Drag Racing Online - "Martin Chronicles"

GET READY FOR THE DOG DAY AFTERNOONS

I think it was Pro Stock racer Kurt Johnson who said during one of the interviews in TNN’s coverage of the NHRA Advance Auto Nationals in Atlanta (to paraphrase), “Well, there’s this race, Englishtown, then Dallas to really set records, then things slow down until about Reading (the NHRA Keystone Nationals in mid-September).”

Anyone who’s been a fan knows what this racer is talking about. Summer’'s coming, it gets hot and muggy, the tracks aren’t as fast and the record window slams shut for the season.

ONE LAST THING DEPARTMENT

You guys remember last month’s “Entertain Us, We’ll Make ‘Ya Famous” installment, where I requested that some of you tell us a wild, crazy, funny tale involving something at the drags or about cars. Well, we got our first reporter. I believe he or his band represents the arab community as his name is Retief 42. Actually that name also smacks of the old Ottoman Empire (Turkey, Hungary, Armenia, etc.), but either way here are his recollections of a 1981 match race at Connecticut Raceway. I've supplied the title and cleaned up the copy just a wee bit; after all, we're here to help.

Title: Ohmigod, I don't want to die!!!

Author: Retief 42

In 1981, my wife and I attended Connecticut Dragway where a four-car nitro Funny Car show involving “Rapid Roy” Harris, Jerry Caminito, Al Hanna’s “Eastern Raider” and Bruce Larson’s “USA-1” was taking place.

The show got off to a good start with Harris and Larson initiating their runs with quarter-mile burnouts, full tilt back-ups, dry hops, then following with a good side-by-side run.

Next came Hanna and Caminito. My wife was 9 months pregnant at the time and was standing next to me along the fence just past the starting line. Caminito motored through the water box, hammered the throttle, and billowed tons of tire smoke. The car got a little sideways, but at that moment, I thought ‘That’s o.k.,’ because a lot of drivers do that all the time. No problem.

However, a second later, Caminito is now 90 degrees to the track and the driver is still in full burnout mode. When he decides to lift, he is directly in front of me and my wife. Things got worse, because the car hooks and goes right where it’s pointed - straight at us.

Luckily Caminito’s wild animal hits the the post that holds the Armco barrier right in front. My wife freezes and I try to get her out outta the way, certain of impending doom. Fiberglass explodes everywhere when the car slams into the post, an act that is followed by the blower exploding and the fuel tank tearing up and leaning out the motor. The blower flew off the car and landed in the stands next to a guy who was a crew member on Rhea Goodrich's “New Englander” Top Fuel dragster.

Remarkably, everything turned out okay except for Caminito’s car and my wet pants. All in all, it was wild and crazy fun and I still have a piece of the car in the cellar as a souvenir.

Mr. Retief, say hello if you see my big mouth at Indy. With a last name like “42”, I’'m dying to see your driver's

- CM

license.

Check out the NHRA Top Performers page at the back of National DRAGSTER. You will note that there is not one record time in any of the five pro categories, elapsed time and mile per hour, that was set in the months of June, July, and August.

Same deal for IHRA. No records in the heat. I don’t have the mechanical knowledge to explain why the cars won’t work in humidity, but it appears they just get pissed off and go into the bag.

Races like the NHRA sweatfests at Joliet, Ill.; Columbus, Ohio; and Madison, Ill., and IHRA doozies at Great Bend, Canada; Cordova, Ill., and Leicester, N.Y. really show what fans will crack first under interrogation. These events determine the first-string hardcore among us. Most serious drag race fans can't go three or four months without a race, so they're faced with the gut-wrenching reality of when to enter the sauna. This is a serious question. It’s easy to sit in the top end aluminum at the Texas Motorplex in the spring and autumn cool and watch four-second runs, but it’s a whole different beast when you’re microwaved for 12 hours watching four-minute runs.

The majority of fans at these events have been prepared in advance over the years by having lived in these conditions. The paying spectator knows what’s coming, just like someone viewing a severe weather-ribbon on the bottom of the TV screen. Bring sun block, wear a hat, drink lots of water, wear light clothing, don’t roll the car windows up when the dog’s inside, stay out of fist fights, make sure you’ve got medical coverage, does your family have a history of strokes, do you cry easy ....

I’ve been to a lot of drag races in my many years of spectatorhood, from Monterey, Mexico to Montreal, Canada and from Seattle, Washington to Gainesville, Florida. I know a little about untoward conditions and getting ready for them and, if you’d like, I’ll pass a few on to you.

(God, what do I mean “if you’d like?” Deft touch. Like you’re going to answer. Just writing about the subject brings on brain spasms.)

Anyway, I go to the hot ones expecting to collapse. I don’t do much pit traveling because I don’t want to hit the asphalt with my head. I stay in the bleachers figuring it’s less distance to the ground.

After grasping the severity of the situation, I then seek reasonable ways of making a downbeat environment upbeat. And the answer is? Beer. Ice cold and by the barrel.

Generally, the heat is so oppressive that it’s difficult for security personnel to tell the overserved from those made crazy by the conditions. If you’re rubber-legged, you’re likely to get sympathy, maybe a blast of pure oxygen from the track ambulance crew, and less likely to get a new set of chrome bracelets. So that’s one way I ready myself for a weekend from hell. Party in earnest and cover your ass with the environment.

Second, as I recommended for last year’s U.S. Nationals, use the hand stamp. Most NHRA and IHRA national events will let you enter and re-enter the facility provided your hand is stamped with the proper ink insignia. Take advantage of that.

Case the place when you’re going to the track. Take note of restaurants and, what the hell, taverns. If the heat becomes too much and you don’t have to be led to your car on a leash, get in, get stamped, get out and re-trace your steps.

“Ah, Ginger’s Playroom. Will you look at all the Harleys.” Put a couple of bucks in the jukebox, play some pool, have a honey bun and beer, try out the local bouncer, run back to your car and hit the track.

Third, a good radio and a big air-conditioned vehicle. I’m a numbers freak and I know, based on experience, that if it’s 98 degrees with 88-percent humidity at Gateway International Raceway, I am not going to see much in the way of times. Low 4.70’s out of the fuelers, Force and his Castrol GTX-tremists in the high 4.9’s and everyone else 5.08 and slower, and the bitchy, I-won’t-run-nice-if-the-weather-isn’t-nice Pro Stocks in the high 7.0’s. I can live without that.

If you’re rich and spoiled, retire to the mobile home and turn on 540 AM or some such low frequency signal (almost all national events have this service) and then hit the central air. If you’re financially solid and modestly spoiled, get thee to thy fat recreational vehicle and do the same thing. If you’re trailer trash, get under your Impala and put the portable on the hood and point the antenna in the direction of the tower.

You can hear the times pretty good from the parking or pit area and usually one of the track PA guys will let you know when something is worthy of your in-person attention. Something on the order of…

“Okay, well it looks like our last pair of Pro Stocks is approaching the starting line area and they will be followed by the Funny Cars. And, my god, the announcing deck’s ON FIRE !!!! Every man for himself!!!!”

I’ve even got an idea for some of the veteran scribes whose attitude on such hellish extremes is, “Hey, I’ve seen this movie before.”

Coverage by cellular. How do you think I put up with over 25 years of reporting national events, at least a third in the heat? I’d make sure I had the number of the press room or the timing deck, then when it got hopelessly miserable, usually around 10 or 11 a.m., I’d go over to a quality bar and grill, say something on the order of “Sh-Boom's Party House” in East St. Louis and have a long lunch.

Being aware of the daily qualifying session times, I’d place a call to one of the press services or a reporter pal who “just has to be there,” scribble down the times, think great thoughts for a moment, and then continue working on a Night Train Express / Pagan Pink swizzle. I wore out people half my age with this professional procedure.

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure in these conditions, chums and chumlettes, and you’re looking at about three months of this jazz. It’s a jungle out there. A wet, hot, steamy one. Just thought you’d like to know and to get ready.

photo by Jeff Burk