distance for the remaining yellow caution laps. It slowly seemed to clear as the car warmed up, but then would come belching out again, and again for the next 15 minutes.

My tongue thickened and I wished I had some water.

Suddenly, a black and white panda screamed past! WHOAH! PANDA!!

I looked around and no one else was passing. I could not see any flag stations where I was so I resisted the temptation to floor it and held my position instead. It's a long race, I'll be dammed if I was gonna get a black flag at the very beginning, lol!

As we came around the final turns before the Start/Finish flag station, I finally saw the green, and of course so did everyone else. The smoking yellow Honda took off and got a few positions on us, allowing me to breathe some diluted oxygen at long last.

We filed into the long sweeping corner keeping our distances, then through the bends and hard to the right up the steep hill. This is the slow car killer. Not only is it steep, but it has a bump at the bottom that lifts your inside rear wheel causing it to loose grip and power when you need it the most. As a result, a bunch of us 4-banger cars got stuck in a clump behind the Pony Express unable to pass as we putt-putted up the hill.

After cresting the top of the hill the herd started to make it's way around the cowboy one at a time until there were just two of us left, team Delta Force (#.357) and the Killer Bee, which I thought was strangely ironic.

I figured it was now OUR turn to get by, but unfortunately we were now going downhill and the cowboy had gravity assisting him, just as the Bee started sputtering again. DAMNIT!

On the back straight team Delta Force out-dragged the cowboy and got by, while I floored the Killer Bee. But the damn horse was just as fast as I was. It killed me not being able to use 2nd gear, which had a super low and useless gear ratio. By the time the motor started making power in 3rd gear it was time to brake again.

Then it happened...

The horse went in a little too hot and started burning it's hooves trying to slow down. And as the contraption went around the corner, the cowboy on top looked like he was hanging on for dear life and trying not to fall over.

That was my chance. As he slid wide, I hung on the inside and out-cornered him punching it halfway through and emerged victorious! MY FIRST PASS!!

(The crowd goes wild)

On the video, after the pass I can be heard hooting and hollering once I realize I did not die. My heart was racing and I was full of adrenaline. (Also on the video, you can see that we weren't actually going very fast. How embarrassing.)

Next I set my eyes on that .357 car, and nearly got around him on the next straight... untill I realized I did not know which way the track went. "Uhhh.... you go ahead" and I fell back in line. Crap.

I stayed there for the rest of the lap until we came back to the right-hander up the hill. Somehow I hit the corner just right and got along side him with my momentum. Then it became a drag race of the pathetic as our heaps clawed their way to the top - mine with just a touch more momentum was victorious! Second pass!

Now feeling brave and cocky the track ahead of me was clear so I wound it out all the way down the backstretch, using the cone markers to gauge my braking and turn in points. This is cool! I can do this! I said to myself.

Then on the next corner I was passed by a brown and white Rabbit on 3 wheels like I was standing still. (AAHHH! A BUNNY!!) I was just pwned by Oolong, the bunny with a pancake on it's head.

I was awestruck. I had never seen anything like that before. I thought "Hey, I should follow HIS line!" Then immediately came to my senses "Am I STUPID? I can't follow THAT line!! He's on THREE WHEELS"

I barely had time to blink when I noticed we had somehow caught up to the pack. Huh!

Then I got caught behind a Biting Monkey and said goodbye to the rabbit as he bounded off in the distance. The Monkey tried to wave me by, but I was already wide open and had no more umph. Instead I held position and was blown off the road by the Swine Flu Pig and a turbocharged Shark.

(What the hell kind of race is this?)

The remnants of an Alpha Romeo (aka team Ecurie Ecrappe Autodenta) blew by Monkey boy and I just in time for another yellow, which would last for the next 25 minutes.

We slowly circled around and around, and I thought I was going to overheat at first. But eventually my heart rate slowed and I cooled off just enough to keep from frying.

Then at high noon - the horse was back!

SOMEHOW he managed to come out of the pits and slip RIGHT BACK IN FRONT OF ME!! AAAAHHHHGGG!! Are you serious? Ha-ha.. Ooohhh nooooo....

But wait, where was the cowboy? Oh that's funny! We have a Ghostrider! Runaway horse!

FWOOSH!!

I got blown off the road by a pig wearing lipstick and the flaming Squirrel of Furry, who's claim to fame was it's meteorite impersonation at Thunderhill last year.

Oh, we're green! Go Go go!

I blasted past the horse and a black Corvair (Hey! Which way is that thing pointed? They should put an orange stripe on one end of it for easy identification!) and in turn was passed by a Star Wars Snowspeeder and Elvis' in a pink Caddi-Miata-lac, whom I followed for a while getting one of my best laps for the session.

When I got passed by a Windmill, a Bowling Ball and the LeMons Fire Department I decided it was time to pit, which fortuitously coincided with another yellow. Excellent...

One hour from pit to pit, a total of 16 minutes of green flag racing and nearly 45 minutes of yellow laps, where at least I was not loosing any positions, nyuck-nyuck.

I shut off the car and we swapped drivers; "Hey WOW man" Chong was up next, our supposed ace in the hole.

I approached smiling-bundle-of-cuteness-in-a-yellow-shirt-spouse and showed her my hands, which were shaking visibly from 10 feet away. I realized my arms were aching from the death grip I held on the wheel and tried to shake some blood back into them.

I asked how it looked and she said "Pretty good".

Did I look fast?

No, not so much, giggle

Next: Goin for Broken #2, Saturday afternoon.

Previous: Killer Rabbit™, News at 11

From the VERY begining... The Hook

Killer Rabbit™, News at 11

2009-06-13T21:49:00.000-07:00

We interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you the following breaking update:

The Killer Rabbit™ from team "Knights of the round track" (aka Stick Figure racing) has escaped! It was last seen at 11:06am, 22 May 09 in Fernley Nevada, trying to take out "Sparky, El Delusional Capitan" of team Killer Bees as he first entered the race track.

Bender and jkiel of Stick Figure Racing - were reportedly readying the Holy Hand Grenade with incantations from "The Book of Armaments"

Children and small animals are advised to wear garlic.

Details at 11.

(Notice the bouncy critter running from the left as I pass the flag station...)

**************

Ok, I got stumped. I literally spent the ENTIRE week trying to edit our stupid 24 Hours of LeMons video from Reno Fernley Raceway last month, to get this 15 second video of the dastardly Bunny as it tried to kill me.

Turns out I did not read the directions on Flip Video camera (not that there were any real directions to read ayways) and I screwed myself.

Seems that once you download the video to your computer you can do some simple editing, chop it up and even put it to music. Yeah great.

BUT, once you export it out of the library, oh say like copy it to an external hard drive like I did to save 4 gig of SPACE, it's GAME OVER. You can't re-import it.

EVER!

WTF?!?!?

So I have been stuck with boring 2 hour videos that I could not do anything with.

Now don't get me wrong, it is an awesome little device, takes great video and is dirt cheap, but the software is TOO simple - to the point of being retarded.

The format is in MP4 which I don't care to know anything about, and it seems neither does Windows Movie Maker. MP4s won't load into the software. Online forums have a million different solutions and cheats to import codecs & masage the Divexs and xviDs blah-blah-blah... but the root of the problem is these two things just don't play nice and are really beyond my realm of interest.

So option 2 was to convert the MP4 into something like an AVI. Ok, GREAT!

2 days of searching for and monkeying with freeware later, I had it converted to AVI.

Except when you do that, you loose all the resolution and cant see the stupid BUNNY anymore! It's a white square block that flashes twice and disappears.

Ug.

3 more days of research later and downloads later I had semi-workable solution from Avidemux, 15 corrupt test files, and finally the juicy little snippet above.

I was going to put music and arrow pointers in the video, but screw it. I'm done ha-ha. I'll play with my new software toys and if I don't screw things up, maybe I'll post more videos as I complete them.

**************

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programing.

Next: Just a Saturday drive in the country

Previous: And they're off!

From The begining of this mess: The Hook

And they're off!

2009-06-09T11:45:00.000-07:00

Day 1...

Reno-Fernley-Raceway, Nevada Desert, 8am

Kevin Hey-WOW-man Chong and I stopped off at a local generic auto-parts store to grab a few last minute items for our wanna-bee race car like hose clamps, a fuel filter and a vacuum t-fitting. I wanted to try and solve our high speed miss before the race (which started in 2 hours!) but first needed to eliminate any obvious possible causes. I figured changing the fuel filter and hooking up the carb float vents to the stock system would not hurt.

After paying for our grab bag of goodies, we again wandered next door to choke-in-the-box for yet another breakfast burrito, then went to fire up Brownie, the world's-greatest-crappy-old-RV and head back to the track in time for the morning driver's meeting.

But Brownie would not start. Again. A turn of the key got me a nice loud "CLICK" and nothing more.

I have gotten pretty used to this recently. In fact, this is why I got the dang RV in the first place. My stepfather got tired of trying to fix it and dropped it off at my house one unexpected day.

The temporary cure is easy... turn on electric fuel pump, stomp on pedal 3 times, pop hood, remove wire from starter relay and touch it to the hot post on the battery. a few cranks and Vrooom!! Works every time.

The actual problem is kinda murky though, as everything in the starter system checks out fine and has been replaced at LEAST twice. Starter, solenoid, relay, key stitch, wiring, grounds, connectors, nothing has cured it. There is a HIGH probability that a bad part was replaced with another bad part, but I'm tired of messing with it and got good at hot wiring the starter.

It gets cantankerous on me at random and that's the way it is. Hot, cold, sunny, rain. It does not matter. Sometimes it works, sometimes it don't.

Which is fine unless you are at 4500 feet in the Nevada desert and the engine wants to stall at every intersection because it's running too rich. Thus I have also gotten good at 2 footed driving. One foot on the gas to keep it from stalling, one on the brake to keep us out of traffic, and the right hand shifting us in and out of gear whenever traffic clears enough for us to cross.

And this is how we made our way back to the paddocks at Reno-Fernley-Raceway just in the nick of time. People were bustling all over the pits and we had just enough time to do a quick tune up after the filter change and vent modification.

Everyone got busy with their assigned tasks and the car got poked, prodded, checked, filled and rechecked high and low. The radiator water was a little low but much better than the day before.

I threw on a new distributor cap, rotor and plug wires then went to change the plugs for good measure. I had brought lots of new spares I stole from my MGBGT restoration, and my thinking was that I would just swap things until I found the miss-fire culprit, then put the rest of the crap back the way it was.

As I went to install the first plug however, disaster struck.

The old plug looked fine with a nice light tan tint so I set it aside and started to install a new one. It went in fine and seated by hand, but when I went to torque it down it just started to spin.

"OH CRAP!" %^*&@#$ I yelled at the Lucas/Leyland gods.

I had turned it barely a quarter turn when the threads on the aluminum head galled up and let loose.

"Noooooooo!!!!"

I started cursing the previous owner of this piece of crap, lord only knows what kind of damage he inflicted on it.

Still, the previous plug came out without any indication of trouble so I was pretty stunned by the situation. I thought for a second if I got it threaded in just right the plug may hold for a while. But then I realized the situation was hopeless... It would just pop out eventually. And the only real solution was for it to be taken apart and fixed correctly.

"Hey Pete, we gotta get going on down to the driver's meeting" Gargamel said.

"We are not going to make it to the starting grid!" I snapped. "We got a bunged up spark plug thread!"

Visions of yet another aborted LeMons race filled my head. "Sonofa..." I was pretty mad and disappointed...

Then as I looked around, I noticed I was surrounded by 106 really crappy cars that may or may not be running on all cylinders, and some did not run at all. This was the essence of LeMons. This is what it was all about.

"SCREW IT!" I laughed, "Lets go on what's left and run it till it blows, see how far we get!"

I took out the new plug and went to smash in the old one best I could, but lo-and-behold, it seated and torqued down correctly!!

Huh. What the hell?

I looked at the new plugs in the boxes, looked at the old plugs in the motor, then back at the new plugs and wondered if it was the right part number. "BAH! WHO CARES!" I shrugged and threw them into the parts box just in time for the drivers meeting.

Jay Lamm gave us the spiel about how crappy the drivers were, no contact etc etc etc. When he asked "How many first timers do we have?" I rolled my eyes and lifted my hand. Really depends on how you define first timer I guess. With any luck, this may finally be the last time I raise my hand.

After the meeting I suited up and chugged 2 more bottles of water. Many of the other cars were lining up for the start, but we decided to hang back and enjoy the shade of our tents for a while longer. The temp was already beginning to rise, although it seemed less evil than the day before.

Funny-cute-but-sleepy-spouse came up from behind and threw her arms around me, scaring the living bejeezus outta me. "Hey Squeeky! You made it!" I hugged her back. She had driven all night to get here after staying behind to take care of our gaggle of animals. Turtles, fish and a crazy dog. She also brought a handful of things I had forgotten, like toothpaste and Tigger's favorite toy, leaving the house at zero dark thirty to get here in time.

I strapped Tigger's toy onto the camera mount and stared at it for a moment. This was to be our mascot as Tigger-cat had passed away the week Before. It was also the second toy we mounted on the car, the first being a tiny toy horse that we mounted on the hood, given to us by fellow competitors from team Pony Express for good luck.

When Matt our pit neighbor from Free Range Racing pulled out we decided it was time to go. There were a steady stream of bubbles floating up from the back of his car which helped him stand out in case you missed the windmill.

The camera was on, I was strapped into the car and the motor started up. 4 cylinders, yeay! My team guided and backed me out of our pit and into line. As we waited and made our way to the track entrance I noticed another yellow car that appeared to be a Honda with the same bumblebee stripe livery slip in front of me.

Well whadayaknow... Traffic cone stinger and everything.

Guess I'm not as clever as I thought I was...

I made my way to the safety equipment checkpoint and showed him my stickers and shoes, and he waved me onto the track. I floored it and suddenly noticed a fluffy little bunny sitting in the grass below the flag tower.

Sure enough, as I approached him he darted out in front of me zigging and zagging for his life down the ramp, as little kids pointed at him from behind the fence.

I hit the brakes hard and swerved to avoid him, and watched him scamper off behind me.

Yes, I know. Shut up.

Some killer Bee we turned out to be. "Oh a fluffy bunny! AHHHH!"

Next Post: Killer Rabbit™, News at 11

Previous post: Testing, Testing, Is this thing on?

From The beginning of this mess: The Hook

Testing, Testing, this thing on?

2009-06-03T19:54:00.000-07:00

I have been taking a short vacation from racing, LeMons and cars in general. The last 6 months of thrashing and planning left me completely exhausted, but boy was it worth it. It has been nice to just sit back and relax for a while, and collect my thoughts.

The killer bee sits out proudly in front of the house on the sidewalk, attracting lots of stares from the morning and evening commutes. Still has the antennas attached too.

Then, unfortunately I got word that my contract at work is being canceled this week. Hard to be creative when your livelihood gets yanked.

We also picked up the ashes for Tigger-cat last weekend.

So, not the greatest week I've had, but I figure keeping busy will keep the downer thoughts away.

So sit on down and let me tell you a story, about the very first time I drove on a race track...

*****************

Friday afternoon, 22 May 09, Fernley Raceway

A team full of newbies has just passed the 24 Hrs of LeMons tech inspection, and sailed through the B.S. inspection.

We circled the car back around and into our pits and looked back and forth at each other.

The only thing separating us from certain doom in the form of driving a clapped-out 1977 Rubber Bumper MGB - decorated like a giant bee - out on a racetrack, was a simple turn of the ignition key.

Holy crap.

"We" decided I would be the first one out because, A) I am the mechanic and need to shake it down and check for problems, B) I built it by myself, C) I paid for it myself, and D) because I fricken said so.

I suited up and fidgeted with all the safety devices, got strapped in and realized I had to pee. I also realized that it was hotter than blazes in that suit.

So back out I came, made use of the facilities in Brownie - the worlds hottest and greatest crappy old RV, chugged another bottle of water and strapped back in. The second time around I came to the conclusion that it was MUCH easier to strap in if you left your helmet and gloves for last. Getting in and out of the car with the helmet on made for some amusing bobble-head moments as we clanked against the roll cage. Putting it on last solved at least half a dozen difficulties.

Later in the weekend we would get a system figured out, using every available hand on the team for faster driver changes, but for now caution was the order of the day.

The car started right up when I asked it to and settled nicely into a loping idle with good oil pressure.

"Here we go!" I exclaimed.

My teammates waved and hooted, then guided me backwards out of our pit.

I slipped the tranny into first, blipped the throttle and heard Lurch say "That sounds GOOOOOD!"

I slowly guided the Killer Bee through the paddock and into the staging area behind another car, where they appeared to be checking for wristbands saying you paid for track time.

And I became aware of a huge surge of adrenaline.

I took several deep breaths and relaxed, then focused. Now it was my turn. Cars were flying by off to my left and I could see the front straightway directly ahead.

The man checked my wristband, and said "Have fun!"

I eased the MGB past the station, then floored it...

The exhaust sang off of the retaining walls as I shot out onto the track. It was a beautiful English wail as I revved it up towards 5 grand. Power shifts into second and third gave me that familiar MG growl and bark I've known for years, only this time with more balls.

I started to wonder just what was in that motor I swapped into the car. Almost immediately though I heard something that would plague us for the rest of the weekend; we had a high speed miss I had not caught driving it on the streets.

I let up on the throttle and it cleared up, continuing to rev towards 6 grand before stuttering again.

It sounded like a weak or erratic spark, or possibly running too rich. I thought it was most likely the latter, as we were at elevation and the S.U. carbs do have a tendency to leak around the throttle shafts at idle.

I approached the first corner and found out it was a sweeping left-handed fish-hook. OH SHIT! I resisted the urge to let off the throttle (Never let up suddenly in an MG while cornering, unless you want to go backwards) and drifted through the corner. I stayed on the track but noticed it had a heavy push in the front. For the rest of the lap I tried to take it easy and get a better feel for the track.

There were off camber corners. blind corners, odd rises and falls. It was a lot more challenging than I thought it would be after watching the youtube videos. What does not translate into video is the elevation changes and camber tricks. It was great, but I really wished I had gotten a chance to walk the track like John Condren had suggested. Each consecutive lap I was getting a little more confident, but still could not figure out my visual reference points.

Some corners had cones, others did not, and I was having difficulty gauging where the apex were. When I followed other cars it was great, but as soon as I was solo I sputtered and hesitated.

Walking the track would have definitely helped. I also overheard one of the track folks say the cones were not all apex and braking markers. Some were just to let you know where the pavement ended.

Huh. (Scratches head) Ok.

The rest of my time on the track I payed attention to the motor and handling. The car would run great for a lap or two, then start to sputter at about 4 grand. Then it would be fine again. The handling was pretty heavy as the car did not want to rotate around the corners. I got the rear of the car a little loose once, but mostly it was the push-push-push of understeer. Not the light and neutral handling it should have been. I could see us going through a whole set of tires by Sunday afternoon if that continued.

I pulled back into the pits and was met by a bunch of smiling faces. It looked good. It sounded good. And it almost drove good.

We checked the tire pressures and adjusted the fronts down a bit. I wanted to use my new fancy tire pyrometer but by the time I got out of the car it was too late. They had already cooled down. I adjusted the carbs and the idle smoothed out, but was now a bit high so I lowered it and re-checked the sync using the rubber hose method.

We cooled the motor down and rechecked the coolant, which had dropped significantly. Uh-oh. I topped it off and checked the oil, and sent the next guy Lurch out on the track telling him to keep an eye on the temp and oil pressure and bring it in if either show problems.

45 minutes later he pulled back in with a HUGE shit-eating grin on his face. His face was red and he was yelling something underneath his helmet, which turned out to be "YEEEHAAA!!

He told me it had the same miss, and that he had spun it 180 on the back side of the track. I gave him a suggestion to watch liftoff of the throttle as it upsets the chassis and he debriefed me on what he felt. Good cornering but more push, great breaks, big jump between 2nd and 3rd gear.

Yup. it's gonna be a 3rd gear track.

We checked the water and it was low again. This could be a long weekend if that continues. I could not see any obvious leaks and there was no steam out the exhaust.

Now we sent "Hey-WOW-man" Chong out in the car. This was our team ringer, as he was an ex cart racer who had worked up to the national level. BUT, he had never raced in anything with doors.

He went out and we all lined the fence to watch.

He came by the first time at a good clip but not too fast. The second lap he was flying.

"Wow!" we said. "Look at Kevin go!" He was already passing people and weaving through traffic. Must be something wrong with the first 2 drivers, lol!

I had him go last because he is the most aggressive driver, and just in case he wads the car up in a ball.

When he came back into the pits an hour later he had the same grin the rest of us did. Only this monkey spun it twice, the second being a complete 360. Easy Kevin, it's a long weekend...

The temp was now steady at 2/3rds up the dial, a little warm for comfort. We checked the water again, and this time it was dangerously low. I figured it had a bad head gasket or warped head as we could find no obvious signs of leakage. This was the first aluminum head I had ever run, so it was a complete wild-card to me.

The track closed for the day and we had a team meeting.

We could A) replace the head gasket, or B) risk running it and pit every half hour to fill the radiator.

I told them I could have the head gasket replaced in a few hours so we decided to do it and be on the safe side. But first I wanted to check the torque on the head bolts.

Lo-and-behold, the front one was WAY loose, and we found evidence of steam leakage around it. A few clicks of the torque wrench later and I now had a new call to make. We decided we would run it as-is the next day, and if it still used water we could change the gasket after the 1st session.

That night we went out to dinner at a place in Reno called Louis' Basque Corner, an interesting place where the food is served family style, and the tables are long benches you share with other guests. The fare was AWESOME, and our new found friends were entertaining, and they were fascinated by our crazy LeMons race.

I looked over, and guess who I saw at the next bench?

Crazy old Lou Brero, and our friendly Judge Ed!

Next Post: And they're off!

Previous: Inspector Detector, or here come da Judge!

From The Beginning of this mess: The Hook

Inspector Detector, or here come da Judge!

2009-05-27T18:42:00.000-07:00

Fernley Nevada, somewhere out in the Nevada Desert...

Friday morning, 22 May 09, open track day prior to the "Goin for Broken" 24 Hours of Lemons.

We unloaded our LeMons "racecar", one worn out Rubber Bumper '77 MGB and took our trailer down to the lower parking area to save space for the trifecta of crazy MR2 teams we suddenly found ourselves smack-dab in the middle of.

As the remaining members of our team trickled in, we slowly got busy finishing up a bazillion loose ends we had not yet completed; removal of remaining side marker lights, zip tying rollcage padding, bolting or zip tying down anything that moved or clunked. It seemed to be a game of "Whack-a-mole". Everytime I thought we were finished, something else popped up. And it was HOT.

The day rolled on, the temperature went up and the sun began to bake our brains.

Many of the other teams already went through tech and were out on the track testing their rolling rust buckets, but we were stuck in limbo wondering how to get out on the track. Do we tech first? Do we just go pay for track time and go driving? It seemed a bit too easy just go out and start driving. Newbies we most definitely were.

3 of us had decided to pony up and get some track practice time and flog the car for the afternoon to flush out any gremlins. Not knowing what exactly to do, we took a walk down to the track HQ several times and got conflicting info from the man in the trailer.

Turns out it WAS as simple as paying the cash and wheeling out of the paddock. The LeMons race and the track day were separate events and not connected. Passing tech was not needed to test the track. And it only took us half a day to figure that out, ha-ha!

We were about to take a few practice laps, but then realized that the warnings on the P.A. about getting our cars through tech and judging before they closed for the day applied to US. Once they closed for the day, tech was done. There would not be any Saturday Tech inspections.

We came to the conclusion that it would REALLY suck if we went out and practiced now, and then ran into a tech snag later with no time to recover.

So we decided to go ahead and do a test run through tech first and see what we needed to fix, while we still had time thrash on the car.

We began to head over to the lineup, and I realized I had NO IDEA where our tech sheet was.

CRAPPAGES!

Luckily my super-astute-and-knows-I-forget-random-things-spouse had printed out extra copies. So I hastily filled out the new form and initialed the line items, double checking to make sure we did not forget something obvious and embarrassing.

I lined up our car behind the HQ tent and waited, trying to keep calm. I felt like I was waiting for test results, Pink or Blue, Plus or Minus, one line or two. Ug.

Then it was our turn. Arnand checked our paperwork, looked over the car for basic items and sent us into the tech area.

The inspector detector looked us over, poked and prodded first the car then my fire suit and gave us a few items he wanted us to adjust - which included cutting a hole in our front seat so the 5th strap or "anti-submarine" strap did not castrate us in case of an accident. But other wise it all went well. The "Kill-switch" killed the car, and the fire extinguisher was easy to reach.

Then he had me sit in the car all suited up, helmet and everything, and made me adjust all the straps nice and snug.

"FIRE-FIRE-FIRE!!!" he yelled at me, "GET OUT OF THE CAR!!!"

Now, in the back of my mind I KNEW this was coming. I had heard it all day going on next to us. But this is not something you ever want to say to an English car owner, especially if he is tightly strapped into his car!

FWOOSH! I was out of that thing in a flash.

"Good job" said the inspector detector.

"Wow!" said lurch. "You were out of there FAST."

I looked back and did not see any flames. And then regained my composure.

He signed us off, and suddenly we were headed towards the "B.S. judging" area. (And I was still secretly looking for any smoke.)

Now previously, my wife went through MUCH time and effort getting our papers in order. While this bucket of bolts is a legit $480 car and very little went into it performance wise, we were still uneasy about the whole judging process. They assign 1 penalty lap for every $10 of perceived value above 500 bucks. It is real easy to start off in the negative, and you could spend all day trying to get back to lap # 1.

I tried to build and enter this car in the spirit of the event, knowing that if I cheated I would only be cheating myself of the satisfaction of finishing a 500 dollar car race in an actual 500 dollar car.

That being said, it has been said there are two types of racers, cheaters and losers.

A stock '77 MGB has no chance in hell against modern Miatas, BMWs or MR2s. But with just a few tweaks we could at least make it somewhat mid-pack competitive.

I threw in a slightly less horrible motor and slapped on every handling trick I could think of. I sold anything that was left over. Luckily the stuff I got was dirt cheap, but even used it looked a little too nice for my comfort. Lots of sandblasting, dragging parts beneath cars, and leaving things under the sprinklers for a few weeks ensured that the replacement parts looked just as bad as the rest of the car.

Plan A, Better to not be noticed than raise an eyebrow. Legit as I was, I was still going in prepared for the worst!

For plan B, we had paperwork to prove every penny we spent, and every penny we made by selling extras.

And for plan C, we had bribes. A local Meadery produces some KICK-ASS honey based booze, which fit in perfectly with our Killer Bee theme.

We rolled up into the B.S. judging area, Johny and Murilee approached me and said "Hey, nice facial hair!" They looked at the car for a quick second, then turned to each other and said "There's really not much to talk about here. Zero laps".

"WHAT?!? Wait a minute! We have Bribes!" I cried...

My team members tried to shut me up.

"No, you don't understand, I'm going to get the full wrath of "squeeky-kick-my-ass-spouse" if you don't look at her paperwork! I spent rent on honey-booze! And we got T-shirts!"

Slightly confused, the judges said "Well, alright" and took our bribes, then painted a couple big red "Bribed" stencils on the car.

Murilee looked at his T-shirt and noticed the name Arraiac on the front.

"WHOAH! WHERE DID YOU GET THAT NAME FROM?!?" he demanded.

"Uh, it's just something got off the web" I joked.

He did not know that I did my research. Arriac Murilee is the name of his old garage band, and is where he got his pen name from. He changed it to Murilee Martin because no one could pronounce Arriac. I thought it was a nice obscure touch.

He thought it was surreal. Like, totally weird. And looked at me like I had just appeared from the gates of hell.

"Weird. Totally weird".

Next: Testing, Testing, this thing on?

Previous: Wow. Just freaking wow.

From The beginning of this mess

Wow. Just freaking wow.

2009-05-25T17:35:00.000-07:00

So, We FINISHED!

Yeay! (The crowd goes wild; roses and kisses from hot chicks... um, cocked-eyebrow-spouse is not amused, scratch that, kisses from super-cute-jubliant-spouse just fine with me)

We surpassed every single one of our goals, and beat all my previous team's records.

A) We got to the track before the race started,
B) We passed Tech without grave warnings of death and mutilation,
C) We stayed out on the track for more than 2 1/2 laps!

Not only that, but we actually FINISHED THE RACE!! HOLY CRAP!

THAT part is what surprised all of us.

I checked the trip odometer which I had reset at the beginning of the race, and assuming it is correct (Not likely, it's is an MG after all) we completed a hair over 506 miles. Not too shabby for a rusty and forgotten project car we found at a closed MG garage.

Friday morning we woke up and stopped off at an auto parts store on the way to the track. Since it was next to Choke in the Box I decided to get myself a breakfast burrito, which apparently is becoming another running gag for me in this whole 24 Hours of LeMons thing.

While waiting for my food I noticed Matt and his Free Range Racing "Stack-o-cars" fueling up at the gas station next door. I recognized his 24 feet of race cars on 20 feet of trailer setup from his blog. That and the Spotted Owl on a stick mounted above the cockpit.

"Hey, it's the Free range Guys" I said to my Groggy teamate, Hey-WOW-man Chong.

"What?" He mumbled back, not really caring what I was talking about. "Hey man, we still need gas."

"RIGHT!" I said.

The events that followed are a little fuzzy in my mind, but we watched Matt pull out onto the highway in one direction, which I had assumed was the another direction, but hey-WOW-man assured me was the right direction.

But then after we fueled up, we got turned around and completely went the wrong direction.

Which, just happened to be the RIGHT direction. I noticed this as we tried to turn around in a tiny used car lot on main street in wonderful Fernley NV. Thinking that the round-a-bout intersection we crossed was a bad sign, we were trying to head back to the freeway. As I finally got our rig turned around, I saw Matt and the free-range-stack-o-cars go zipping by from the other another direction and turn down the road we were facing.

"Huh. That must be the way to the track".

It was a scant 5 minutes earlier that we had realized we knew how to get to Fernley, but had overlooked getting "directions" to the actual race track.

"FOLLOW THAT OWL!" I decreed.

"Hey wait a minute man, those people are waving at us to follow them instead." said Mr. Chong. Several cars going the other way were honking at us and waving.

"WHAT? But those dudes are going the wrong direction!" I said flabbergasted.

"I dunno, but they doo seem pretty insistent, all waving at us and stuff..."

So I pulled over again, and thought to myself... "Self, they did not even have a race car". Hmmm...

Then I decided SCREW them, I'm following the owl. And as I puled back out in front of traffic, I noticed in my mirror what appeared to be a camper door swinging open in the wind.

"Oh... I think I know why they were waving at us..." I said as I pulled over yet AGAIN.

By the time Kevin got back from shutting the rear door on Brownie "The Worlds Greatest Crappy RV", Matt and the Free range racers, the Owl, windmill and stack-o-cars were long gone.

So guessing at which way to go, we headed down the road, on the road to somewhere.

Just as I said to hey-WOW-man that we should just go a few miles further before turning around, we saw what looked like a racetrack up in the hills. Not only that, I saw an OWL perched above a red stack-o-cars going up the driveway.

"YES!" we high fived each other.

Once we got to the gate we checked our names on the list. "Who is driving?" asked the tired lady with the list. "We both are" I replied. But Kevin was not listed. We tried his first name. Nope. We tried his last name. Nope. "Who is driving?" the lady asked again. "We BOTH are" I said in frustration.

"You forgot to pay for him" she said.

"No, I'm broke because I DID pay for him!"

After conferring with the other gate checker for a moment, we were told that we would have to report to LeMons HQ to straighten it out.

So I got my wrist band, and a dirty look from hey-WOW-man, and we proceeded through the paddock looking for a space to set up camp.

But there WERE no spaces. Everything was either occupied or taped off with caution tape. When we got to the end of the pits I realized we were in a bit of a bind. The Last thing I wanted to do was to piss of my pit neighbors, but we REALLY needed a place to park.

Just then I saw a teammate from my previous LeMons race at Thunderhill, who was wearing a "Staff" T-shirt this time around. "Hey Armand! Hows it going?"

We decided to go chit chat, figure out the parking and also the "list thing" when Free-range-Matt came storming up from the other side "THERE'S NO PLACE TO PARK!! *&^% everybody is being a #$^% and #$%^ #^$% #$%^..."

I stood next to him and nodded my head in agreement. "We" were on a roll.

I had not met Matt yet, but had conversed with him through our blogs. We were supposed to wander over and say "Hi" to each other sometime during the race. But this was even better.

The LeMons folk ponderded the problem for a few minutes, then told us we could have the spaces closest to the penalty box. EXCELLENT! They even gave us space for the Snowspeeders and Knights of the Round Table/Stick-figure racing teams who had not arrived yet.

Then we moved on to Kevin's issue of not being on the list.

We found him under Kevin "Hey WOW man".

Ahem. Kevin shot me a look of YOU IDIOT.

Organizer Nick said "I remember you..."

And everyone said "oooOOoooo".

Perhaps not the BEST way to start a LeMons me thinks. Funny, I changed our entry forms right after they sent out the threatening email about nicknames in quotations. Must have been just a moment too late with the last one...

After getting Hey-WOW-man free on bail, we set up camp and I found out that all the MR2 teams were especially cool. We pooled our canopies and made one big common area, which would come into play later in the weekend.

Then we looked at our race car and thought "Holy Shit".

We are Here.

Previous: We made it!

From The Beginning of this Mess:

We made it!

2009-05-22T07:34:00.000-07:00

Arrived at the hotel around midnight. Was immediately approached by the judges Murilee Martin and Johnny Lieberman who were apparently wandering the parking lots terrorizing the E30 teams. They liked the Bee and spoke of it's racing lineage. They also were stunned/impressed/snickering that I retained the complete Lucas electrical system for an endurance race. Hey, Time for breakfast!

Next: Wow. Just freaking wow.

Previous: I-80 west @ Sack-O-Tomatoes

From the beginning of this mess

2009-05-21T20:27:00.001-07:00

I-80 west @ Sack-O-Tomatoes, was just passed by Lou Brero of Exoskeleton Jag fame heading towards Reno. Gave me the thumbs-up for the car! Brownie humming along

Our First Mobile Update!

2009-05-21T17:56:00.001-07:00

Our first remote update. We are mobile! Only 6 hours late lol! Had our first Electrical gremlin loading the Bee on the trailer. Had a bad fuel pump ground.

Next: I-80 west @ Sack-O-Tomatoes

Previous: Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock...

From the beginning of this mess

Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock...

2009-05-21T01:36:00.000-07:00

"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.”
Albert Einstein

It's 2am, Wednesday night, or Thursday morning depending on if you are a late owl or early bird. Personally I don't understand early-birds. They say early-birds get the worm, but I prefer late night steaks and keggers. That's just me.

My stepfather happens to be one of them weird ass early-birds. And I happen to think he is insane. Coincidence? I think not. But I digress...

So, it's 2 am and I have just quit thrashing on the Killer Bee, our 24 Hours of LeMons MGB race car. It's a giant bee looking thing. And it is sitting on the sidewalk in front of my house as we frantically try to finish the long ass list of tasks before leaving for Fernley Nevada later this morning. And by we I mean me, with major support from she's-so-tired-she's-sleeping-on-the-couch-spouse.

Kevin "Hey-WOW-man" Chong did come over this afternoon and help me thrash on some last minute details which may end up being the push that gets us to the track on time. He brought our revised door numbers over which came out awesome! Seems he happens to have a vinyl plotter at his disposal, which just saved our butts.

I had a cool door number/team logo planned out, but it was "ixnayed" by the powers that be for being slightly unreadable. Yeah, after seeing it on the car I figured as much which is why I submitted a graphic sample for them to check out. So now I am on to plan B, which means we put the Logo on the hood instead and run simpler numbers as per the rules on the door.

Other than that, building and prepping this stupid thing has been a one man show. And it was a LOT more work than I realized. But, it has turned out pretty cool so far if I do say so myself. Er, cool in a LeMons kinda way. Don't get your hopes up.

Unfortunately photos pics and video at this juncture are under the strictest of controls. They have been taken and recorded, but are under tight secrecy. Our plan for world domination is not to be taken lightly. Under penalty of flubbery.

Which brings me back to the fact that the secret weapon (aka one Killer Bee) is sitting on the sidewalk in front of my house. For the world to see. On a busy street.

While I was working on the race car last weekend, one Sweet ass Datsun 510 drove by and yelled "Yeah! Killer Bee!!" Dog walkers and passerby's stop to chat, and hispanic elderly ladies tell me they like my funny car. And, as the final secret touches fall into place, I now have entire families stopping by with their kids just to see the "Bee-Car".

Kabloey... So much for a secret weapon.

So why is the car sitting on the sidewalk? Well, it seems that's just where they ended up.

You remember that little toy puzzle game you played with as a kid, the one where you have 8 or 11 pieces that slide around one piece at a time until you solve the puzzle?

Well, heh-heh-heh, that's my driveway.

And it was more hassle than it was worth to move things around again after our EPIC trip up to Oakland last Friday. Instead I went ahead and finished the build out in the open, much like "Overhaulin" did that build at the SEMA show in Vegas. Only without any of the professional quality or know-how. Perhaps I'm more like the guy in the Mitsubishi commercial... with cars on jack-stands in the front yard...

"I'm a fixing on them!"

So it's 2 am, and I have nearly finished with the list. The blasted list from hell that keeps growing every time I remember things I forgot to put on the last list. Brownie, The worlds greatest Crappy RV is not ready, and I still need supplies. we are in good shape.

I pick up our rental trailer in the morning, and come hell or high water we will be on the road to Reno by 10am. Translated, that means by noon I will be frantically throwing stuff on the floor of the RV, trying to get out of town by 2pm.

That's the plan anyways.

Good god it's here. It's REALLY here.

At this moment, I had second thoughts. Do I really want to do this? I mean, I met the teams of a lot of the other entries. These are not wholly sane people. Hmmm.. ok, in that case, yes. Yes I DO want to do this. These my peeps.

Besides, "sweet-but-make-me-fat-spouse" bought me some new Mother's cookies for the trip. Gotta take a trip to eat trip goodies. Seems my favorite cookies are now back on the market after being saved by Kellogg's. Yeay!

But, I still have a huge stash of expired cookies from when I cleaned out the supermarket when I heard they went bankrupt.

Wanna buy some Halloween edition circus animal cookies?

(Missing Kitty)

Next: Our first remote update

Previous: FLY BEE FLY!!!

From The Beginning of this mess: The Hook

FLY BEE FLY!!!

2009-05-17T23:12:00.000-07:00

Friday, 15 MAY 09

4:30 PM.

I am heading north on I-880 towards Oakland in the Killer Bee. Lots of looks. Lots of stares.

Yes. I am driving a giant bee.

And yes, I know it looks stupid. Quit honking. Yes, it's duct tape. Go away damn you rubberneckers!

I had just left the office where I stopped in to get a drink of water and check out the mechanicals before continuing on up to Oakland. Earlier in the day I had waited in line at the DMV to get a one day moving permit for the trip. The plan was to drive up to Gargamel's shop and tweak the roll cage, and continue prep for race day.

What? Only 5 days left?

Ok, it is officially time to panic. (AAAAHHHH!!!!! Ok. I'm better)

A week ago I finally got Brownie, the world's greatest crappy RV, a new set of shoes and resolved his flooding issue. Then I was ready to figure out what was causing the Killer Bee to crap out on the road. It would run great sitting in the driveway, and when I decided to take it for a spin around the block it took of like a bat out of hell. (Or, a Bee FROM hell, ha-ha!)

But a block and a half later, it would cut out and start sputtering. This kept going on over and over, and I was getting a little crazy trying to figure it out. At one point the car stalled next to a local park, where there just happened to be a bunch of little league games being played. I got a LOT of looks and fingers pointed at me.

(Yah. Come-on car, lets GO!)

Then it started sputtering and flooding again in the driveway. Turns out I had several issues all going on at the same time. So, you mean I spent 480 bucks, and ended up with a frigging LEMON?!?!?!

Oh wait, Right.

Anywho, it turns out I had a flaky distributor that liked to jump timing back and forth about 20 degrees at random. Ok, swap it with leftovers from another old engine.

Then the rear carb had a new float which turned out to be more of a "sink". I pulled it out and found it was full of fuel. ARG! So, back in went the better of the two old floats. Who cares what the float height is. There is no time for this crap. In it went. Good enough.

Now the car was idling nicely again, but steadily missed above 2000 rpm. Huh.

While adjusting the front carb, which seemed to be needing a LOT of enrichment, I noticed something shiny in the carb throat. Upon closer inspection, I realized the jet needle had left it's captive holder and was sitting in the jet!! DOUGH! Well blow me down! Nyuck-nyuck-nyuck. You piece of crap.

I removed the offending pieces and stuck them back together, then gave it a good squeeze with some vice-grips for good measure. Back in it went and...

WHOOO-HOOOO!!!

It suddenly ran like a scaled ape. Or a grape cat.. uh whatever, it was good!

As the sun faded for the evening I was finally able to take off down the street and got chirps on every shift. YEEEHAAA!! Down the road I went until I realized I was near Lurch's house, so I stopped by to show it off.

Against his better judgment, he decided to take it for a spin around the block too. The two of us shoehorned him into the car and off he went, giddy and looking like a gorilla stuffed into a yellow Barbie car.

When he got back we exchanged High-Fives... and realized we were in WAY over our heads.

Not to be deterred the next step was to bring it up to Gargamel's shop for the roll-cage tweaking.

Which brings us back to last Friday, as I was driving the stupid thing up to Oakland.

It ran great, and included a Friday evening bout of commute traffic. Lurch had mentioned "You picked a hell of a time and place to test the car!"

"Pish-posh! It's perfect! Friday evening stop and go on northbound 880? If that does not kill it nothing will!"

The car performed well, stopped well, occasionally cruised at 75, and when traffic permitted even sprinted faster. Half tank, good temp, the gauges seem to work. (Either that or I was about to experience MAJOR surprise.)

The Oakland Coliseum was a triumphant sight. Jack Murphy square, how you doin? The car and I continued on to our destination. We made it. Yes! I even parked at a Subway and got a sandwich to see what the car would do after sitting for 10 minutes. It started right back up.

I was visiting Gargamel's shop when I received the phone call...

... from my super-sad-spouse...

"It's kitty... she's..."

The day before she had stopped eating and drinking. Her condition had worsened suddenly, and we were looking for signs that could mean we should take her to the vet one-last-time. Friday afternoon it was not looking real good. I had the day off, and my always-a-big-heart-spouse came home for lunch to check on her. We knew it was close.

I wanted to wait till Saturday so that I could play guitar for her that evening one last time, but my super-in-tune-spouse suggested I should play for kitty before leaving for Oakland.

So after she left back to work I grabbed my trusty 6-string and played Tigger a song that did not really have a name. It started off as a mish-mash of experimental sounds that kitty had guided me on, and evolved into something beautiful, based mostly on her quirky inputs.

As I played she stopped twitching, which had started the previous evening. Her front paw stretched out as if beckoning, or trying to catch the notes. She seemed peaceful.

At that moment I finally knew what to name the song. It's called, "The Song that My Cat Wrote." There are no words. Just her favorite sounds. And I had never played it so softly or with as much purpose.

As the final notes of the song got nearer, I began to plead that the end would never come. But the tears which were now streaming down my face and dripping onto the guitar failed to stop time... and the song gently came to a soft end... and as the last notes hung in the air I kissed her head and whispered "Thank you Tigger for all the years of being there, and for all the laughs, and for being my best friend."

She died shortly thereafter...

Godspeed little buddy. You are missed.

(Kitty gone...)

To my wife: Thank you sweetie, for giving me that gift of playing for her one last song. I love you.

Next: Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock

Previous: Lambo

From the beginning of this mess: The Hook

I passed that Lambo like he was standin STILL!

2009-05-08T00:27:00.000-07:00

Last week I was on the way to work in my old 1967 Datsun SSS, and I passed a yellow Lambo Gallardo like he was standing still.

It felt GOOOOD.

The fact that I was floored and doing a top speed not much better than a downhill mountain biker, while he was apparently texting that evening's date really do not spoil the moment for me.

I blew by a Lambo in my Datsun.

Mostly because I was late for work.

********

I found a Gremlin road test on youtube! It gives an idea what trying to canyon race a Gremlin up in the mountains was like as a kid... Boy was I young and stupid.

This car looks a LOT like mine did before I got a hold of it. Fast forward to the 1:35 minute mark for all the tire squealing action. The panic braking portion is exactly what I remember.

Gremlin Road test

I love the handling comments too, like the rear end has "a light squirrely feel while cornering.."

No kidding. Ya think?!?!

(Kitty Fading)

Next: FLY BEE FLY!!!

Previous: So I picked up my RV from a speed shop...

From the Beginning of this mess: The Hook... (Part 1)

So, I picked up my RV from the speed shop...

2009-05-08T00:13:00.000-07:00

Just before Arse-Freeze-Apalooza 08, I pulled Brownie the worlds greatest crappy old RV out of cryogenic storage in a town about an hour away from us.

I had shuffled him around the county for several years prior, parking it wherever I saw old RVs congregating and then checking on him on a semi-regular basis until parking tickets or "PLEASE REMOVE YOUR VEHICLE" stickers started to plaster the windows. Then I would clean him up, move him to the next location and the waiting game began again.

I hadn't actually intended to keep the thing actually. I was gonna fix it up and sell it for some extra cash, but as things turned out, after the last dot-com bust Tigger-cat and I ended up taking a sabbatical and traveling in it for about a year, writing music and traveling wherever the steering wandered. And I kinda grew attached to the vagabond thing.

Then when my melt-your-heart-girlfriend-not-yet-spouse finally convinced me it was time to get a real doorbell and a set of matching towels, I decided to hang on to it "just in case". Maybe even put a sign over the door that says "The Dog-House".

And so it ended up at first dominating our driveway, and then went to the RV-kennel for the last few years.

The time it spent sitting was not kind to it. When we picked it up to take to Thunderhill, it seemed to have flat spots in a few of it's tires. I checked them over for any signs of dry rot or cracking and found none, so I drove him. The adventure that followed prompted an email to my father one evening:

Hey Pops,

Thanks to the current economic crisis and meltdown, gas sank to 1.63 a gal last week down from a high of 4.59 just a few months ago.

That means it was finally time to dig the RV out of storage and fill the tank while I can afford it, and might as well take it in for a smog check too. I even drove it to work a few days just because I could. My co-workers loved it. Driving home from storage after I picked it up there was a steady bounce from the flat spots in the tires, which I figured would eventually either subside or destroy something.

On the way to work that first Monday the oldest tire (right rear outer, grey rim) decided it was past the "Use By Date" and elected to take the second path mentioned above of "Destroy something". Half the tread separated from the tire, which caused enough NEW noise for me to pull over at the freeway interchange.

Crap, I'm late for work... hey someone stole the tire iron... hmmm... it's a dually.... fuckit, this thing is old... I got back on the freeway in the slow lane and drove carefully on the shoulder another mile. That's when things got REALLY noisy.

I could hear the remaining pieces slapping the coach as they came loose, and quieting when they departed out the rear as seen by my mirrors... roar to a crescendo, and sudden quiet... roar to a crescendo, sudden quiet. Then finally a steady wire wheel (pun intended) whizzing.

I pulled over a second time and marveled at the inner construction of 6 ply light truck tires, and also how neatly the passenger side exhaust tip was sliced off, then continued on my happy way, taking the next exit and slowly making my way to work. The tire held amazingly, and looked like a used Brillo-pad by the time I arrived.

Interestingly I saved enough money on gas to afford the new tire I ordered from Discount tires. They even put the spare on for me, forgetting to check the tire pressure. This became apparent when I got it back to work and noticed that tire was just along for the ride. By the time I went to pick up the new tire the spare had separated it's bead from the rim. I mentioned this to the rocket scientist/tire salesman, and they nodded in understanding. They then put it back on the spare mount for me... still flat and loose... and still said nothing.

Say Hi to Ma.

***

After Thunderhill I got the surprise suggestion from changed-her-mind-spouse that we should keep Brownie. That set us off on a mission to find replacement parts at salvage yards, and on our way up to a breaker near Sac-O-tomatoes, the second tire gave up the ghost.

This blowout however was MUCH less amusing, as I had a lovely little "are-we-gonna-die-spouse" riding with me. Worse yet, as I shopped around they seem to have obsoleted the 8-16.5 tire size, and very few choices remain. I lucked out at a random Big-O tire store and picked up two more tires that only cost me a leg.

I decided to bite the bullet and order the last 4 online via tire-rack while I still could, and they had a list of recommended installers, including Goodie's Speed Shop. I chose the speed shop!

You should have seen their faces when I showed up with a 27 foot camper...

They hemmed and hawed, said they had never tried to do an RV before but they would try. And sure enough, they got-er-done. While I was there I asked about the zoomies on their awesome Dodge A-100 shop van, which they said it was done in house.

Excellent. I will be back with the RV/shaggin-waggin after the race, lol!

On the way home that evening the truck ran horribly. It sounded like it both had a vacuum leak and was flooding.

Again with the flooding? Sheesh!

Usually that combo indicates a cracked thermoquad. The thing had not run correctly since last smog check, but now it was getting bad.

Rather than mess with worn out Thermoquad any more, I ordered a Holley manufactured unit from Summit racing, and put it on last Wednesday night. There I found the basis of my vacuum leak which was a cooked and crumbling base gasket.

"Well there's your problem."

I was still tired from staying up late working on the Killer Bee the night before, so I decided to decided to call it a night, get some rest and test it out the next morning.

The next morning I went to fire it up and FLOODING! MORE FLOODING!?!?!? This must be my week.

I removed the carb and inspected it carefully. Turns out the plastic fuel bowl has a corner piece missing, that looks like it was sawed off.

Nice. I assumed they would have tested it before shipping...

So back on went my old carb, along with a new base gasket. Lo and behold, it actually runs pretty good, though it still tends to flood when you shut it off. I've got a rebuild kit on the way from Mancinni Racing and will just epoxy the plastic body.

But this will have to wait till AFTER the Reno race.

Holy crap... HOW many days are left???

The Killer Bee is still not running correctly. It still has "FLOODING ISSUES."

[Slaps forehead]

(Kittty Still Here)

Next: Lambo

Previous: Oh... DUH.

From the Beginning of this mess: The Hook... (Part 1)

Oh... DUH.

2009-05-06T00:24:00.000-07:00

So like, I found the flooding problem.

And all I can say is "DUH".

Earlier on Wednesday I stopped off and picked up a half dozen "shims" from the MG supplier to try and fix this persistent flooding issue on my EvilBay sourced S.U. carbs. He didn't actually have any shims in stock, but he found some float needle gaskets we thought might work that he gave me for gratis, free.

When I got home I took the front float chamber lid off to do some tweaking and noticed the fuel level in the float chamber was a little low. Heck, with all that geyser action on Tuesday I expected it to be completely full of gas! This also struck me as odd... which usually means I am overlooking something.

I started to remove the fuel and breather lines to make monkeying with things easier, and it dawned on me that I had not yet installed the "Y" fitting that connects the breather to the charcoal canister. Which meant the breathers for both carbs were tied to each other instead of atmosphere.

"AHA!" I yelled to myself. Shortly followed by "You big dumbass."

In effect I had created a big fuel system "loop" that gave the air trapped inside the carbs no place to vent and ensured the floats would never close. I cut the line to insert a "Y" fitting and tried it again.

The fuel pump clicked and filled the carbs, then settled down and waited. Beautiful. Everything is finally back to normal. Perhaps my fuel flooding issues are behind me now.

On a positive note, I think I inadvertently pressure tested the entire fuel system. The only holes in the entire fuel system seem to be the gas cap and the main jets.

So for big moment #2, I jimmied the choke on with a pair of vice grips and prepared to start the car again. I held my breath, turned the key, and ZROOM! the car started right up!!!

YEE-HAA! WHAA-HOO!! It kept running, and kept running some more!

"What's wrong?" I heard my ready-to-dial-911-spouse call out the window.

Nothing! It works! It actually works!

"Okay, just be careful out there, promise?" she replied.

Yeah yeah yeah... "Sorry, can't hear you" I mimed as I pointed at my ears then went right back to playing with the engine.

I tried not to get TOO excited though. This is when all the little things you did wrong tend to crop up and make themselves known. I watched that little 1800cc motor like a father watches his kid, looking for signs of distress or impending doom. But there were no leaks, no fire, no mysterious puddles of black dino-juice oozing down the driveway.

Holy cow... We have officially crossed the point from where "it ran", to "it runs".

Because my neighbors had not gotten home yet, I took advantage of the opportunity and let the car warm up and idle for about a half hour to observe the temp and make sure the oil pressure stays above 0. Low and behold, not only did we have good oil pressure, the car eventually quit smoking!

I eventually shut it down and let it cool, then took a few moments to install what I have come to call my "Facesaver".

This little contraption is what makes working on a late model MGB just mildly frustrating, instead of outright deadly.

These late versions of the MGB have a stupid electric fan switch in the radiator that likes to pop out and scald your face with 180 deg coolant every time you go under the hood, especially if you are on your way to a show like the Palo Alto British Car Meet, and it's several days before your Anniversary cruise to Alaska.

It's no fun to be sitting at a formal dinner on some ship in pain with the skin of your nose falling off. People don't say anything, but you know they are wondering...

(Sidenote: I went home and took some advil, got a washcloth and a handful of ice cubes to cool the burn and drove the car back to Palo Alto out of spite and determination. We caught the last 45 min of the show as I ran around taking photos and holding a cold rag to my head. Terribly-worried-spouse kept insisting I go to the emergency room, but it really did not seem that bad. That is until she made me look at my face in a Triumph mirror, and I saw the skin was falling off my nose. Ah well, skins gone, too late now. But no WONDER people won't talk to me.)

As a result of all this I created this "facesaver" safety fix involving some crap I had laying around the shop like some safety wire and a flatwasher, and it works beautifully. Tonight I installed said contraption on our race car so that our pretty mugs will all stay safe come raceday.

The large washer goes over the temp switch, and the safety wire runs a loop behind the washer, through the radiator and again looping around the switch before twisting the ends together to tension and secure the mess. Simple. And since then I have seen others who had the same idea.

There is a clip available that was supposed to rectify the design flaw, but it does not always fit every car, and was designed by the same people that put that switch there, and also tried to kill us yanks with that Zenith Stromberg "Firepot" sitting right above the catalytic converter...

I'll go with the safety wire thank you.

(Kitty still here)

Next: So, I picked up my RV from the speed shop...

Previous: The Great Flood...

From the beginning of this mess: The Hook... (Part 1)

The Great Flood...

2009-05-05T10:49:00.000-07:00

When we last left our hapless heroes, they were struggling with a pair of flooding S.U. carbs on their 24 Hours of Lemons entry, the "Killer Bee" MBG.

I took the float lids back off to inspect and adjust the float. One look at them and I knew it was futile; The float hinges were worn beyond use. So I threw the lids and metering valves into some solvent to soak overnight.

The next day a quick trip to the local MG supplier revealed that the superior floats with an adjustable brass arm were NLA. The only version available anymore are the all plastic versions, that are non adjustable, but they do sell .015 shims to adjust the needle valve instead if needed.

I bought the floats and of course I forgot to get shims before I left.

Both the floats were a little tight around the float pin, which kept them from falling freely to let gas in. A little magic with a brass wire wheel cleaned up the pins. Working the pins them in and out of the float hinges reamed the floats so they were nice and free to open and close with gravity.

The MGB bible (IMHO) is the Haynes MGB repair manual. According to that book, the correct float height is about 1/8th of an inch, or .125. A good starting point.

The new floats come with instructions that claim anything between .062 and .187 is fine (1/16 to 3/16). Previous experience tells me that is horse puckey. At 1/16ths you'll flood around every corner, and 3/16ths it will sputter.

I set up my floats to measure them, and found the front float was at .136, and the rear was at .179. I'd prefer them to be about the same, and slightly high if possible to prevent flooding under hard cornering.

Test A) I swapped the float pins, slight improvement.

Test B) I returned the float pin and swapped floats, results were worse, further apart.

test C) I returned the floats and swapped the needle valves. MUCH worse.

Test D) I returned the needle valves, and this time swapped the floats AND float pins.

SUCCESS! Now the front was reading .152 and the rear .163. Pretty close, but they are both a bit too high, which will lower the fuel level in the chamber by a bit too much for comfort. I'll have to keep this in mind if it shows any gremlins on the road.

For now, back on the car they went, and I turned on the key for testing.

All this work resulted in MASSIVE FLOODING. Oh the fun we have.

4 year old gas was spurting EVERYWHERE, pouring right out of the carb throats! I lifted the chamber piston and gas began spewing like a geyser!

CRAP.

I turned off the key and scratched my head...

That does not seem right.

I troubleshot the fuel system for a while longer until those bloodthirsty mosquitoes drove me indoors. The pressure was good, not too high, not too low, started and stopped ok. The float needles were functioning, and the float level should keep the fuel level below normal if anything... yet it is still flooding. The "Generic" floats were looking MIGHTY suspect as I retired for the night.

Back to the store for a whopping $1 worth of adjustment shims I guess.

"You smell like gas" my Cute-But-To-The-Point-Spouse said. "Stay off the couch".

Well, at least I'm not sleeping on it, har-har! (Considering my antics, as she says...)

(Kitty Still Here)

Next: Oh... DUH.

Previous: It lives... IT LIVES, BWAA-HAA-HAA!!

From the beginning of this mess: The Hook... (Part 1)

It lives... IT LIVES, BWAA-HAA-HAA!!

2009-05-03T23:01:00.000-07:00

Igor, throw the switch!! NOW IGOR!! NOW!!

Our engine transplant and carb conversion on the Killer Bee racecar was a screaming success, and the patient is recouperating outside my neighbor's bedroom window. And by recuperating I mean the smoke is still clearing after it finally fired up this afternoon.

And it sounds gooooooood.

We have good oil pressure, and minimal leakage (it's an MGB, and just like an F14 Tomcat, if it's not leaking it's out of fluid!).

Earlier this weekend I finally removed what was left of the old rusty exhaust system, still hanging in the rear by a very rusted out U-bolt clamp and heavy duty hanger. The U-bolt was rusted beyond being able to break the nuts loose, even after 3 months of soaking in penetrating fluid. The positioning of the hanger prevented me from just cutting it off with a sawzall as well. The whole thing only vibrated and created a plume of rust dust that screwed up my sinuses for a week. Not a good time to be sneezing with the world afraid of sick pigs.

The answer came in the form of a Dremel tool with a cutoff disc. One surgical cut and the whole thing came crashing down and went into the scrap metal bin. Yahoo!

While installing the $20 swapmeet header and EvilBay intake, I realized my header was intended for a 72 and later S.U. HIF4, and/or or Webber DGV equipped car, which both have a thicker flange than my early S.U. HS4s. This results in bent studs and vacuum leaks if you try to use them anyways. (Allegedly - No comment).

I had measured the flange thickness before, but failed to notice there were spacers made out of what appeared to be flat washers cut in half, and welded to the mounting flange. "Huh. Interesting"

Once again the Dremel came to the rescue, making short work of the raised mounting surface. After they were removed and smoothed out the manifolds fit perfect.

Next onto the car went a nice new cherrybomb glasspack I had been saving for a special occasion. It has resided on display in my "muffler rack of shame" for about 3 years now. I have a whole wall section of the garage dedicated to exhaust parts and systems that have fallen off MGBs, and of course emergency replacement parts you need in order to get to work the next day.

When I went to put the Cherrybomb on, I realized that the glasspack slightly interfered with the transmission cross member. "WHY YOU SONOFA..." That's the last thing I needed to see, after the same cross member kicked my ass last week. Putting in a small section of pipe to clear it would place the muffler too far back to get a graceful exit out in front of the rear tire like I envision.

Not to be deterred, I set about formfitting the muffler to sit nicely in the stock exhaust route by sticking a jack under the muffler and raising the car off the ground with it. The result was a mirror image dent of the cross member on top of the muffler. Then I removed it and a few whacks with a half-jack later (2 1/2 lb mallet) it fits like OJ's glove.

The rest of the conversion from Zenith Stromberg "Firepot" to dual S.U.s went slowly and tediously, but luckily I had done this once before and still had the previous car sitting around as an example. What took months of scrounging and fabricating last time only took me a few days for this one. As a bonus, I was able to use up a lot of discard-bucket-parts in the process.

The gearshift lever went in, the wires got hooked up, and the hoses got hooked back up. The fuel lines were connected, and I turned the key on to test for leaks - amazingly there were none!

By this time the mosquitoes were sucking the life fluids out of me so I quit for the night and got an early start the next morning. And by early start I mean sitting in front of the computer eating granola till 10am, while my "Why-you-still-sitting-there" spouse kept asking me "why you still sitting there?"

Back out I went armed with unwarranted optimism. I figured that after double checking all my work I might actually get it started before lunch.

As usual I was wrong.

To make a long story a little shorter, a few weeks ago while having the rollcage installed, John Condren noticed the remaining headlight was on which was weird because the switch was removed and sitting in the back of the car. Figuring I would troubleshoot it later, I removed wires at random until I got to the offending circuit and the light went off, and I forgot all about it. Turns out the light was on because the "flash-to-pass" switch on the turn signal stalk is shorted out. Disconnecting that wire also disconnects the ignition relay, which is not shown in the schematics for this year car.

Freakin Lucas Leyland Limeys!!! This took entirely too long to figure out.

The big clue was that I had an ignition relay, and the schematics didn't. I ended up using a combination of 2 different schematics in order to get things going again. I then jammed something I picked up off the driveway concrete into the switch to disable it, hooked the wire back up, and I finally had juice to the ignition.

Lunch came at 2pm.

After lunch I tried to fire the engine, found Top Dead Center, adjusted the distributor, swapped distributor leads, tried to fire, swapped distributor and ignition module back to the one that came with the car, found TDC again, adjusted the distributor, swapped leads again, and "Rumble-rumble-bleh". (Giggle) I tried it again: "Rumble-rumble-bleh".

We had a running engine for about 3 seconds at a time. This went on forever as I monkeyed with various bits until I had it narrowed down to the carbs. The front float needle was varnished shut, starving the front carb, and the rear float was worn to the point it could not meter the fuel, flooding the rear.

Ah! Just like an MG! Now I was REALLY in my element. I have 4 cars and one motorcycle that run S.U. carbs, and by run I mean catch fire at random or sit on the side of the road with the hood up.

After a soak in solvent the front float was freed up and flooding as well. They are both in bad shape, so it looks like another trip to see Brian at the local MG supplier O'Connor Classics is in order, expecting it to cost another 25 bucks.

But the car does run really well above 2000rpm! And it sounds freaking awesome! So good in fact that I got another angry-neighbor-face peek from behind the window next door. So I ran back to my "muffler-rack-of-shame" and grabbed a few lengths of pipe and another muffler to quiet it down while testing outside their bedroom window. I even grabbed a fan to blow the smoke away into our back yards.

Ain't I a great neighbor?

As a bonus, we got mention in Jalopnik again Sunday. We are the first of a 2 part tiebreaker, in the "Guess How Many BMW E30s This Peugeot Will Beat At LeMons Reno, Win Fabulous Prizes!" contest, referring to team Cheese eating Surrender Monkeys

In case of a tie, you also have to make a guess at how many Miatas team Killer Bees will beat, and how many MR2s the Unsafe At Any Speed Corvair will beat.

Beat? Hell, I'd be happy to get to the track for once!

(Kitty Still Here)

Next: The Great Flood...

Previous: Another guy, Another motor

From The Beginning: The Hook... (Part 1)

Another guy, Another motor

2009-05-02T21:06:00.000-07:00

We have a new team member! I'm a little late in announcing this due to a busy schedule both at work and wrenching on the Killer bee, but our newest new team member is Peter S, aka “Gargamel!”

Formerly a driver for team “The Dead Smurfs” who ran at the Freezarseapalooza 08, he comes to us in response to our posting on Yahoo groups, due to our umpteenth 4th seat dropout.

Our latest "4th team member" drama involved his wife insisting he needed to attend a wedding instead, and so once again we had a vacancy. We are required to have a minimum of 4 drivers, so our line was cast yet again. This time we hooked Gargamel who came to see the car and was crazy enough to join our team anyways. So welcome to the Killer Bees!

With any luck this guy will be our last. He also happens to be in danger of the dreaded “Last one to pay up wears the stupid bee mascot costume” clause. Yeay.

I tried talking my "Not-on-your-life-spouse" into wearing the bee outfit because she would look REALLY cute. She said "Not on your life buster. Not unless you pay me a hundred dollars."

Sheesh.

Progress over the last 2 weeks included finally deciding on the best location to mount the safety electrical cutoff switch and then getting it installed.

Next I got the engine started again, and the same god awful squeal/scream was still there. Every dog in town was barking when I shut it down. I'm sure I endear myself to my neighbors. Come to think of it, we never get any trick or treaters...

Anyways, it seemed to originate from the clutch area, pointing towards a bad throwout bushing. But to know for sure the engine and tranny needed to come out. Damn.

So, I yanked the motor – and found a totally wasted aftermarket throwout bearing.

Stock MGBs have a solid bushing instead of a roller bearing. It is similar to a mini brake shoe that wears over time. This is why you hear MG folks say “Keep your foot off the @#$% clutch pedal!” because resting your foot on it will prematurely wear out the bushing – and the only way to fix it is to pull the motor and transmission. This design dates back to the beginnings of MG, and was still there with the end of line for MGBs in 1980.

There was an aftermarket throwout "bearing" available some years ago, but it got a bad rap because some of them would come apart and grenade themselves. I had never seen that in person, and used one in my MGBGT for over 250k miles without a problem. Still, they seemed to have been quietly pulled from the market a while back.

Few things surprise me on an MG anymore, but this was one of them. This appeared to have had what was left of an aftermarket bearing inside, however it REALLY self destructed. Both the mounting ears were snapped off, and the rest of it was hanging off the pilot shaft in a heap of broken silver rings.

“Interesting.”

I figured the clutch was probably questionable as well, and rather than spend money on a new set, I decided to just throw in another used motor with a decent clutch I picked up for 500 bucks. After I sold the Webber DGV setup that came on it for $215 to some guy in Arcata, the motor only cost me $285.

I will try to sell the old motor for 350, which could hopefully leave me with a 65 dollar profit! And I still have the intake/exhaust manifold, smog pump and firepot Zenith Stromberg carb I can pawn on EvilBay.

I plan on running a set of early dual S.U.s I scored for $125 that “came off a running car”. Yeah, sure they did. Lets just hope they "kinda work".

The new motor went in on Sunday pretty easily, but then I spent an entire week on a whacked rear Transmission mount. I think I pissed off they Leyland gods, because this contraption was not going together without a fight, and I ended up bunging up some threads in the process. Crap.

After several hours each night fighting 4 stupid bolts for an entire week, I needed a mental break from wrenching and decided to lay out the bee livery and door number.

Man it looks like crap, and it's freaking awesome! (But still top secret)

The next day I went back to rear mount – tapped out/cleaned the threads, used a 3 pound mallet to adjust the angle on the upper wing mount, and it FINALLY went together...

Damn! Time for a cold one.

I was going to bring a spare motor with us just in case, but this excursion changed my mind. If we have any problems, by the time we got the motor changed everyone else would be long gone from the track.

So if it blows, we are done...

(Kitty still here)

Next: It lives... IT LIVES, BWAA-HAA-HAA!!

Previous: Brakes, and other things that break.

From The Beginning of this crazy adventure: The Hook... (Part 1)

Brakes, and other things that break.

2009-04-27T21:34:00.000-07:00

(Kitty Still Here)

2 weeks ago I got busy taking care of some of the basics on our LeMon MGB.

First up was replacement of the 30 year old brake hoses, with an upgrade to braided Stainless Steel brake lines. I have used these lines on several street MGBs now, and am a huge fan of the firmer pedal and positive braking feedback. I also really appreciate the extra safety margin over the original rubber hoses in case we run into debris.

All three lines were replaced, and the lines were flushed with new fluid.

Next up were new brake pads.

I chose factory style MGBGT-V8 pads, which have a 20 percent larger swept area, yet still fit in to the stock calipers. Again, this should improve brake pedal feel and allow even slightly longer periods between pad changes.

The rears will remain stock.

While I had the front end up in the air I heard something make a crunchy sound, and noticed things did not look normal. Upon close inspection I saw the passenger side front coil spring was broken and sitting at an angle. “Ah crap!” I thought. So I pulled the whole thing apart to see what the damage was.

Turns out, the spring had snapped off the last 2 coils. “Interesting” I said to no one in particular. What to do? Why, cut the other side to match of course! Old school lowering 101!

Rubber bumper MGBs suffered from being raised higher than the earlier cars due to federally mandated bumper height laws in the late 70’s. In addition to giving them a farm truck look, it also had a devastating effect on that handling the earlier cars were known for. A popular modification is to lower them back to chrome bumper levels and restore some dignity.

So back in went what was left of the broken coil, while the driver’s side got disassembled then surgically altered with my trusty Dremel tool to level it out. The end result was perfect, and the car finally looked a little less awkward.

Except now its butt was still up in the air.

(Gratuitous shot of Brownie, worlds Greatest crappy RV, skillfully blocking nearly all view of my private backyard Kentucky from the street)

So, not wanting the car to handle strangely, I relented on my self-imposed new parts ban (for other than safety) and picked up a set of lowering blocks for the rear. This set me back a hundred bucks that I will hopefully be able to pick back up by selling something else, keeping me under the 500 dollar limit.

I installed the lowering blocks and checked the static ride height. I was looking for the car to be ¾ inch higher in the rear as measured at the pinch weld under the rocker panel, and within ½ inch side to side with driver in car and the weight of half a tank of gas mimicked. I figured gas to be about 6.2lb per gal, and half a tank is aprox 5 gal, so I stuck 35 lbs of junk in the trunk and measured.

It was nearly perfect which indicates the corner weight loading is at least in the right ballpark. Wow, it almost sounds like I know what I'm doing! Such is not the case however...

And as we run over bumps and rusty parts begin to fall off, we may have to re-think our approach.

Chowderhead expresses concern...

Next: Another guy, Another motor

Previous: Progress on RACE car.

From The Beginning: The Hook... (Part 1)

Progress on RACE car.

2009-04-14T20:37:00.000-07:00

This weekend we hit a major milestone with our race car code-named Lazarus. Shh… you don’t know that. It’s an MGB. Shhhh… You don’t know that either.

John Condren graciously agreed to help me weld in the Autopower roll cage I got from Raceport on Saturday. I say help, but I really mean I watch and stay the hell out of the way, and try not to burn myself a SECOND time from hot pipes. “Oh, it’s only a flesh wound!”

(Keeping a bucket of cold water handy was one of MANY a good ideas I learned from John, thanks!)

My original plan was to finish up bleeding the brakes and fix the clutch on Friday night, and nurse the car onto the trailer for the half hour trip south. However I was delayed by the bad news concerning Tigger-cat, and we spent the evening with her instead.

Saturday morning I got the brake job done, which meant we could now STOP the car, but discovered the clutch slave cylinder was shot and leaking like a sieve. The repair kit only costs 5 dollars, but I had no parts and no time. So I stole a battery out of the infamous Datsun – Bluebie, and proceeded to wake the entire neighborhood while I loaded it on the trailer with no clutch. As a bonus I was able to conduct a “Wicked-Hot-Starter-Test”. Result: Pass. Good old Lucas Electrics.

After unloading at John’s house we attempted the same thing to get it up his driveway. To my surprise the engine even started. It would sputter, but not really move the car. So, between the intermittent engine, a wicked hot starter and the two of us pushing, we were able get it up his driveway and across 100 feet of soft grass to where his garage and welding equipment were. I was wheezing for breath a long time it seemed. (Gotta quit eating them Mother’s cookies I stocked up on.)

I say garage, but what I mean is “Cool-ass-shop/man-cave.

It is everything that mine is not. I marveled at the fact that I did not have to step over crap or duck underneath anything. Bright, clean, well lit… and organized. Twice a year I get a vision in my head like that, and spend DAYS cleaning mine up. Best I can manage is “mild catastrophe”. Maybe I should practice on this focus thing I hear so much about.

I watched him weld, helping when I could, and taking in as much as possible. It is one thing to read about welding or to see it on film, but is better to see it done up close live. Having several decades of soldering experience and certifications, I know a bit about fusion of metal. However other than that, the two skills are about as dissimilar as you can possibly get. So it was a good class, so to speak. I plan on finally doing it myself soon.

Of as much value, was listening to John’s stories and advice. We were pretty busy so I did not get a whole lot of the stories but they were keepers. And his advice was spot on, which I appreciate. Thanks John! The Condrens were very gracious hosts.

On a worrisome note, he told me with a chuckle, he admired my gumption and naivety.

Hmmm…

No time for pondering; On to the next task! Let’s see if we can get this thing to RUN!

Next: Brakes, and other things that break.

Previous: Progress being made, (on support vehicle)

From the Beginning: The Hook... (Part 1)

Kitty Still here....

Progress being made, (on support vehicle)

2009-04-13T18:20:00.000-07:00

(Kitty still with us)

In addition to safety gear, recently a flood of boxes containing new parts steadily kept arriving. My suspicious-of-the-empty-boxes-spouse asked, “What are all these parts that keep showing up? I thought you had a 500 dollar limit?”

Oh yes my little crumpet, tis true I can spend no more than 5 Benjamins on that heaping pile of rust we foolishly decided to call a racecar.

However, there is NO spending cap on Brownie, the worlds greatest crappy RV! In fact, since we were gonna keep it after all, I decided to pimp it out! I mean if we are going to use this as race headquarters, I gotta replace the exhaust anyways, and we GOTTA do SOMETHING cool to it!!!

My “I-can’t-believe-I-married-you-spouse” slapped herself on the forehead, yet again.

“No, no, I have it ALL figured out. I even have a plan this time!” I defended my self.

Side-pipes, disco ball, vintage steering wheel, some shag carpet to go with the existing shag carpet, a little velour to compliment the wood paneling, I’m doin this thing up big time, ’70 STYLE! “

Ooooh yeaaaaahhhhh!”

“Think about it” I added excitedly to my rolling-eyes-spouse. “It could be, like, the ultimate 70’s cruising van, except with a built in shower!!”

“Oh dear, REALLY?” she said with a lot of hesitation. “I dunno, I think I would have to actually see it.” While she still doubted my vision if not my ability, I could see she was starting to get infected with my enthusiasm for the project.

I forget, she is a product of the ‘80s. And while the passage of much time has allowed me to finally look back on the ‘70’s with rosy-colored goggles, she has no memory of it at all. Bell-bottom cords, feathered hair, velour shirts, CUSTOM VANS, CB radios, Smokey and the Bandit, BJ and the Bear, NONE of this rang any bells. So I went online and looked up as many photos of vintage custom vans as I could find on Yahoo and Google.

Turns out, there are about 5.

What the HELL? What happened to all the cool shaggin-waggons? (I doubted myself for a moment, then I was sure, no, it really DID happen).

I suddenly had a new obsession, researching the millions of vintage custom vans that apparently have all mysteriously vanished off the planet. Were we REALLY so embarrassed about what had transpired, that we spent the entire 1980’s wiping out any trace they even existed? Am I the only one who secretly disagreed every time they were made fun of? I find that hard to believe, even if it is true.

In fact, now that I think about it, my favorite TV show “Life on Mars” had not shown ONE example of the “Vannin Craze”.

Hmmm… not to be deterred, I got back on Evil-bay and found some vintage customizing brochures from the era, in COLOR! Brochures are my heroin. I have more than I can count, from Ford Couriers, to 1960s Dodge School buses, and nearly every early Datsun sales catalog ever printed. Sometimes I just gotta stare at one for an hour to get my fix.

So a few days later a bunch of custom van brochures showed up at the house… and I had a lot of explaining to do.

After I made up for it with a night at the movies and some pizza, I showed her the vans in the photos. Some were horrible, some were kinda cool. But I got the all important “That would be neat” from “under-my-spell-spouse”.

And then I reminded myself:

I am SUPPOSED to be working on the race-car.

Next: Progress on RACE car

Previous: An ode to my fuzzy little companion (Sad)

From the Beginning: The Hook... (Part 1)

An ode to my fuzzy little companion

2009-04-11T19:16:00.000-07:00

Tigger -

The wonderful thing about tiggers
Is tiggers are wonderful things!
Their tops are made out of rubber;
Their bottoms are made out of springs!
They're bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy,
Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun!
But the most wonderful thing about tiggers is
I'm the only one!

It’s approaching midnight, Good Friday of 2009. I can hear the music of a Mexican pop love song escaping a dimly lit cantina and wafting through the late night chill, the crooning voice eerily echoing down this normally busy but now deserted street. I am alone walking my dog underneath orange sodium lights, past empty storefronts that line Main Street of my small California town.

I am drunk with grief.

Exhausted, eyes stinging from hours of tears barely held back. I have gone for a long slow walk to try what I have heard others say helps in time like these, talking to my dog. It’s a new dog for me, and I’m not sure the dog even likes me, so I don’t know if it’s going to work.

Many years ago when I got out of the Navy, the timing coincided with the second annual running of the Hot Rod Magazine Power Tour, and I jumped at the chance to take part in it, driving my 383 powered ’67 Dodge Polara, an ugly $300 car carrying an $8,000 drive train.

With me in the back seat of the car was a large plastic box with a swinging door cut out from a plastic milk jug complete with a peep-hole, and above that was a tongue in cheek sticker above it that read “Caution: Live Animals”.

What’s in there? People asked. “Oh, it’s my cat” I replied on numerous occasions. “WHAT?? You brang a CAT on Power Tour?” yes, yes I did. And she wasn’t all that happy about it either.

It was funny though, seeing people’s faces as they watched the parade of hot-rods make it’s way across the great plains, and then suddenly spotting my cat’s head staring back at them.

We spent another 3 months on the road, camping and couch-crashing to visit old friends, and see as much as we could of this great nation. It was as if I was a beatnik – a throwback from another time.

Tigger and I hit all our major bodies of water. The night before the tour we camped out in the car just off the Santa Monica Pier. Hello Pacific. We drove with the group up towards Chicago to bookend old Route 66, then on to the Great Lakes, ending up in Norwalk Ohio. After the festivities we drove south, stopping off to see the Chattanooga Choo-choo and go camping in the Great Smokey Mountains and chase fireflies, Tigger doing so in a harness and on a leash. We continued on to Pensacola and New Orleans for the gulf of Mexico, and then on to Daytona beach for the Atlantic.

As I was staging the car for a photo on the beach, the tide suddenly came in, and as the waves came up to and under the car, the look on my cat’s face was priceless.

I rescued her and we drove back to New Orleans (of course), then on to Texas and up tornado alley. We stopped to pay our respects at the site of the still recent Oklahoma City tragedy, and cut back across to Salt Lake City, Wendover, and the Bonneville Salt Flats. Finally our travels brought us back home to the Sierras via Lake Tahoe.

Quite the well traveled cat.

She was also a feisty one, full of attitude, and always had something to say. She practically named herself with all her bouncy-springy craziness, just like the
animated character. It was unreal. My Hispanic friends called her “Gato-Demonica. My Japanese friends called her Paaco-chan - Little Crazy. People who don’t usually like cats found her hard to resist. And my late Grandfather, the only time I saw him laugh his ass off, was from her antics, some of which I happened to catch on tape.

Years later in the aftermath of the dot-com bust, I sold most of what I owned and put the rest into storage. Tigger and I moved into Brownie - the world’s best crappy RV – and hit the road for a whole year while on sabbatical, to travel and write music.

It is this period of time I realized she had a hidden talent. She became my music critic. When I play well and my songs flow nicely, she will sit with her back towards me, eyes closed, ears following the music.

If I mess up or she does not like the song vibe, she lets me know with flat ears, a sharp look, a meow, or by just walking away. I consider her my ultimate test, and it works.

Years ago when I adopted her from a San Diego shelter, I thought myself more of a dog guy but decided a cat better fit my living arrangements at the time. None the less, I’m an animal lover in general, and she soon stole my heart with her antics and feisty attitude.

I believe that adopting an animal is for life, and a serious commitment. Nothing is as cruel as to be abandoned. After a rocky start to our relationship I eventually realized Tigger secretly loved me, and I promised her I would take care of her to the very end, and never ever abandon her - for any reason.

Now I find myself 16 years later, having nearly fulfilled my promise. And wishing - somehow - that I never ever could.

Earlier today my big-eyed-concerned-spouse and I took Tigger into the vet. She had been getting sick, stopped eating and was losing weight fast. For years she has been on a strict diet because of her slightly “Garfield” figure. Recently her sudden slimming has been a major concern. The first doctor a few months ago took x-rays, said she had an inflamed tummy, gave us medicine, took our money and sent us on our way.

Shortly after that my lost-one-Mackie-dog-and-worried-about-her-other-dog-spouse, lost her Chow Cinnamon to a botched surgery by the same clinic. In a last ditch attempt to save Cinnamon, we transferred her to an ER clinic, who said she should have NEVER been operated on. My poor tearful-eyed-spouse ended up losing both her life-long friends in a span of a few months.

And now again, just a few months later, Tigger is also sick.

Our new vet, one of the best and kindest I have ever met, came back with bad news and showed me the X-ray. My little buddy has a massive growth in her intestines which has blocked everything off. Nothing in, nothing out. Worse, it has recently spread to her lungs. It was caught too late.

We can try to manage and shrink the growth temporarily to give her a more comfortable ending… We may delay it from days, to weeks, maybe even a few months. But there is no mistaking it… this will be the end, and it is almost time. It is now my job to watch for the signs, and decide.

I have been dreading this moment. When she hit 10 I realized she was an old lady. At 11 and 12 I tried to prepare myself. At 13 and 14 she was so healthy I thought maybe she could go all the way to 20. I even started to expect it.

This spring, my little girl will have reached her sweet 16th birthday, which is ancient for a cat. Yet it still seems to have gone by in a blink of an eye. How can the day I knew was coming “someday” have suddenly showed up so out of the blue? What will I do without her? And how am I going to know if my music is any good? She WAS my music.

Chelsea, our team mascot, listened to my ramblings as we walked aimlessly, occasionally stopping to smell the odd bush here and there, but uncharacteristically stayed well behaved for the whole walk, and gave me looks from her soulfull eyes. I appreciate her company and it did make me feel a little better. We are off to the same rocky start I had with Tigger, and there is some poetic justice in that.

In typical dog selflessness, she suggested we make Tigger our honorary team mascot for the race. From her I got the idea we can take one of kitty’s toys racing with us, and bring it back a trophy of success. We can even have Tigger choose which toy to bring…

Thank you for everything little buddy. You outlasted nearly everything else in my life. God I’m going to miss you…

Next: Progress being made, (on support vehicle!)

Previous: The Characters

From The Begining: The Hook...

The Characters:

2009-04-08T19:53:00.000-07:00

Dreams are like rainbows. Only idiots chase them.

Now that we found our 6th consecutive 4th team member, and have officially been accepted into the Reno 24 Hours of LeMons race, work has progressed steadily both on the car and getting the team ready for the race. A steady stream of boxes has been arriving every morning, full of the required safety gear.

After receiving our official acceptance letter (WHOO-HOO!) a team email was sent out to team members saying “Pay Up Sucker! Last one to pay wears the Dancing Bee Costume.” Also listed was the following small text warning: “A sense of humor is MANDATORY, and stupid nicknames WILL be assigned.”

To that end, let me introduce our drivers;

“Lurch”: (Chris) A tall strange man who I have worked and traveled with for quite a few years now. His qualifications are simply that he has a proven ability to hold his bladder while driving intensely for many hours on end, often without hitting anything. Oh, and he signs my paychecks and does a mean BBQ, Wife is a superb pastry chef. In order to fit him in the car, the seat will need to mounted so low the rest of us can't see over the steering wheel. What could possibly go wrong?

“Chuck”: (Brandon) As in Norris. Aka Brother in Law. On the team partly because he is married to my sister in law, and rumored to be made of pure Kryptonite. Has spoken of having MUCH track time, and being a worldwide contender for best driver EVER. (May have secretly mentored the Stig). Also a 3x Neon belt Ninja, Army Ranger, and in fact - most heroic characters in action movies are loosely based on his life. His tears can cure cancer, too bad he never cries. Bonus skill; Answers unasked questions with remarkable accuracy.

“Hey WOW man”: Last name Chong. Artist. Blows Glass. Builds and races carts, Loves BBQ. Claims to be involved with many aspects of behind the scene racing… uh… stuff. Sounds unfocused and fishy to me. But hey, we met him at random in a Clamper bar, so that’s good enough for me. Only team member safe from wearing the dreaded “last to pay-up” costume.

“Sparky”: (Pete) as in “Sparky from Speed Racer” Team Capitan’. Yours Truly. Only qualifications… able to hold bladder for LONG periods of time, well versed in living with the Lucas Electrical systems found on MGBs and other fine British makes (Dim, flicker and dark – all you need to know). NEARLY a 24 Hours of LeMons veteran. Obsessed with filling garage full of obscure car parts, “Just in case”. Loves his crappy old RV. Bonus: Will have the only functioning fleet of vehicles after a nuclear war, and nearly all have wing windows.

“Squeeky”: Team Manager: “Cute-fluffy-pants-who-puts-up-with-A-LOT-spouse”. The brains of this outfit who keeps this whole mess moving forward. Makes me walk the dog in the middle of the night. Also makes a KICK-ASS spicy spaghetti!

“Chowderhead”: Team Mascot. A former Rescue Shelter Dog (frequent flier). Has defect in brain. Won’t be participating in any race festivities due to alleged brain defect and subsequent liability issues. Loves to chase concrete squirrel statues, bikes, strollers, cars, joggers, trees, telephone poles, airplanes, moon, tail, leaves, grass… can catch a mean crop of grass. Known to freak out from breathing too much oxygen.

And so there you have it. The whole mess.

Names have been changed to deliberately reveal the guilty parties.

(No concrete squirrel statues were harmed in the making of this blog entry. Batteries not included, hurry while supplies last, do not attempt at home, EVER.)

Next: An ode to my fuzzy little companion

Previous: Convergence of weirdness, team comes together.

From the Beginning: The Hook... (Part 1)

Convergence of weirdness, team comes together.

2009-04-04T21:52:00.000-07:00

Frisbeetarianism- G. Carlin

Up in the mountains, when we had electricity one of my favorite pastimes was to listen to old vinyl records of comedians like the Smothers brothers, George Carlin, Bill Cosby, Cheech & Chong. There wasn’t much in the way of TV stations, maybe 2 or 3 stations that faded in and out even if you had power. Of the few shows we DID get I grew up on “Creature Features”, Friday Night Videos, and Dialing for Dollars (They never called me when we had a phone). Otherwise it was radio (Dr Don Rose, Dr Demento and Paul Harvey – Good Day!) and good old vinyl.

When we had no power, it was battery powered radios and cassette recordings of all the old radio shows like the Lone Ranger. We also had a DC powered TV so we could watch the Raiders play Monday night Football while plugged into the lighter of my parent's T-bird. Sitting on the hood as we cooked some BBQ, it always faded out at the end of the third quarter so we never knew who won. And with the Raiders of the early 80s that was torture. Down by 20+ points at the end of the third, we just knew they got their asses handed to them. The next day on the bus to school I was stunned; "What do you mean they won?" Or the next weekend they would be up by 14, and I find out the next day they LOST? UG!

But it was the comedy records I remember the most, especially Cheech and Chong bits like “Crusin with Pedro de Paco”, which also was the team name of my first (and rejected) Lemons entry.

“Hey WOW man, you drive just like Steve McQueen…”

I read Tommy Chong's book, "The I Chong: Meditations from the Joint" while on a cruise to Alaska for our 1st anniversary with my
"loves-to-sail-because-she-wasn't-in-the-navy -spouse".

The cruise was nice (Saw a bear) but the book was more interesting. He went to prison for 9 months for selling blown glass "Art" nationwide on the Internets.

I think "The Man" was still a little upset about the whole 70s stoner thing.

I have been known to sneak into our conference room at HQ before presentations and write on the upper left hand corner of the whiteboard:

Sister Mary Elephant
Homeroom
Social Studies-1
Guest: SGT Stadenko

Then struggle to keep a straight face as the CEO gives his company wide quarterly updates, while people quietly notice it and figure out the joke. (Why do they always look at ME?)

Recently we went to see the "Cheech & Chong Light Up America" reunion tour at a local theater. Pretty funny stuff, but it just DID NOT OCCUR to me that the theater would be filled with Ganja smoke. Yes, I know, it seems blatantly obvious in hindsight. I just remember being glared at my “what-is-WRONG-with-you-spouse” who I dragged out to see them with me. She was from a different generation, and I found myself with a lot of ‘spalinen’ to do, after we stopped on the way home to buy some nachos. She had her first case of the munchies I think.

The next day I flew out on another business trip and my hero Tommy Chong was at the airport with his wife Shelby. They walked by, and then a while later she walked by again. She walked back, and came through once again dragging Chong with her. Not sure what just happened, but it was funny. Later as I was buying a car magazine Shelby got in line at the kiosk. “Great Show” I said.

“Thanks” she replied. And then an awkward silence followed...

I felt like a jackass.

***************

And speaking of Jackasses;

The most entertaining thing up in the mountains growing up were Clampers.

ECV, E Clampus Vitus. Typical garb at a 'doins, what sayeth the bretheren?

Motto: Creedo Quia Absurdum- I believe because it is absurd.

Yes, I am also a Clamper. Third generation, and unfortunately it is terminal.

But what does Clamper mean you may ask?

Answer: I do not know.

“And so recorded”.

These seemingly fractured elements would converge one recent evening as I was out to dinner with my “I-want-BBQ-spouse”…

We went to the Highlife in San Jose, which was recently featured on “Man-vs-food”, and a known Clamper bar in addition to having great ribs.

I was sitting there discussing with my hungry-spouse how I was going to find a 4th driver for the team. Suddenly a man walks in behind me and asks “Do you do that 24 hours of LeMons race?”

“What?” I replied a little shocked. “Um, yeah. I keep trying to. How did you know THAT?”

“Your jacket” my “captain-obvious-spouse” whispered. Oh, RIGHT! I had been wearing my awesome new Lemons Jacket, the only real tangible evidence I ended up with from the arsefreezeapalooza fiasco.

The guy said he had heard about it and been checking it out, and REALLY wanted to do it.

I said “Well, I just happen to have an open seat on my team if you are interested”.

We introduced ourselves, and he told me his last name was Chong. “Lol, NO way.”

And he was a glassblower. “Ha-ha-ha!! Hey WOW man! You are SOOOOO on the team!!”

Next: The Characters:

Previous: Hammer, Screwdriver & Vise grips

From The Begining: The Hook... (Part 1)

Hammer, Screwdriver & Vise grips

2009-04-03T20:21:00.000-07:00

I grew up in the backwoods boonies of northern California. Several of the homes and cabins we lived in had no electricity, and even those that did could sometimes have the power interrupted for days or weeks at a time. Long before cell phones if a tree took out the power, it took out the phone too, for weeks. Such was life deep in the woods. Most homes ran on generators if they had one. Otherwise it was kerosene lamps, propane stoves and fridges, hand washing and sun drying, just like the good old days grandpa kept yappin about.

The bus stop was at the end of the line, over an hour from the centralized high school. And then it was another 7 mile walk home over a mountain pass with over a thousand foot elevation change. For several years I had to walk and it was 5 miles uphill, 2 miles steep down. So yeah, it kinda WAS uphill both ways. But I wasn’t thankful, ha-ha-ha… Especially when it snowed, and it snowed a LOT.

You learned to make do with what you had. Later when I started driving, if your car broke down you had two choices. Fix it with what you happened to have in the trunk or found laying on the side of the road, or walk home - because there were no part stores. The problem with walking home was that even if you made it without encountering a bear (Yup, say “Yo bear!” ala Man-vs-wild) or mountain lion, you still had to walk back and fix the car.

The big cats and bears usually left you alone and weren’t much of a problem. It was the free range cattle and wild pigs that were a problem. Every herd of cows had a bull somewhere that did not take kindly to you making your way through the herd as they wander stupidly all over the dirt roads. You never knew when you would run into a herd, and when you did, you looked for and hid from the bull. When you heard the snort and feet stamp, you knew you were in trouble.

The wild pigs were something else completely. I don’t know what their problem is. I do know I had been treed a few times in gold rush era apple trees by angry boars. They will circle the base of the tree snorting and grunting for HOURS trying to eat you. Thank god there were apples to munch on.

It was a lot easier to just fix the car.

I once replaced a lower control arm and spindle on the Gremlin (wheel got torn off by the infamous cedar trees I don’t want to talk about) on the side of the road with a hammer, flathead screw driver and a pair of vicegrips. I was doing the vagrant thing, living out of my car and couch crashing as I tried to finish high school, so I REALLY had no place to go. A nearby hippy had an old Hornet racecar sitting behind his shed, so he cut parts off with a torch and rolled it out to me wheel and all. I sat down in the dirt and did roadside surgery right there at the scene of the “incident”. It took me 3 days and it wasn’t pretty, but I got it rolling again. Do you realize how long it takes to remove a bolt using the hammer and screw driver technique? It CAN be done though. As a result though, to this day I have a tool fetish, and am no longer allowed into the Sears tool department.

Just one look at that back wall with all their tools on display, and...

Next: Convergence of weirdness, team comes together.

Previous: It lives... No, not really.

From The Beginning: The Hook... (Part 1)

It lives... No, not really.

2009-04-02T18:25:00.000-07:00

The next day after work I removed the Zenith Stromberg “Firepot” of a Carburetor to see what condition it was in before messing with anything else. The float bowl was leaking like a sieve, and I discovered that the o-ring that seals the center drain plug was completely rotted. I picked one out of the shop bit-bucket where I toss all my un-useless stuff. It looked like something that I removed from the Harley but fit just right.

I threw it back on the car and tried it again. The float chamber was no longer leaking, but it was still flooding badly. So back off it came and I opened it up. I found 2 out of 3 tiny rivets holding the float to the needle arm had given up the ghost, leaving it to flop around inside the chamber. Interesting.

Rather than mess around with something I wasn’t going to use any longer, I borrowed the smog-check-special carb from our other MG just to see if I could get it started. My hope is to get this thing smog and street legal, and drive it. Even commute in it. I don't know why I do these things. But the carb went on, the fuel pump filled it with 4 year old gas, and then the car started right up! The motor had good oil pressure, and also a spine-tingling squeal originating from the back of the engine. Ooh boy.

The star of the show however was the huge cloud of blue smoke coming up from the engine compartment as it warmed up, rolling out from under the front fenders, spewing out the back and even drifting up from the floorboards. Ooh Boy.

I recalled Hillary saying “The motor is pretty much shot” and thought to myself “aren’t all MGB motors? Ha-ha-ha…" but no, he wasn’t kidding. This one was pretty bad.

The squealing noise got louder and I saw the curtains next door part for a second, so I shut it off. The smoke kept coming though. And coming… It looked like an old steam train warming up for a trip up the mountain. “Holy crap!” I cursed, waving at the smoke as if I could do anything about it as it drifted across the busy street and towards the local tree-hugger’s house.

Last thing I need now is the fire department showing up like it did for the gear-heads down the street last Christmas. They closed the garage door to keep their smoking car from attracting attention as they worked on it, but when it started coming out of the chimney and every window in the house the fire department showed up. They opened the garage door to find a sea of emergency vehicles and rescue personnel staring at them, as they stared back with bloodshot eyes. Thank god I’m not like THEM I thought. Carbo-monoxide-o makes me mellow man... like WOW man.

(Tip: Growing and/or mowing your grass helps keep neighbors from getting too nosy)

I was standing behind the MG when I looked down and saw a HUGE comet shaped pile of rust originating behind the exhaust, and leading towards my unaware-as-of-yet-spouse’s smart car. And, ALL OVER the front of her smart car. Ooh boy. Where did THAT come from? I looked into the tailpipe and saw speckles of daylight everywhere. Ah. Interesting.

“Honey? Can I borrow your keys? I called out.

“Sure, where you going?”

Gotta go pick up some parts real quick. Be right back.” I answered, and secretly stopped off at the car wash.

“How sweet” she said later when she saw it all clean.

Yeah, that’s me. Mr sweet. I’ll buy you dinner…

“Ok, now what did you do?”

Next: Hammer, Screwdriver & Vise grips

Previous: Work on the Race MGB Begins

From the Beginning: The Hook... (Part 1)

Work on the Race MGB Begins

2009-04-01T20:38:00.000-07:00

The last few months have been a whirlwind of activity with the team, the car and work....

...Not to mention a whole bunch of butt kissing directed at my “Hey-we-have-no-more-parking-spouse”.

When we got the car home I gave it a thorough inspection from top to bottom. And my first impression came from under the hood the next evening. In the fading sun the car almost looked too nice to turn into a LeMons racer. Most everything was in place, and included factory tid-bits not usually seen after so many years. I began to second guess my plans for a moment, and called it quit for the night while I mulled it over.

The next day however in the sunlight my opinion completely changed. The more I looked at the more I saw. The interior was garbage, every last bit. It had more rust than I first thought, and every single part on the car was corroded, broken or scratched. There weren’t many parts in good enough condition to reuse on a restoration or worth selling. They weren’t even driver quality.

That’s going to make it hard to sell extra parts and offset some of the car cost. The rules state you can sell parts to bring the total investment in under 500 bucks, but I have very little I can work with. This is going to be a little harder than I hoped. But I felt better about the LeMons thing. This is the PERFECT car.

I ordered new brake components, including Stainless Steel lines and V8 front pads. The rules state safety items like brakes, tires, fuel cell and roll cage are not included in the limit. In keeping with the spirit of LeMons, I am staying with stock components and/or whatever came on the car whenever possible unless safety dictates something better. Brake hoses are one such item along with new pads and a fluid change.

On Evilbay I scored a set of earlier MGB S.U. side draught 1 ½” carbs for 125 bucks, to replace the Zenith Stromberg “Firepot” on the car now. Anyone who has owned a Rubber Bumper MGB knows this is for ALL our safety. This whole setup was a stop-gap contraption by British Leyland and is prone to catching fire. I'm all for excitement but that's where I draw the line. While the stock earlier SUs are not really performance items per se, they may allow the car to get out of it's own way on the track. I’ll also throw on the rusty header I picked up at the swap-meet for 20 bucks and call it good. Plans call for a cherry-bomb muffler and the exhaust exiting on the drivers side in front of the rear wheel, NASCAR style. Er, NASCAR, if it was made up of a bunch of hillbillys.

I also ordered an Autopower roll cage from I/O Port. This is the beginning of the big ticket items and was a little hard to swallow. Almost 900 bucks for the full cage. But as they say, racing ain’t cheap.

Next I threw a spare battery in the car and hooked it up to see what happened. Nothing. Good news. I turned the key to accessory and waited again. Silence. So far so good. No smoke, no fire. (A rare feat in an MGB!)

I turned the key to the on position. Dash lights came on, and the fuel pump started whirring. Still no fire, and no smoke. I could hear the fuel pump sloshing fuel into the lines, and it began to slow down. Good news.

But it kept going. Normally the pump will slow down and begin to click as it builds pressure. This one sped up and slowed down as air pumped thru the system, but never built any pressure. After a moment or two I turned off the key and looked under the hood.

Ah. A gas leak. HOLY MOLLY, Make that gas leaks. Whoo boy. That Zenith carb has some serious flooding issues. No wonder it had high hydrocarbons on the last smog check, lol! Gas came out of every POSSIBLE orifice. And several more areas I did not think was possible.

I stepped back and let the car dry out, while making a mental note on where the fire extinguisher was.

But then came the call, it was time for dinner. Pizza? ALRIGHT! Screw this thing.

Next: It lives... No, not really.

Previous: The Race Car

From the Beginning: The Hook... (Part 1)

The Race Car

2009-03-30T20:27:00.000-07:00

After much adoo...

Sunday, 4 Jan 09

We jumped into Brownie, the worlds greatest crappy RV, and fired up the old 440 motor, ready to pull the trailer up to Berkley and claim my new prize, a 1977 MGB named Lazarus...

The previous week I had driven Brownie to work daily, mostly because parking is at a premium at the house. After the passenger side exhaust fell off coming home from Freezearseapolooza, it was wicked loud in a deviant sort of way. After 3 days of driving around what sounded like a 10,000 lb race car, I decided to patch the exhaust together temporarily as best I could.

A trip to the parts store netted me a length of flex pipe and some clamps. In the back of the RV I found random bits that I was able to fashion into a crude mounting system, which consisted of some bailing wire, a length of chain and a carabineer. It hung and swayed in the wind, but at least it was securely attached to the motorhome, unlike our previous trip. A few solid kicks confirmed it was there to stay until proper repairs could be done.

We picked up a trailer and made our way up to Bezerkley.

Once we arrived I once again met up with Hillary, and handed him the rest of the cash minus 20 bucks that I had inadvertently spent on breakfast without thinking. I promised I would give the last 20 bucks to his friend Dave next time I saw him, who would forward it to him in Florida.

As he signed over the car and we set out to try and put it on the trailer I made the nearly fatal mistake of asking Dave if he knew another MG guy named Ed so-and-so. Suddenly Hillary stood up and snapped “You aren’t entering this thing in that race are you?!?!” Still with half signed title in his hand.

I played stupid and confused. Heck, I WAS confused, but for a different reason. How in the world did he make THAT jump of logic? Hit it square on the head, but still…

“I’m sorry?” I replied? My heart started pounding… Have I been caught red handed? My plan for world domination was suddenly at the mercy of the stroke of an old fellow’s pen. What on earth could I say? Oh, hai, I’m going to kill your beloved old car, bwaa-haa-haa!!?

Hillary was still trying to remember the name of the race as he turned towards his friend; “You know, the jalopy race. That stupid 500 dollar car race he is always carrying on about!” When he said the words 500 dollars the light bulb flashed in his head, his face became angry and he leveled his eyes back on me like lazers.

I started to open my mouth without a real clue what I was should say next, and just as I began to speak Dave came to my rescue and yelled “Oh for crying out loud, that’s just crazy Ed!! He’s always doing something crazy like that. Now come on Hillary!! Let’s get back to work!

Dave had been watching me and observing my reaction, and I was pretty sure he figured it out too. But he just wanted to get the shop-move over with, and finally go home to eat. His sudden distraction seemed to work; Hillary finished signing the documents and we put the car on the trailer, which looked like 4 angry monkeys playing with a greased football. Never try to do something in front of 4 older men. Each man will have a better idea on how to do it.

We finally got the car home and safe in the driveway late Sunday night.

As we plopped down on the couch I asked my “not-a-peep-spouse” what she thought.

“I didn’t think it would be here so soon” she replied with a tinge of exasperation...

Uh-oh.

Next: Work on the Race MGB Begins

Previous: Lazarus the MBG

From the Beginning: The Hook... (Part 1)

Lazarus the MGB

2009-03-05T20:28:00.000-08:00

Berkley 3 Jan 2009

We drove Obie, our ’79 Orange MGB, (Obie, Orange-B, get it?) up to Berkley to see the prospective 24 Hours of Lemons race car. I was able to talk my last-straw-spouse into going with me on one condition; that we stop for dinner on the way home at a Caribbean Jerk Chicken restaurant in East Palo Alto called Back A Yard.

www.backayard.net

Ok sweetie-pie! It’s a deal.

I learned a long time ago to trust my food-network-addicted-spouse when it comes to food. Every one of our vacations have revolved around something she has seen on the food network or read about somewhere. She has never let us down when it comes to new places to eat, which is a passion for both of us. We both also have the travel bug, so it works out quite well except for my ever expanding waistline.

We arrived at the recently closed MG & British automotive repair shop (The MG Garage) to find a half dozen old men scurrying about, yelling at each other and struggling to move miscellany into a large yellow moving van that dominated the driveway.

After yelling a few times for Hillary, followed by the rest of the group joining in and yelling for Hillary, an old man shuffled out and said “Can I help you?”

He was the quintessential MG mechanic, back doubled over and hands leathered from decades of toiling on British tin. I could see the man had more knowledge in one boney finger than I had in my entire body. The deep creases on his face contained a multitude of memories, and he alternated between guarded and revealing, probably due to years of dealing with oddball customers, one privileged and snippy, the next passionate and friendly.

"Hi, I spoke to you yesterday about the MGB on Craigslist?"

"Hello there, glad you could make it". He spoke with a soft yet slightly gravelly voice. "Well, here it is".

Hillary pulled back the car cover and revealed the pale old yellow MGB.

“Meet Lazarus” he said. “Many times this car has come back, just like in the bible… well anyways, its name is Lazarus. I got it off the original owner a few years ago, and have known this car since new. It keeps coming back. Now it’s old and tired. Probably needs a new engine."

We talked for a short while about the car while I checked out all the MGB problem areas, wiring, rocker panel area, crack of doom (yup, but on the passenger side instead of the usual driver side, interesting). The doors opened and closed nicely as did the hood and trunk. Interior was garbage.

Every panel was straight, but also edged in the beginning stages of rust. It looked much more weathered than the photos showed. The more I looked at it, the worse the rust was. All of it was surface, and still in the repairable stage, but it would take a lot more work and money to fix correctly than the car was worth. Rubber bumper MGBs just are not that desirable, and this one was in danger of ending up in the scrap yard. Just one day left, and no one else came to visit.

“Will you take $500?” I asked. My rolling-eyes-spouse stifled a giggle, 500 being the limit for a LeMons racer (and she thinks I'm a terrible negotiator).

Hillary paused for a moment, leveled his gaze on me and said “Yes, yes I will”.

A handshake later, I gave him half down as a deposit and he gave me a handwritten receipt, not that either of us thought I needed it. The car was not going anywhere, and needed to be out of there tomorrow. I promised to come back the next day with the rest of the money and a trailer to retrieve my prize.

On the way home I asked my eerily-quiet-spouse what she thought of the car. “It’s cool.” she responded. “You owe me some Jerk-chicken” she said turning to me with a smile.

Next: The Race Car

Previous: Craigslist!

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

Craigslist

2009-03-04T20:10:00.000-08:00

Surfing the web, 2 Jan 2009, Evening

MGB for sale, $650 or Best offer.

1977 MGB for sale. Engine tired, body solid, well maintained. Needs lots of TLC.

Will not pass smog due to high hydrocarbons. Shop closing, must be sold by Sunday 4 Jan 2009.

Does NOT include hardtop (Already sold), soft top has frame only.

Asking 650 or best offer. Car located in Berkley CA.

I called the number on the ad immediately. Of the several cars I had been following, this one had 2 things going for it.

1) It was close by.
2) It was Yellow.

“Yellow!! Ah-Haa!! The Killer B!”

Perfect.

The gentleman’s name on the other end was Hillary. I asked a second time to make sure I heard it right. The news was playing on TV in the other room, trumpeting something about another Hillary, and for a moment I thought I misheard his name.

He had an MG shop he was closing up after many years, located in one of the last metal corner pre-fabbed service stations of its kind, which was scheduled to be torn down.

“That’s too bad” I said. I’ve got a soft spot for Googie architecture and vintage buildings in particular.

“Not at all.” He replied. “The place is old and a piece of crap. Time to let it die”.

Hmmm… “Too bad I did not know about you earlier. I’ve had daily driver MGBs for over 15 years and could have used some parts” I joked.

Well I’ve been here a lot longer than that!” He joked back, with a tinge of crankiness. “Too late now, it’s all goin away and I’m retiring. I’ll give you the number of the guy who is buying all my stuff. If you’re interested in the car you’ll need to bring a trailer.”

We agreed to meet the next afternoon.

“Who were you calling?” my please-don’t-tell-me-your-buying-another MG-spouse asked from the other room.

Wanna go to Berkley tomorrow? (Heh-heh!)

Next: Lazarus the MGB

Previous: The Big Idea

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

The Big Idea

2009-03-03T20:36:00.000-08:00

Home, late 28 Dec, 2008

Later while sitting at the computer surfing for cheap cars for sale under 500 dollars, my surprise-me-spouse came up behind me and gave me a big hug. “I had a good time this weekend. That was fun.” She said. “I liked hanging out in Brownie. You should keep it.”

I spun around and looked at her in disbelief. “What? Really?”

“Yeah. I like him. We should do that again” She said.

“Well ok! I can do that! I just got to fix a few things on him first.” I was stunned.

She walked away smiling and I almost forgot what I was doing. I had been looking for a late Rubber Bumper MGB to buy cheap. A few days earlier I had been volunteering to help at the 24 Hours of LeMons “Arse-Freeze-Apalooza” event at Thunderhill raceway and ran into a few friends including one of the Judges for the event, and Chief Perp Jay Lamm. That's when I threw out an idea...

I had a hard time falling asleep the night before, mostly because our race car did not show up in time for the race. I had resolved to put together my OWN car for the next event, and my "I-can't-believe-I'm-saying-this-spouse" even suggested I buy my own race car. It occurred to me that I had a garage full of used MGB parts. Why not an MGB?

Well for one thing, I hate the idea of killing any classic old car. Its fun to watch these races, but I don’t know if I could stomach sentencing one to death myself. I would get attached to it and have second thoughts, blah-blah-blah. It’s just the way I am.

Steve, one of the drivers from team #88 Lemon/Martini put it a different way that changed the way I looked it. He said “Most of these are cars that are already condemned, rotting away in junkyards or under trees. Many of them can’t pass smog or be registered, and on their way to the crushers anyways. This is a way to let them go out and play one last time and have some fun.”

That was a cool way to look at it.

Besides, there is no reason it has to be a death sentence. Some of these cars go on to become full fledged racers.

Hmmm… the wheels started turning.

Ok, why not an MGB? A late unloved Rubber Bumper MGB? They are everywhere, cheap, neglected, hard to smog, unwanted, and have FULL potential of being a fast track car when freed from the smog police.

Obie, my wife’s MGB (that I drive) started out as a late Rubber Bumper car. The first thing I did to it was cut those bumpers off. Then I retrograded the suspension back to chrome bumper spec. I keep a set of early S.U. carbs to throw on for “Off-highway” occasions, and the car is dang quick. I have made grown men scream like little girls while showing off its cornering ability on freeway overpass cloverleaves. It sticks like an angry cat on carpet.

The front suspension technology may be a little dated (ok, a LOT dated) but it works real well. And it is nearly destruction-proof due to the king-pin design, which seems to be a main problem with the Hondas and BMWs at these events, to the point of teams bringing spare cars. In fact, when an MGB gets in a serious front end accident, the damage is usually contained to forward of the massive front cross member. MGB rally cars would have the damaged front sheet-metal cut off and replaced, and they would be sent back out for the next event.

MGBs are a tinkerer’s car. If you understand electricity and don’t mind tinkering with it on a regular basis, they make astoundingly reliable cars. (Yes, yes, go ahead and laugh… get it out of your system.) I’m here to tell you I have driven MGBs on a daily basis as a PRIMARY vehicle for over 15 years, rain or shine, Tahoe to San Diego, day or night, well over 30,000 miles a year (when the speedo works). I put over 250k miles on my MGB-GT before deciding to restore it, and it was a clapped out high mileage car when I got it back in 1993. I just replaced whatever got worn out and kept on driving. The things just never quit.

They do however keep you full of material for funny stories. Wipers don’t work when it rains etc etc.

MGBs do not like to sit. Things go wrong when it sits. They will tell you when something is wrong long before it breaks. If your MGB breaks down it was YOUR fault for not paying attention, or not taking care of that squeal/squeek/thud/shudder sooner.

If you have someone else do the work on your car you may as well give them full access to your open wallet. But they are so simple, if you can hold a screwdriver or wrench and read a Chilton’s repair book, you can keep an MGB alive with basic hand tools.

The perfect lemons racer.

And I have lots of spare parts in case they are needed. 3 engines, 7 transmissions, axles, carbs, radiators, fenders… you name it, I probably have at least one in my massive (obsessive) stash.

All these thoughts went through my mind as I struggled to sleep the first night of Ass-Freeze-Apalooza. Then I thought of the old John Belushi “King Bee” bit from Saturday Night Live and I had my “Eureka!”moment.

The next day I asked Jay, the Chief Perp who also used to be an MGB addict, “You know, I have been trying to get into this stupid race for a long time now. What about an MGB? Team Killer bees?”

Jay responded, “An MGB would TOTALLY get accepted. The problem is we have more entries than we can handle, and everyone wants to race a Honda or a BMW. It’s boring. But I GUARANTEE you a spot with an MG.”

And so recorded! Excellent!

I had the go ahead from my go-ahead-spouse, a verbal guarantee from the organizer, and just enough room in the driveway for another MG. The first thing I did when we got home from the race was to look for MGBs on every west coast Craigslist.

$400. $350. $500. $750.

"Hey Honey, come take a look at this." I shouted several times to "regret-she-said-that-spouse". "Here's another one."

Next: Craigslist

Previous: Almost Home, Last leg, 24 hrs of Lemons

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

Almost Home, Last leg, 24 hrs of Lemons

2009-03-02T20:00:00.000-08:00

I-680, 8:00pm 28 Dec 2008

“It's got a cop motor, a 440 cubic inch plant, it's got cop tires, cop suspensions, cop shocks. It's a model made before catalytic converters so it'll run good on regular gas. What do you say, is it the new Bluesmobile or what?”

“Fix the cigarette lighter.“

*******************************

That scene from the Blues Brothers comes to mind every time I start that good old big-block Dodge in the RV. Granted it’s a far cry from a cop car, but has big brakes, HD suspension and no catalytic converters. And now it sounded pretty wicked with the open exhaust belching fire underneath us. I threw on my sunglasses for good effect, but could not see anything in the dark.

“It’s Pretty Loud” my wincing-from-the-noise-spouse said.

Indeed... The exhaust had broken off at a bad weld right at the H-pipe, directly underneath her seat, and we had both banks of the 440 screaming out into the night through the gaping holes. I let off the gas pedal for a moment and the engine burbled then let out a rapid succession on backfires in the dark, each one lighting up the countryside behind her, outlining her jet-black hair in flashes against the dark.

Heh-heh, I chuckled, and of course did it again… “Whaaa-Ba-dum, Pow! Pow Pow!”

My “that’s-enough-spouse” blinked at me with one of her famous one eyebrow scowls.

Just then I saw a tell-tale black and white outline speeding down a freeway entrance behind the trees parallel to us. Oh crap. I held my breath as the Highway Patrol cruiser merged onto the freeway and into traffic behind us. “Shit! There’s no way he heard me already!”

“There’s no way he didn’t!” came the reply.

Red lights came on and I had that distinct rush of adrenaline I get every time I get pulled over for a loud exhaust, which for some reason has happened in nearly every vehicle I’ve ever owned. I franticly began replaying the chain of events in my head so I could explain them to the officer when he asked why I had no mufflers, without sounding like a complete idiot.

The cruiser sped by us, heading off to some emergency far more important than saving my spouse’s hearing.

Huh. That was close. I resolved to keep it down to a medium roar as we neared any overpass and other cop hideout for the next 2 ½ hours. And sure enough every time I let off the gas “Just in case”, a Police, Sheriff or Highway Patrol cruiser soon magically appeared. Not a one of them gave us a second thought as the RV gradually slowed with small balls of orange flame beneath the chassis. Then the cop would be gone and I would put the hammer back down. Nearby, economy sedans with windows full of smiling faces pressed against glass to see the smart-car, would quickly be replaced with looks of horror as the beast suddenly belched out its wickedness.

“Huh” my “huh-spouse” and I said repeatedly as cops ignored us. Quite a few were out that night. This continued all the way home, including our own neighborhood where we passed 3 police cruisers in the last mile. Not one of them looked at us twice as the motor shook all the windows in a 3 block radius. Thank goodness it was nearly over.

I eased Brownie and smarty into a nearby shopping center and found a spot in the corner long enough for the trailer, and shut off the ignition so my trusty companion could rest. Well done my friend. “No one even got hurt.” I said to my dazed-spouse.

“What?” she replied.

The silence was deafening.

“I said we made it. Yeay!”

“What?”

Next: The Big Idea

Previous: Noise! I can't stand the Noise!

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

Noise! I can't stand the Noise!

2009-02-27T20:36:00.000-08:00

"Wanna go for a ride?" I asked into the cell phone. I was already on the road, cruising around in a 10,000lb 27 foot Class C motorhome my parents just gave me, out of the blue.

“No. It’s late.” replied my-wont-be-spouse-for-many-years-girlfriend. In fact, she would not ride in it with me for many many, MANY years… LeMons Thunderhill Freezassapolooza 2008 would be her first in fact.

Brownie and I'm-not-budging-on-this-spouse/significant other eyed each other with suspicion for a very long time. She put up with a lot of my antics, but this was one thing she was firm on. She wanted nothing to do with brownie. I was undeterred.

I decided to go for a cruise, and ended up cruising up Mt Hamilton in the middle of the night. I did not intend to go ALL the way up, but I quickly realized that 27 feet of RV, dark steep narrow roads with a dropoff and U-turns are a BAD mix. Make sure you REALLY want to go down that road before you turn on to it. By the time I found a place I could see well enough to turn around, I was all the way at the top. I hoped the brakes were up to snuff as I poked back down the hill. It turns out, with something crazy like 5.70 or so gearing in the rear end, 1st gear held it so slow I could almost get out and walk next to it. After that incident I had no qualms about driving it anywhere.

****

The worst part of sitting in Monterey for all those years was that the exhaust system was beginning to rot out. It had a few cracks and a couple of pin holes, but was still mostly intact. There was also a small crack in the passenger side exhaust manifold that gave an annoying tick-tick-tick, but the cast iron had been pin-welded by a muffler shop years earlier, and I was in no hurry to mess with it. The rest needed to be replaced, but I may as well do ALL of it, if I was gonna do ANY of it. And so the whole thing sat waiting for the day I had nothing better to do.

Now many years later that day was rapidly approaching.

I slowed down a bit a listened intently. Are-we-gonna-die-spouse was now fully awake as well. It was hard to tell what noises were coming from the RV, and what was from the traffic that passed us at breakneck speed. A car sped by blaring its horn. Oh screw you too. The speed limit with a trailer is 55. Deal with it.

All seemed to be ok, so I decided to hold out for a few miles and stop at our usual Siusun Bay exit pit stop where I could check it out in the light without being run over. We pulled up next to the fuel pumps, and began filling his massive 44 gallon tank. Then I waked around looking for anything out of the ordinary. It wasn’t long before I found it.

OOf! Uh, honey, I found the problem.

“What is it? She asked.

“Come see for your self”

She walked back to where I was and stopped. “Oh! That’s bad isn’t it?”

AYup.

The entire passenger side of the dual exhaust was laying on the ground except for the very front, which was being dragged by a tiny finger of pipe that had not cracked yet. All the mounts were broken off, and the tailpipe was ground flat from miles of passing asphalt. About 13 feet of pipe in all, dangling inches in front of the brand new Dually tires.

Ah, the “wha-ding, wha-ding, wha-ding” noise. I reached up and touched the pipe, it was warm to the touch but not too hot. One small tug and the whole thing came crashing down. Great, ha-ha-ha! This could be fun! I reached down to pick it up and noticed something wet, then heard a splashing sound. I looked underneath the RV to the driver’s side, and FUEL was gushing down onto the pavement!

SHIT!

I jumped up and ran around as fast as I could. The stupid Fuel pump did not click off when the tank was full, and now gas was spewing out the filler neck! I quickly clicked it off, pulled the nozzle and capped the tank. A quick check in my mind confirmed all the clothes-pins were in the reminder-bag above the sun visor, which meant all the pilots were off and secure. But I had a bigger problem; My she-drives-a-smart-car-spouse’s brand new smart-car was securely chained down to a trailer, that was securely attached to a 30 year old RV, that was sitting above a small puddle of gas, which had an open exhaust pointed at it!

Ie-yie-yie.

There was only one thing to do.

I picked up what was left of the exhaust and stuck it in the rear of the coach. We got in the RV, and no sooner than it started, I slammed it in gear and we roared out of there.

Eyes-quite-wide-spouse was looking at me as I scanned the rearview mirrors for any signs of inferno, “Is THAT the engine?”

“Yes my love, behold the glory of unbridled 440 power! Bwa-ha-ha-ha!”

“It’s pretty loud” she said.

Next: Almost Home, Last leg - 24 hrs of Lemons

Previous: No Rest for the Obsessive

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

No rest for the Obsessive

2009-02-26T20:29:00.000-08:00

Pit Stop, The NEW Nut Tree at I-80, Dec 2008

Having just stopped for dinner after several hours of driving, my quick-to-the-restroom spouse and I each decided a visit the restroom was in order before deciding where to eat. I finished first thanks to a flock of elderly German ladies that swamped the female restroom as we arrived.

When she escaped the pit-stop, my much-relieved spouse found me standing at the entrance to the park, transfixed on the little train. It was exactly the same as in my memories, and in the photos, only a little smaller. Perhaps it was I that was much bigger, but if you could see into the windows of my soul, I was small and 5 again, if only for a few moments.

“You want to ride the train?” Incredibly-sweet-spouse asked.

Ha-ha, I tried to pretend I didn’t, but she saw right through me, batted her eyes and said “Come on, lets take a quick ride!” I was at the ticket booth in a flash, goofy and beaming.

The older gentleman operating the train gave my wife and I a knowing look, and welcomed us aboard along with several small children and their families. It was brightly colored and clean, hardly a mark on it. They seemed to have done a great job with the restoration.

The train started up after a few grinding misses of the starter. Both the starter and the engine sounded very Datsun-esc to me, and I craned my neck to see if I could recognize any mechanical components. The train began to move slowly through the grounds, the gates lowered with bells clanging and lights flashing. I quickly realized the route was greatly truncated from the original, but I didn’t care. It had just enough of the old to remind me of what once was. I could still see the grounds as they once were in my minds eye, and it was almost just as neat now.

Half way through the ride I looked at my wife and once again realized what a lucky chap I really was. Imagine the odds, millions of people in this world, and I found this one. She was content and as happy as I was to be sharing the moment with me… what an incredible woman. She caught me looking at her, smiled and snuggled up to me as we watched another tiny park roll by.

I treated her to a nice dinner at the nearby Fenton’s Creamery & Restaurant where we splurged again and had more burgers, and split a ginormous basket of onion rings. The atmosphere was nostalgic and the food was great. It became painfully obvious we were not going to be able to finish it all, yet in a moment of debauchery we said “YES!” when the waitress asked if we wanted dessert. We settled on 2 scoops of ice cream, and were floored when the 2 scoops showed up. They were huge. Oh dear… this is gonna be bad…

Somehow we plowed through the thickest part, and were able to waddle our way back to the RV without falling down. Another quick check of all the systems and safety devices and we pulled back out into the weekend I-80 traffic as the last bits of dusk faded to black. The radio played hits from the 70s, and my food-coma-spouse drifted in and out of consciousness while I piloted our herd down the highway, in a fuzzy state of consciousness while Loggins & Messina’s "Vahevala" boogied out a beat in stereo.

“What’s that sound?” I blurted out.

“Whaaaa?” came the reply.

Do you hear that?

“Hear what?” my droopy-eyed-spouse said, now more fully awake.

That noise. It’s a “wha-ding, wha-ding, wha-ding” kind of noise…

“I don’t hear anything. Actually, there are a lot of noises”.

Hmmm. It does seem a bit loud in here. Maybe louder than before.

Brownie, the worlds greatest piece of junk but rare as hen’s teeth RV needed some work for sure. It was rescued by my parents out of Arizona a decade and a half earlier, and lived many happy years in southern California before my parents moved up to Monterey. There, they bought a nearly condemned house on a large lot for dirt cheap and spent the next 4 years renovating the house while they lived in Brownie parked in the driveway, along with their German Shepherd.

Comfortable he certainly was as far as class C RVs go. It had a full bathroom and tub in the rear and most the amenities you would expect, but with a twist… full shag carpeting installed by the previous owner, Ala 1979.

By the time my parents were able to move into their house however, Brownie has fallen victim to the overuse and under maintenance woes. It was starting to show its age, and nearly everything in it had an issue. My parent just had too much of it, and did not want to see the thing anymore after years of using it as an extra bedroom.

One day in 2001 I got a call from my Stepdad, “I can’t start the damn thing and I’ve replaced everything already. The damn wiring is whacked out” I volunteered to come down and troubleshoot it for him, and got it running. I thought that was the end of it until a week or two later when I got another call “You want the RV? Come get it, ha-ha-ha!”

I thought the man was joking, but the next day my parents showed up in my driveway with the RV, threw me the keys and left in their new truck. “Uh, Hi Mom! Bye Mom!” I shouted, bewildered. “That was frigging odd.” I muttered as they disappeared down the narrow country road.

Inside the title was signed over to me.

Huh. I walked around it, then took a few steps back.

What the HELL am I gonna do with an RV? I’m a sleeping bag in the back of a pickup or pup-tent kind of camper. I still have and use my vintage Coleman white-gas stove and lanterns. This thing loomed LARGE in my driveway, staring at me blankly. I liked it instantly. I had NO IDEA what I was supposed to do to operate it. Luckily, there were scribbled notes left behind from when my parents went through the same learning curve, and a bag full of clothespins above the sun visor, each with a task written on it. The sun visor had marks where the pins had clipped hundreds of times. Ah! Some sort of system!

I pulled a pin out of the bag that said “Water heater”. I lit the water heater. I turned it back off. And put the pin back in the bag. Ok, I can dig this.

“Wanna go for a ride?” I asked into the phone. “I’ve got an RV!”

Next: Noise! I can't stand the Noise!

Previous: Homeward Bound

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

Homeward Bound

2009-02-25T20:37:00.000-08:00

6:30 pm, I-80 West, 28 December 2008

Do you hear that?

“Hear what?” my droopy-eyed-spouse said.

That noise. It’s a “wha-ding, wha-ding, wha-ding” kind of noise…

“I don’t hear anything. Actually, there are a lot of noises”.

It does seem a bit loud in here.

We had just stopped at the new “Nut Tree” for dinner and a spur of the moment HUGE ice cream Sunday. It was my first trip there since I was a small child, and was in some way the closing chapter in another quest of mine.

I have had fuzzy memories of riding small railroad trains as a kid. The memories did not seem quite consistent, but there are certain details that stood out clear as a bell. Especially one memory when we were with my grandmother, one of the last happy occasions we spent any time with her. I was on a quest to find the train in question. I had no idea why I remembered this one train so vividly, but I had to find it, or figure it out. This was to be both enlightening and frustrating at the same time. I could see it in my minds eye… but could not find it in real life. It was another obsession.

It turns out that I had ridden several different trains as a small child when we lived in the Bay Area. I know this now because my “I-have-a-kooky-husband-spouse” and I have visited many different miniature trains sites in the last several years. Each one sparked and matched a different memory perfectly, (Check! Another one off the list!) but still did not match the main one I was after.

In my research I stumbled across info on the “Nut Tree”, which was a popular midway rest stop on I-80 until a storm took out the business in the mid 90s. The photos seemed familiar, yet did not match what I saw in my head. It seemed to be a lead, but I might never know for sure because the site was closed and had an uncertain future.

A few years later several boxes of my late grandfather’s photos were found and given out to the family to share amongst ourselves. In the piles I came across one photo that was the EXACT memory I held, and in the photo was my Grandmother taking my siblings and I for a ride on the Nut Tree train. Mystery solved… and lots of old memories were awakened of the time we spent there. I became a bit of a history buff on the place, along with the other roadside stops in the area, such as Coffee Tree, the Milk Farm with its cow jumping over the moon (I always knew how far along we were on road trips when I saw the neon cow’s legs flashing back and forth as if in a jump).

There were others there too such as The Coffee Tree, the Travelers Pancake House, the Brigadoon Lodge and the Monte Vista, all with their Googie architecture and signs. It was always a little sad every time I passed the sites they used to be on. I still remember pineapples with marshmallow sauce, mini breads, and cashews. I wasn’t allowed to have the pineapple marshmallow, which is why I bitterly remember it being delivered to a nearby table.

On this trip up to Willows however, I noticed that now the site had been redeveloped (oh dear) and the park was now re-opened. Interesting…

On the way home I said “Want to stop in Vaccaville for diner?”

“Are you going to ride the train?” asked my “are-you-still-obsessed-spouse”.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I replied. Translation, “Yes.”

“Okay, but don’t make me ride another train, ok?”

Okay.

“Promise?”

Promise.

Next: No rest for the Obsessive

Previous: Arse-Freeze-Apalooza Day 2 Part 2

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

ARSE-FREEZE-APALOOZA Day 2, Pt.2

2009-02-24T20:27:00.000-08:00

Thunderhill Raceway, 28 December 08

Once again the second day of the race was even more entertaining than the first. The driving was more competitive and faster between yellow flags. There were quite a few Yellows, but few serious incidents. A Yugo ended up pointing it’s shoes to the dinosaur spirit in the sky, and the Faster Farms Plymouth did a barrel roll, but there were overall very few serious incidents.

Sidenote: There is a small group of individuals who know what REALLY happened to the Yugo, but have been sworn to secrecy. It’s a conspiracy of EPIC proportions.

The “Squirrels of Fury” VW Sirocco puked its engine right in front of us, and gave me that hurtling fireball vision I dreamt of way back when I first started this quest. The crowd all yelled at the guy (who looked as if he suspected something might just be wrong) to “GET THE HELL OUT OF THE CAR!!” as he cruised by. Shortly, the car came to a screeching halt and the dude was out of there in a flash. Impressive…

Jay Lamm’s voice was heard on the P.A. system, asking to see the “Blues Brothers Racing and their Ford Crown Victoria. Oooooh… Someone’s gonna get it! The Peoples Curse!! All the eligible teams had voted and this car was selected to be destroyed with large construction equipment. They went easy on it though, and merely ripped off its doors, hood, trunk and windshield. Oh, and they dropped it from about 10 feet too. The team was able to get the car going again, and they ended up having the fastest lap of the race due to the removed weight.

The car was a ringer in my mind. I got to look at it up close and saw a lot more professional work and high end performance parts than 500 dollar junker. In the spirit of the race, I would have split open the carcass and left it to rot. Don’t bring it if you aint willing to loose it.

I heard the Jag start up one more time and saw a fully suited Lou Brerro Jr slowly piloting it towards the entrance. The track was under yellow and the cars were slowly circling the track as Lou merged into traffic.

Holy crap we all said, then started making wagers on how many laps the car would do before it conked out.

“I got ½!”

“I got 2!”

“I got ¾”

“I’ll give him one lap!”

“I’ll give him till the first turn, ha-ha-ha!”

The Jag rounded the first turn and kept going.

“Awwww…”

It disappeared behind the hill and we all held our breath…

A few long moments later it came over the hill! “Yeay!”

It negotiated the downhill corner looking like a cross between a Mad-Max caricature and a 4 wheeled oil platform, and then headed to the halfway point.

“Awwww!!!!’

3/4 track came and went, then he brought it back across the start finish line for a full lap!

“Yeay!!!!” we all cheered. Holy cow, Lou “Ran” at Thunderhill. He made it. Well bless his heart.

POOF! No sooner had we said that, the inside of the car disappeared into a cloud of steam, with contrails streaming out the empty doorjambs. “Whoah…” we stared in disbelief.

“I hope Lou is OK”.

The steam cloud dissipated and the car continued around its course.

“Hey, he’s still going!”

We held our collective breath as the bundle of pipes disappeared again behind the hill.

A few long moments later, cars that went behind the hill came back out, but there was no Lou. And still no Lou. Finally the tow truck was dispatched, and finally Lou came back over the hill triumphantly in the same manner most Jags do; on the back end of a wrecker.

Back in the pits Lou extolled the virtues of the car; “It handled and drove beautifully. The engine was flawless. The car was beautiful out there.”

“Yes Lou, indeed it was.”

Indignant, he went on to say “One of the other teams told me that Jay says the same thing to all the teams. He gives them all the same speech. My car was safe!”

I looked at the gas tank in the passenger side rear window, draped in a moving blanket, the bits of metal welded hither and yon, the now dripping wet interior and bits of pipe that comprised the cooling system, and said “I’m sure it was Lou, but the race started yesterday”.

Rob took me aside and said, “I really don’t think he understands the point of what you or I are saying. We might just let it go…”

Wisely spoken. “Ok Lou. I’m sorry. I just did not feel safe. You tried your best”.

And with that we watched the end of the race, then loaded up the pit-bike/smart-car, and headed back home in our trusty friend "Brownie, the Worlds Greatest Crappy Old RV".

And that’s when the real fun started…

“Do you hear that?”

Next: Homeward Bound

Previous: ARSE-FREEZE-APALOOZA Day 2, Pt.1

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

ARSE-FREEZE-APALOOZA Day 2, Pt 1

2009-02-23T18:25:00.000-08:00

Thunderhill Raceway, 28 December 08

The next morning we awoke, and my worried-for-my-life-spouse asked “Are you going to drive today?”

No honey. I don’t want anything to do with it anymore. Besides, my gut was still telling me that driving it was a disaster waiting to happen.

We arrived at the track and somewhat avoided contact with Lou, who was still working feverishly to get his “Racecar” ready. My teammates let me know that Lou was still trying to get us out there, presumably to hold up his end of the bargain. As far as I was concerned however, the whole fiasco was a bust; I did not pay money to see if Lou could get his car out on the track. I paid money to enter a 24 hour endurance race in a pre-prepared car, and the race started yesterday.

I looked at the “car” once again and noticed a bunch of galvanized pipes spliced together with junkyard radiator hoses, which were swollen and leaking at every joint. Holy cow.

“It’s been running a little hot, but I think I got it now” Lou said. I shook my head.

The Jag and its owner took off towards the tech station, and I decided to wander down and hear what they had to say about it.

I missed most of the discussion, and Lou was leaving with the car as I arrived. The race organizer Jay Lamm gathered us together and told us flat out “This car is UNSAFE.” And that’s all I needed to hear.

He went on to say there were a few things Lou HAD to fix, and if he did, Jay was going to let Lou take it out on the track, but if WE decided to drive it, that would be at our own risk, and we take full responsibility and liability for our decision.

The three of us said “Hell no.” That was it. Now all we had to do was let Lou know of our decisions.

Back at the pit Lou was feverishly correcting those little details, proudly claiming that his car was ready for the race. Robert took point and told him we weren’t driving it, the car just wasn’t safe.

For a moment Lou pondered the statement… then the smile disappeared, he became indignant, and ignored us as he went back to work on the Jag with even more determination. Now he was pissed off and had something to prove.

I went with my relieved lets-get-out-of-here-spouse to get another Breakfast Burrito and then watch the last leg of the race.

Next: ARSE-FREEZE-APALOOZA Day 2, Pt.2

Previous: ARSE-FREEZE-APALOOZA Day 1, Pt. 2

From The Beginning: The Hook... (Part 1)

ARSE-FREEZE-APALOOZA Day 1, Pt. 2

2009-02-22T20:38:00.000-08:00

The Silliness begins:

Once again the cars lined up and paraded out to the track. Slowly they circled waiting for the random green flag to drop. There were many familiar paint jobs, and a bunch of new ones as well. In all there must have been nearly 100 cars out there. The track itself was much more sprawled out and lent itself to much higher speeds.

The green flag dropped and they were off! This time it had a more conservative vibe than the last. More organized and paced for the long haul. The atmosphere had a legitimate endurance race feel, you just knew you were going to be here a while.

To keep things at a reasonable pace they strategically placed chicanes on the track, and strictly enforced the “NO CONTACT” rule that was ignored at Altamont. Any contact would result in a black flag and lengthy time penalty. Rack up a couple of black flags and the team will bee kicked off the track for the weekend. They were serious.

The race went on, and I unloaded the smart-car from it’s tiny trailer . I got a “Don’t you dare” look from my don’t-you-dare-spouse as the thought of racing her smart crossed my mind. I’m not sure how she does it, but I’m convinced she is psycocic. She is always planting crazy ideas in my head with her woman voodooo (“Pinky, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”) and then admonishing me for my OWN ideas before I can voice or act on them.

“But I didn't do it!! I say.

“You were thinking it!” she says.

“You don’t know what I was thinking…”

And then she tells me.

How does she ALWAYS know? Because she is Psycocic.

We watched the race progress, and started a pool on when Lou would show up. I wandered around some more while readyourmindspouse sat in the RV and read her book. I volunteered to help at the penalty box, then ran into some old friends from J-Style. Eventually I went to the track store and picked up a few even items, including a LeMons beanie cap for Cute-pop-up-behind-you-spouse, who popped up behind me and said “What you buying?”

Whoa! You scared me. It’s a beanie cap for you.

Oh cool, I was just thinking of getting one of those.

SEE!?!?!?

The day raced on, the shadows got longer, and the cars were brought in for the end of day 1. Towards the end of the day our gracious neighbors invited us to stay and eat BBQ ribs they had been smoking all day. The one impression above all else I had of the folks at Lemons was their friendliness and hospitality. They took us poor wandering souls in as old friends and fed us well with both food and laughter.

Later that evening Lou and Armand showed up towing the Exoskeleton-Jag on a trailer behind a U-Haul truck. The furious packing and long drive had left Lou’s bones aching, and he needed to lay down and rest for a while in Williams. Lou had the same worried look I had seen at Altamont months earlier, only now he seemed even more worn out.

Many small things had conspired to get us to this point, a day late and a dollar short. What had become apparent to me weeks earlier, was that there would be no shortage of small things to conspire against this team. Some problems unforeseen, some unconsciously created perhaps, it was the tale of always getting dressing up, but never quite going to the show.

Armond had done a heroic job playing whack-a-mole with the issues he was faced with, but ended up at the very same preordained problem. It was too late to be contenders.

We sat around that evening carrying on and having a great time in spite of it all. And at times, Lou broke out in Lymrics, completely at random. In spite of everything, for some crazy reason I like Lou and consider him an old friend.

Late into the night we retired to the comfort of our hotel, with it’s hot showers and cool bed, dreaming of racing Brownie the worlds greatest RV in a surreal slow motion LeMons.

Next: Arse-Freeze-Apalooza Day 2 part 1

Previous: Arse-Freeze-Apalooza Day 1 part 1

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

ARSE-FREEZE-APALOOZA - Day 1 Pt. 1

2009-02-21T15:20:00.000-08:00

Thunderhill Raceway, 27 December 08

I was surprised by just how many people were at the driver’s meeting. There was a raise of hands to show how many had never done wheel-to-wheel racing before, and a large percentage of the hands went up. Cool. I’m in good company. (And I will probably be in good company for the next race too at this rate)

Now, I've done my fair share of canyon racing up in the Sierras as a younger, dumber lad, but never wheel to wheel on a real track. The group I hung out with had all kinds of rides we used to flog up and down the Yuba canyons of Hwy 49 in the middle of the night. There was a Datsun Z, a Cosworth Vega, 1 fairly quick 76 Toyota pickup we called the Green Machine, and a sprinkling of other cheap crap-cans. And then there was me in my Blue AMC Gremlin X, which I unimaginatively named Gizmo, that had a “Japanese Cadillac” bumper sticker on the rear.

It had a 258ci (4.2L) straight 6 motor and a 727 Torque-flight automatic. It wasn’t the fastest car up there by far, but it did have LOTS of torque, sharp quick ratio steering and a short wheelbase, and was fairly light except for severe front end weight bias. The front wore nice sticky Pirellis tires I got for free, while the rear set was made up of 1 Sears and Roebuck, plus 1 JC Penny bias ply tire. The heavy front end of the Gremlin would plow into a sharp corner, and then the rear would slowly begin to slide around as the body pitched wildly. Exciting!

I found I could control the amount of rotation by slightly adjusting the throttle. When I came out of the corner and put the hammer down the rear tires would strain for grip and I often found myself a bit sideways with the poor inner tire smoking until I flung it the other direction for the next corner. It seemed a silly way to drive, but it was the only way to keep up (and was a lot of fun). My car buddies said it was frightening to see my lights zig-zagging in their rear-view mirrors. I could never pass anyone, but they could not quite shake me either. It sure was hard on those rear tires though.

I’m just glad I never hit a deer. Just the owl I dazed, that ended up scaring the crap out of my mom in my closet (sorry mom), but that’s another story for another day...

Many years later a friend from Malaysia showed me a Japanese animation series called “Initial D”, which was about a teenage tofu delivery driver for the family business. His early morning route takes him through the mountains, and he wants to get back home as soon as possible. But to keep him from doing anything stupid, his father places a cup full of water in the car that he has to bring back full without spilling a drop.

He soon learns a faster new way to drive, sliding sideways, or smoothly “drifting” through the corners… HEY!! WHADAYAKNOW!?!?

I thought it was the coolest thing since the original Speed Racer, even though I could not understand anything from the storyline. It was in Japanese and subtitled in Chinese! Eventually it became a huge pop culture hit, spawned movies and apparently evolved into the whole JDM/Drifting lifestyle thing.

Huh.(looks around puzzled) Drifting eh? Boy was I born in the wrong decade.

To be a flannel and leather coat wearing teenage hick in the mountains, driving sideways in a crappy American Motors car, and then to see a Japanese version of it (done WAY better of course) made me smack my forehead. Oh the Synchronicity… which.. happened to be my favorite Police album at the time as well

Between our canyon racing and my Dukes of Hazard style dirt road driving, I’m really surprised at how well that poor Gremlin held up. That is, until the car met the 2 cedar trees… and then that drainage ditch with some help from those stoned hitchhiker chicks… but those are REALLY stories for another day. The poor car's career ended with a massive fix-it-ticket, and a police man asking me what color the car used to be...

Back at Thunderhill raceway:

After the drivers meeting we went and checked out the snack bar. Lo and Behold! They had breakfast burritos! SCORE! My are-you-serious-spouse looked back in the direction of the RV full of goodies and asked “Are you serious?”

Oh Yes, Yes I am. Munch-munch…

We tooled around in the pits for a while, and then met up with a few people from lunch at the Chinese restaurant a month earlier who were driving the #88 Lemon-Martini Porsche. They realized I was here with Lou’s team, and introduced me to the 4th team member Robert, who I hadn’t met yet. He was also waiting for Lou to show up, and held out with a sense of humor. He said they received word from Lou and Armand who had made it as far as Williams Ca, within 20 miles of the track. They could be here any time now. Wow! Really? I didn't actually think it was possible…

And then the race started.

Next: ARSE-FREEZE-APALOOZA Day 1, Pt. 2

Previous: Thunderhill or Bust!

From The Beginning: The Hook... (Part 1)

Thunderhill or Bust!

2009-02-20T20:42:00.000-08:00

I-5 to Willows

The drive up to Willows went great. Gwen even fell asleep to the drone of the mighty big block Dodge as it dutifully carried the two of us and all our junk north on the 4 ½ hour trip. Dinner once again consisted of our favorite road trip meal, Western Bacon Cheeseburgers. It’s become a ritual for us to stop by a nearby Carl’s Jr and pick up a couple of burgers to chew on while we hit the road.

After a couple hours I stopped at a truck stop to check all the tires, fluids and safety chains, then filled up with cheap gas. A few months earlier gas was threatening to cross the $5 mark per gallon, but thankfully had dropped to around $1.90 just in time for the trip. With a 40 gallon tank, I needed every penny I could save!

We pulled in late to the roadside Motel, quaint in it’s own kitschy way, and got a few hours sleep in preparation for the first big day.

The next morning we drove out to the track skipping breakfast. We figured if they did not have any hot food, we could wrangle up something in the back of the RV. We over-packed in the food and snack areas, bringing nearly a week’s worth of food. Plus my industrious-sandwich-maker spouse made us a dozen sandwiches to bring with us. We had the food thing covered.

I drove through the gate and threaded my way through the paddock looking for an open spot. We got lots of looks as people realized there was one of them itty-bitty smart cars tagging along behind us. One person came up and said “That’s an interesting juxtaposition”.

We found an open spot towards the back. Unfortunately all the spaces with electrical power were already occupied, so we picked one long enough for the RV and trailer combo. We I went about turning on all the bits and pieces that make up the camper, and finished just in time to hear the all hands drivers meeting being announced. I figured we may as well go listen in. And then see if they are selling any hot breakfast.

Next: Arse-freeze-apalooza - Day 1, Part 1

Previous: Christmas 08

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

Christmas 08

2009-02-19T20:51:00.000-08:00

Stockings full of coal??

I got Brownie -the worlds best crappy old RV- all tuned up and running great, and we were ready for the trip to Willows. The trailer was rented for the smart car, our bags were packed, and hotel reservations were made. The wife was still unsure about this whole “30 year old RV thing”, so I promised her a hotel room in addition to bringing her smart car behind us.

Late Christmas day, the day before I got an urgent voicemail From Lou saying he needed me to rent him a truck. SAY WHAT?!?! He claimed to be all ready to go, but still had no truck, and wasn’t able to buy one without any money. No kidding. And
talk about waiting till the last minute!

I called him back and said I would be willing to pitch in and split the cost of renting a truck with the others, but no I’m not going to put my name or card on something I’m not driving. Best I could do is stop by and drop off my share of the rental money on the way up to Willows. But I would never get over to his place in time for him to A) rent a truck and B) still make it up to Willows before Tech closed at 4pm. He said getting through Tech would not be a problem because of his friend. Yeah. Sure.

I made a detour in order to stop by the next day and gave him my rental share. I also looked around and noticed NOTHING was ready, nothing was packed in the trailer, which was at the back of a row of project vehicles and still had a complex homemade carport contraption attached. He was 2 days away from being ready MIMINUM, and I doubted he would even make it for the end of the race. I stupidly offered to help, but he said he wanted to go lay down. He said Armand was coming early in the morning and they would load up then. He still insisted they would be there in time for the race no matter what, a feat that seemed a little less likely than a snowball fight in hell. At least this fiasco was nearly behind us.

Slightly relieved just to be getting out of there, the wife and I headed up to Willows that evening, on our way to WATCH another zany weekend long race.

Next: Thunderhill or Bust!

Previous: The Homestretch

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

The Homestretch

2009-02-18T20:40:00.000-08:00

My second trip to Lou’s compound was more worrisome. He showed me the same projects and I got to hear the same stories, but the car…. Well the car was in awful shape! This time the sun was still up so I got to really see it in the light, and holy crap! I’m not sure any real progress was made on the car. For every previous idea he finished, he had several more new ones he was starting! And this was supposed to be a “Ready to Go” ride.

Added to that, he was now spending valuable time “Building” a second race car for the team, while the first one sat incomplete. He showed me what used to be the Red XJ12, that now had its trunk cut off. Um, Oh dear. What about finishing the other one first? Wasn’t car number 1 supposed to be ready from the last race? Oh boy. I asked about some of the more obvious safety items like the gas tank being in the rear seat with the radiator, no internal roll bar etc, and I got another lecture on how upside down the safety industry was. I’m sure he believed it too. But I sure wasn’t comfortable with the setup. He said he had more to do and it was a work in progress. I’d have to wait and see what he came up with, and what the tech inspectors said, but I wasn't holding my breath.

On the plus side, the car did finally run, and it almost sounded great. At least until Lou informed me it could blow at any moment. But hey, no problem if it does, he has a spare! (as he pointed to an engine sitting nearby on cardboard to keep it out of the mud). We can just put a new engine in it at the track. Oh, and he doubted the new engine was any good either. SAY WHAT??

Now I don’t mind thrashing and getting dirty to get something running again. Hell, it’s half the fun! But I do mind exercises in futility. I suddenly had a sick lump in my stomach that told me I wasn’t going racing after all. I remembered back to the scene I saw play out at Altamont, and I just knew. Barring a miracle, I was going up to WATCH others race. Shit.

I shook my head and said “I think you’re totally nuts”. He just shrugged it off and showed me his new progressive throttle linkage he had custom made for the car, and then some junkyard Chevy wheels he had the centers cut out of so they would fit. Then he reminded me he was flat broke and was stuck because he needed more sheet metal for the car.

He asked if I had access to a 1-ton truck that would be able to tow the trailer and the car inside of it, plus the extra engine and parts. I mentioned I had an RV I was bringing, but it would be towing the wife’s smart car I planned on using as a pit bike. Plus, the trailer alone probably weighed 6000 lbs or more, too much for my RV even without the car inside. He mentioned he was trying to buy a dedicated truck to tow with. Seems the owner of the large truck on the property was mad at him and would not let him use it.

Call me crazy, but claiming to be flat broke one moment, does not compute with buying a new truck the next.

When I got home my astutewhatswrong spouse asked “What’s wrong?”

I told her the story and she said “Oh baby, I’m sorry”. Then we both had a laugh. Ah well... Let's go get Brownie the RV out of storage.

Next: Christmas 08

Previous: The Backstretch

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

The Backstretch

2009-02-17T20:11:00.000-08:00

Nearly Christmas 2008

Lou and I spoke on the phone regularly, and he gave me updates both on the car and the team. Everything seemed to be going well, and I suspected he was either a lot better at building race cars than it appeared, or really believed what he was saying. Since I already gave him the money, I hoped maybe he knew what he was doing.

Lou invited me out to lunch one Saturday in Berkley to meet the other team members and a few other interesting car guys. That morning was pretty cold, and as a result the MGB did not want to start. Damn. This only happens when I’m around other car guys, and I’ve come to think of it as stage fright. Meanwhile the Datsun was sidelined with a leaky rear axle, which meant I had to borrow my in-law’s Honda to go meet a bunch of car nuts. What a bummer… 365 days a year of proudly (suffering) driving vintage cars, and now I gotta show up driving a Honda? Go figure.

I showed up at the Chinese restaurant just in time for fortune cookies and to meet fellow teammate Armand along with several other car enthusiasts. After introductions I was typically quiet and just listened to their stories and banter, while Lou alternated between reminding us of his world records, and breaking out in more limericks. They were quite creative even if they came at odd times, and he claims to have written them all himself.

This group seems to tolerate Lou’s peculiarities, and may even be a little fond of it. It appears as if they have come to realize Lou is Lou and there is just no changing that. He and Armand invited me to meet up after “lunch” at his friend Eric’s shop, and then they left just before the rest of the group did. When Lou had gone, one person in the group (who turned out to be Chief Perp Jay Lamm) asked me point blank;

“So how much is Lou charging you guys to be on his team? And Let me guess, he gave you a money back guarantee”.

I kind of skirted his questions for a couple reasons, and I said “Well, all he really has is his word. I’ll just have to wait and see what that’s worth.”

Then he told me “I can’t guarantee you many laps on Lou’s team, but I can guarantee you lots of great stories, ha-ha-ha!!”

Crap. Well it’s too late now. And at least I’m hanging around fellow gear-heads for a change.

Back at Eric's shop he showed me some of the world's coolest toys. One that stood out the most was what appeared to be a fully restored 37-40 Studebaker Coupe Express(Think El Camino or Ranchero). But when he popped the hood, there was a Dick Landy full-boogie race Hemi pushing an estimated 1,000 HP! Holy CRAP!

Eric then started it up for us, and the sweet sound nearly melted my brain... all the hair stood up on the back of my neck, and I had the biggest shit eating grin on my face. I spent the good part of 45 minutes oogling the car, and crawling on my knees to check out all the stealthy engineering in this car. It was unreal.

When I got home I told my glazedovereyes-spouse all about it. She was happy for me and glad I had a good time. Could I take out the garbage?

I suggested we bring Brownie with us so we would have a home base, and a place to relax. To my stunned surprise she said “Sure, that’s a good idea.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. Do you think he will make it?”

Oh yeah baby… let me introduce you to my friend the Dodge 440...

That night I dreamed of Bonnie & Clyde type escapades, only this time we escaped with the help of a thousand smoking horses.

Next: The Homestretch

Previous: Time

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

Time

2009-02-16T20:18:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving 08

Work was extremely pretty busy as expected. Between that, and the holidays there was little time to head up to Lou’s yard and check things out. Finally I had an unexpected half day off so I went over to see his race car and drop off my deposit.

When I showed up, I quickly realized things were not quite as I was expecting. There was a large collection of junk and unfinished projects stacked and strewn about. This was more what I would expect from an eccentric old hippy than a race car driver. But there were a few actual interesting projects sprinkled through the grounds. Talking to Lou it turns out he was indeed an old hippy from Arcata, a place I once knew well… oh the memories…. Yipes.

He showed me his “race car”, the same Exoskeleton Jag I saw from the Altamont race, with its trunk cut off and huge pipes welded into the bodywork around the perimeter. But the engine was partially disassembled, and Lou pointed out a dozen “improvements” he had made to the car, and another dozen he was in the middle of or plotting out.

He also showed me the second Jag he was about to build for the team, a nice old V12.

I asked if it was going to all be done in time for the race, and also asked if they actually let him race the car like it was… it seemed a bit… different… (Sing; One of these cars just ain’t like the others…). He assured me that he knew the guy who runs the race, who was a good friend of his, that his team was guaranteed a spot on the track, and that we wouldn’t be hassled through tech. I was more concerned if it was going to be safe, and he promised me it would be the safest car out there when he was done with it.

I also got a lecture on how wrong and upside down modern safety standards are. The man was obviously passionate about the subject, which surprised me considering...

It was quite dark by then, and there were no lights anywhere in the yard, so show and tell finally came to an end. He then offered to show me some interesting old race memorabilia. It was fun talking to him for a few hours that evening. He showed me a collection of copies of photos he had from his glory days, talked my ear off with old stories about racing and dirt bike riding, and occasionally broke out into limericks… often suddenly, and without warning.

When it came time to go, I was 50/50 about the whole deal. It could be a mistake, or it could be fun as hell. He seemed quite a likable guy, but there was only one way to find out. I left him just a deposit. I’d give him the rest as the time got closer.

When I got home, my sohowdiditgo-spouse asked “So, how did it go?”

I told her, “Well… the guy sure is eccentric” and described the evening. At the end she laughed and said “Do you realize you used the word “Eccentric” about 7 times?”

Huh. Well that about sums it up.

“Do you think he is for real?”

“Hmmm… well, I don’t know. We will just have to see. I only gave him half though. Just in case.”

"Good thinking" she replied. But I know what she was really thinking.

Next: The Backstretch

Previous: Do or Die

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

Do or Die

2009-02-15T20:30:00.000-08:00

The entry submission Deadline was rapidly approaching for Thunderhill Freezassapolooza 2008. I had talked to at least half a dozen folks over the last 6 months who expressed interest or enthusiasm in racing with me, and scoured Craigslist for suitable crap cans to go racing in. At last I had found the perfect ride, a mid 80’s Porsche 944 that ran great but had electrical problems and hadn’t been registered in years, all for 300 bucks. Perfect.

I wrote emails and placed calls to my tentative teammates saying “Here we go, Do or die! Time to pony up and let’s go racing!” Most everyone’s enthusiasm died when it became apparent this was actually going to take some time and money. People suddenly got busy, emails and phone calls went unanswered. It soon was pretty obvious the only serious member was me, although I was not totally surprised. The deadline came and the deadline passed… and I was suddenly STILL without a team or car. Sonofa….

Slightly annoyed, I went back on Craigslist to get my fix surfing for even more car parts to keep my existing car parts company, and while I was there I did a search for 24 Hours of Lemons. Lo and behold, someone posted they were searching for team members! I called the number immediately and spoke to an older gentleman who said he had a race car “Ready to go” for a reasonable cost, but he needed drivers and tires.

He identified himself as Lou Brero Jr, son of the famous race car driver by the same name. He also said he had a fully outfitted race trailer he would be bringing to the race, and possibly a second car he was building that was even faster than the one he ran at Altamont. I asked which car was his, and he said he ran a Jaguar XJ6 with a perimeter tube frame outside the car.

“Hey! The Exoskeleton Jaguar! I saw you there. I almost said Hi but you looked pretty busy. What was the problem with the car?”

I got an earful on the beauty of Jaguar engineering, but I never did find out what happened with the car. I did get a mini history lesson on early Jaguar racing though. Then he told me he lived about an hour north of my location which deflated my sails a bit. There was no way I would be able to help out in person on any regular basis, and I hate being someone whose involvement starts and ends with a checkbook and pen. I’m more of a “Hands on” kind of guy. This is also my busy season so time would be tight.

He assured me it would not be a problem, but he did need to fill the seats on the team pretty quickly and was asking for half as a deposit. He could cut some of the total cost in exchange for parts and tires. “Count me in” I said. “Where do I bring my deposit?”

And thus my involvement began with the infamous Lou Brero Jr, son of the Famous race car driver Lou Brero. A quick internet search showed he had been involved with Jaguar and a certain Ferrari. The names Snell, Moss, Shelby all popped up in searches including his name. And I was to be on his team…

Whoah… Far out man.

“Honey,” I called to rollingeyes-spouse in the other room, “I think I might have hit the jackpot with this guy. Or maybe he’s a whack-job and I’m headed for trouble, I dunno. Either way I’m going racing!”

Next: Time

Previous: The Sinker... (Part 3)

From The Begining - The Hook... (Part 1)

The Sinker (Part 3)

2009-02-13T20:32:00.000-08:00

Altamont Raceway, LeMons 10 May 2008, 11:00 am

Holy cow. This is serious nonsense.

I walked through the pits checking out the various teams, chuckling at the different themes, taking photos and tried not to get run over. There were velvet clad pimps with feathered hats and platform shoes, a porcupine quill topped BMW, and a Rooster tailed Nissan. Here, a pirate driven Miata, there a mannequin & sex doll adorned Mustang.

There were a couple of really beautiful vehicles, and MANY cobbled clunkers that looked as if they couldn’t even run, let alone be let loose on a track. Added to the mix was a sprinkling of large tire squealing Mopars just to make things interesting. People everywhere where trying to breath enough life into their “vehicles” long enough to make the start of the race. “This is nuts!” I thought.

Now, I've seen some crazy stuff before... I’ve participated in Clamper initiations, lived among hippies in the mountains, (the type who still live in multicolored converted school buses deep in the woods), and been through the Navy Shellback ceremony, long before they became the kinder and gentler Navy. I have seen things on foreign shores that would cause a college student take up the cloth and make a biker blush…

"Satisfactory!" --->

But THIS was the largest collection of nuts in one place that I had ever seen. And there was GASOLINE involved. These people, most of whom were not allowed to play with sharp objects as children, were now here gathered to play with a mind bending assortment of jalopies crafted from the deepest darkest recesses of their minds, or recently pulled from a drainage ditch; sometimes it was hard to tell.

The cars lined up then paraded out of the pits and onto the track. For a moment I thought I should beat my feet before the cops showed up. Then as the cars slowly circled the track it became mesmerizing as a parade of bad paint, feathers, pirates and gun sights crisscrossed the infield. Slowly the track filled with energy; a coffecan muffler barked off to the left, brakes would squeal out on the right. The pack started to get punchy, and then the green flag dropped at random and ALL HELL broke loose!

(Great Video from team "Driving While Awsome").

At first it looked like a fast paced bumper car ride. Then it slowly became a long course destruction derby. Bumpers went everywhere minus the cars that brought them there. Hondas swarmed around the Mopars like feeder fish in front of a great white. Volvos and BMWs sparred with each other as if engaged in an ancient Viking-Germanic battle. The hairs on my arms stood straight up while my eyes and nose filled with smoke from burning engines and screaming tires. I was transfixed like a dog obsessed with a tennis ball. Or in this case, 100 burning tennis balls. After a few hours my eyes hurt from not blinking, and I decided to take a break and walk around the pits some more.

In one pit I saw what looked like it used to be a Jaguar with an Exoskeleton roll cage attached to the outside parked in the pits. A few team members were milling about, and I thought about offering my help if they needed it. After all, it was a British car, and I know Sir Lucas, Prince of Darkness. He is no friend of mine either. (Brit-car joke)

I started to say “Well THERE’S your Problem” as I pointed generally at the car as a whole, but noticed the faces on this team were obviously not having any fun and decided to STFU (i.e. shut the fuck up). An elder gentleman whom appeared to be the team captain was hyper-focused on solving some problem and did not notice me. I decided to move along.

That’s when I ran into my Datsun friend/nemesis Jesse standing near a Volvo in a drivers fire-suit. “WTF are YOU doing here” I chided. “I’m here with the Jalopnik V8 Volvo team, getting ready to get out on the track” he said.

“What? Really? Wow!” (Translation: I hate you)

“Yeah, they asked me to help drive the V8 Volvo. Pretty cool huh?”

Jesse and I both have early Datsuns 410/411s, and regularly run into each other at shows and such. He and I travel different roads to the same destinations, one bumpier than the other.

I pulled a dead rare Datsun out of a pile of junk then heroically bring it back to life, and get stuck in the back row of car shows for my efforts. He leaves his faded Datsun parked on the street and gets featured in Jalopnik. I clean and detail the snot out of mine and get a second place ribbon for stock 510 at Blackhawk (Um, only 1 stock 510 showed up and they gave me a left over ribbon). He washed and waxed his Datsun for the first time ever, and gets an “Outstanding Car” trophy at J-style.

Yeah, I’m jealous. Perpetually. And now he’s got a ticket on the coolest carnival ride on the planet. My eyes narrowed… “Good for you Jesse… you lucky dog…”

That’s it. The final straw. I’m gonna be at the next race at Thunderhill… I don’t care WHAT it takes, even if I have to sell Brownie the RV.

Game on, Jesse… game on.

Next: Do or Die

Previous: The Sinker (Part 3)

From The Begining: The Hook... (Part 1)

The Line.. (Part 2)

2009-01-09T20:47:00.000-08:00

I have a problem. I am aware of it, and I admit it, but I believe it is under control.

Some people gamble, some people do crack, and some people drink. I do cars. It’s not a problem really. I have attained a shaky equilibrium of space-vs-projects-vs-angryspouse, and have acquired nearly a dozen of the top 50 dream vehicles on my top 25 list. I don’t feel the need to get any more cars, unless I happen to see another one I can’t live without of course. But unfortunately I have been put on a moratorium. I can buy any car (or other vehicle) I want to; I just have to sell something first.

But a RACE car. Surely that would be different. Yes no?

When I decided I really HAD to go racing, I had the full support of my wife, supportivespouse. She smiled and gently but firmly reminded me of the deal. “I can buy anything I wanted, so long as I sell something first”. This applies to a race car as well. Damn.

She is on to me. A few years ago before I was put on a moratorium, she said I couldn’t buy any more sports cars, so we bought HER one (That I drive). When she said no more MGs for either of us, I bought a sporty Datsun sedan.

When she said no more buying cars PERIOD, a friend gave me two 1st generation Honda Goldwings, which caused much chagrin in my life. But I didn’t BUY them I pleaded. “I meant No more vehicles at all!” she said. What are you going to sell? Then to make matters worse, I got a call from a friend saying he was moving and I could have my old Kawasaki sport bike back for free. Aw man, I really wanted my bike back. And it’s not a car or sports car. It’s a sports BIKE. And I didn’t buy it, it was already mine… sort of...

None of this held water. To keep the peace, I promised to sell one of the bikes and “Brownie” the motor home. I just had to fix a few things on it first. Surely it should count for more than just one vehicle, no?

No.

I found homes for and adopted out the 2 Goldwings which got me out of the doghouse for a while, and let me hang on to the Brownie for now.

Then I got nostalgic about my old Harley Davidson Sportster, and told guard-is-down-spouse all the great stories about it, for weeks at a time. With big puppy dog eyes… She mentioned in passing that I should buy another one, and sell Brownie. GREAT! I’ll do it! I just have to fix something on Brownie first before I sell it…

So I bought an Ironhead Sportster a few days later from some queasy Russian Mafia crankster on the cheap. It was a beautiful bike that needed a good dose of TLC to get back in shape.

Perfect, except on the way home the thing puked its guts out the exhaust pipe. Steelygazespouse was not amused.

(Whats left of the top of the piston, in the bottom of the cylinder)

Great, yet another project. I planned on rebuilding it anyways, but I had hoped to ride it a little longer first. Most expensive 20 minute ride of my life, but MAN was it fast! Now it was jockeying for position in the line of projects in my garage, between the Kawasaki, an MGBGT, and a 67 Dodge Polara that I drove cross country on the 2nd annual Hot Rod Magazine Power Tour, and of course Brownie the Motorhome, that I had to fix before I could sell.

And Brownie is no ordinary Motorhome. Oh no! He is rare, oh so very rare! The chassis was built in 1979, and includes the vaunted 440 motor. For those in the know, the 440 and the 1 ton chassis’ were discontinued in 1978. A handful of leftover 78 chassis’ were delivered to coachbuilders late and sold the next year as ‘79s, but this one was a bonafide 1979 440 Dodge chassis, built in early 1979 as listed on the VIN. It’s not listed in any parts books or literature that I have found which made for interesting conversations/confrontations at parts stores until I started ordering for a 78.

In addition, the coach was built by a travel trailer company that got into motorhomes for a year or two, and then went back to just trailers. Double rare. And it’s been in the family for years!

Alas, none of this mattered to grumpyspouse. Bike came, RV goes. A deal is a deal. Ok, you are right… we should sell it. I just gotta fix something on it first. I’ll put it in storage until I can get to it.

Which brings us back to the race car dilemma. Where to keep a race car? My home was chosen for it’s unusually long driveway. My cutefunnyspouse had sold her Honda and bought a smart-car , which really helped on the parking space, but I was told point blank; “Not to be filled with race car”.

The next LeMons race came, the next LeMons race went, and I decided I HAD to find someplace else to store and work on the yet to be purchased (on the down-low) race car…

Family and friends were approached and schmoozed, with promises of victory and fame, but as the deadline approached and the need for real money and effort arose, I found myself a 1 man team with no car, and no place to park even if I had one. There HAD to be other race and car obsessed people out there on this planet, I just did not know any of them. I was hanging out in the wrong circles, with seriously bad people like engineers, whom always eyed me and my hijinx with suspicion.

I decided to take a new approach and hang out at the next event, Altamont 08 for the whole race. Maybe learn the ropes and find out what it REALLY takes to run the 24 Hours of LeMons. Maybe I could talk notonyourlifespouse into going with me...

Next: The Sinker... (Part 3)

From The Begining: - The Hook... (Part 1)

The Hook... (Part 1)

2009-01-08T20:38:00.000-08:00

It all started with a simple question...

"Have you ever heard of the 24 Hours of Lemons?" he asked.

"No, what's that?" I replied.

"Check it out, look it up on the web. It's a lot of fun".

And with that the seeds were sown. Had I known at the time where this would lead, I would have run away screaming. But no, later that evening I went and looked it up, thereby inadvertently sealing my fate for the next several years.

The person on the other end of the line was David Swig, son of another prolific auto enthusiast Martin Swig. I was on a business trip visiting Philadelphia, and David was calling to ask if he could forward my contact info to a reporter for the San Jose Mercury News. They were doing a piece in support of a new event he was organizing called Motoring J-style, a car show for Japanese only cars.

It seemed my self depreciating write-up on the entry form had caught his eye. The car I wanted to enter, a rare 1967 Datsun RL411 SSS (the one with 96 hp dual carb 1600 shared with the Fairlady roadsters) was no show car. It came out of a yard full of junk in Sacramento where it had sat for over a decade under a pile of parts and a few tarps with most of its windows and windshield busted out.

When it came into my possession, I washed it, glued in a cracked replacement windshield, changed all the fluids, replaced a few parts and started driving it again as half of my primary vehicle team (the other being an MGB found under similar circumstances). I say primary vehicle team, because you need one old car to drive as you fix the other. Between the two, I usually get to work on time year round.

Needless to say, I was slowly scraping the worst warts off the thing, but it was hardly show car quality. And I liked it that way. It attracts lots of attention with its bona fide beater scars and well worn ex-pizza delivery car character. But would it be good enough for J-Style, or laughed out of the county? After all, I regularly beat on it, and take it camping up in the Sierras where I grew up. Elevations past 10,000 feet on old logging roads that have KILLED lesser vehicles, like Jeeps, Broncos and Blazers. This thing was a beater that somehow always made it home.

In my youth (like, at age 7!) my younger sister and I learned to drive in a car just like this one on the very same dirt roads, with a very crazy uncle drinking beer in the passenger seat. As I grew up, I got better at driving and dreamed of becoming a rally-racer when I grew up. But life, oh LIFE, got in the way and set me on parallel roads, never quite able to get on the racing track, pun intended.

The Datsun took more and more beatings at the hands of several uncles, to the point where it was no longer recognizable. At one time while Boonie-crashing on Banner Mountain it ended up in Greenhorn Creek outside Grass Valley sunk up to its roof in water. It caught fire on the Golden Gate Bridge, it was pummeled by garbage trucks in San Fransisco, lost it’s hood on the Bay bridge (they continued on without stopping), it raced up and down the dirt road canyons of the South Yuba River and was rear ended more times than I can remember. For the first few years of its life, every time it got a paint job, it was immediately rear ended. So they eventually quit painting it in hopes of avoiding the wrath of the "smash-your-car" gods and we named it the "Stevie-wonder-car".

In the early 80's the car was finally borrowed by a weird friend of my uncle Steve, whom I help get it running. And as I watched it disappear down that driveway in Nevada City, I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach. That day it was stupidly walked away from and given up for dead when it broke down on the Bay Bridge and never seen again.

I never forgot about it.

This set me on a 15+ year quest to find another one just like it. And eventually I found the one I was looking for. We named him Bluebie.

I was surprised when David called and asked if I could do an interview about Bluebie for the show. “You mean I’m in? You know the car is UGLY, right? It looks much better in photos than standing next to it. Seriously”

“That’s ok, we are looking for all kinds of cars, not just show-queens. You really take that thing up into the Sierras? Look into that 24 Hours of Lemons thing. Our race car will be at the show, come check it out.”

Later, I got a call from a friend saying there was a photo of Bluebie in the Drive section of the newspaper. I was proud and embarrassed at the same time. In the photo, the areas where the blue paint has worn off and the original white paint shows through make it look like the car is shining. It feels like a lie.

At the show I saw the Motoring J-Style MR2 Lemon, and thought “Holy Crap! That thing is a mess! Cool!” That’s when I got that strange itch in my giddyup, and I looked up the Lemons website again when I got home. From the moment I saw the youtube clips I heard my calling.

The 24hours of LeMons it turns out, is the antithesis and tounge in cheeck parody of the famous 24 Hours of Lemans endurance race. Only in this race, the cars cannot cost more than $500. Their website says it best;

"Nasty. Brutish. Not Short Enough.

The crowd. The spectacle. The pall of blue smoke and roasted clutch discs. In all motorsport, no event captures the universal human need to whale on old crapcans and hoover down greasy barbecue like the 24 Hours of LeMons.

Each LeMons race is for cars purchased, fixed up, and track-prepped for a total of 500 dollars or less. But before reaching the grid, you'll have to survive trials like the Personal-Injury-Lawyer Anti-Slalom, the Marxist-Valet Parking Challenge, and the Wide Open Throttle Rodthrowapalooza. Twelve hours into the race, the car voted People’s Choice is called in and awarded a cash prize; simultaneously, the car voted People’s Curse is called in and summarily destroyed. At the end of 24 hours, a gala awards ceremony plies the survivors with trophies, plaques, and four-figure purses in canvas bags full of nickels. What's not to like?"

LeMons... LeMons...

Visions of LeMans style starts and fireballs danced in my head...

All I needed was yet another car...

Next: The Line... (Part 2)

From The Beginning - The Hook... (Part 1)