continued from Chronicles: the death of a goal (Part 5)
9:19 am - Salvation. A local restaurant on the outskirts of a tiny nondescript town has just enough parking for our three towing rigs. Striping off the fleece pullover I joined the gang as we commandeered a table. I passed the buffet coming in stacked with crispy, curly bacon. Sold, just hand me a plate! Stuffed from one of the best down home breakfasts ever, we departed for Wyalusing Valley. While on Route 6 southbound just past Towanda, orange detour signs sprang up. Turning left onto an oil and chips back country road, the comfort of a smooth highway was erased. Bouncing through bumps and potholes the two lane road stressed the truck's brakes, struts and springs. What the ride lacked in comfort, it compensated in visual beauty. Stunning rolling hills, meadows and wild flowers in the foreground of a crystal clear blue sky populated my view. Nearing the end of the detour we traversed a steep grade ending at a stop sign. Applying brake pressure, the pedal grew softer. An acrid, burning smell permeated my nostrils. Luckily Doug didn't meander at the stop sign and rolled onto the highway. I followed suit knowing full well that I was out of brakes. Maintaining a safe distance a few minutes later we turned right onto the access road to Wyalusing Valley Race Park. Much to my dismay, another downward slope awaited. Pumping the brakes, I creeped down to the track's entrance road. I was mentally exhausted and I hadn’t turned a lap yet.
10:42 am - Gates would open in 15 minutes but the friendly track staff accommodated our early arrival and signed the 600 Modified crews in. Parking towards the back of the pits I climbed from the cab and headed for a peek at the track. Annoying knats swarmed from each patch of grass. Moving to stay ahead of them seemed to be the best course of action. Jersey barriers lined the outside of the dirt surface and doubled as a guardrail. Yuke (tractor) tires laid flat served notice to drivers of how low they could go. The dirt was just that, dirt. Very little clay existed on this bullring which would make finding grip difficult. Walking the surface Doug made the observation that running the second groove could work. I entertained this notion but then dismissed that as implausible. Shippensburg Speedway, another stop in the Central PA circuit, was very similar in configuration and dirt composition offering only one lane of grip: the bottom.
11:19 am - The pits were coming alive with the presence of a wide range of tow vehicles and trailers. The haves and have nots co-existed in the grassy pit parking randomly. Go-karts, cage carts, slingshots, and 270cc micro sprints shared the card in today's racing activities. As the sun drew higher, my fatigue grew more noticeable. Retiring to a lawn chair I tried to catch some quite time. Given a choice, I would have opted to blow by this mom-and-pop racetrack to arrive at the confines of my abode much, much earlier in the day. Stuck, I drifted off to thoughts of my pregnant wife and a life soon to be altered.
9:19 am - Salvation. A local restaurant on the outskirts of a tiny nondescript town has just enough parking for our three towing rigs. Striping off the fleece pullover I joined the gang as we commandeered a table. I passed the buffet coming in stacked with crispy, curly bacon. Sold, just hand me a plate! Stuffed from one of the best down home breakfasts ever, we departed for Wyalusing Valley. While on Route 6 southbound just past Towanda, orange detour signs sprang up. Turning left onto an oil and chips back country road, the comfort of a smooth highway was erased. Bouncing through bumps and potholes the two lane road stressed the truck's brakes, struts and springs. What the ride lacked in comfort, it compensated in visual beauty. Stunning rolling hills, meadows and wild flowers in the foreground of a crystal clear blue sky populated my view. Nearing the end of the detour we traversed a steep grade ending at a stop sign. Applying brake pressure, the pedal grew softer. An acrid, burning smell permeated my nostrils. Luckily Doug didn't meander at the stop sign and rolled onto the highway. I followed suit knowing full well that I was out of brakes. Maintaining a safe distance a few minutes later we turned right onto the access road to Wyalusing Valley Race Park. Much to my dismay, another downward slope awaited. Pumping the brakes, I creeped down to the track's entrance road. I was mentally exhausted and I hadn’t turned a lap yet.
10:42 am - Gates would open in 15 minutes but the friendly track staff accommodated our early arrival and signed the 600 Modified crews in. Parking towards the back of the pits I climbed from the cab and headed for a peek at the track. Annoying knats swarmed from each patch of grass. Moving to stay ahead of them seemed to be the best course of action. Jersey barriers lined the outside of the dirt surface and doubled as a guardrail. Yuke (tractor) tires laid flat served notice to drivers of how low they could go. The dirt was just that, dirt. Very little clay existed on this bullring which would make finding grip difficult. Walking the surface Doug made the observation that running the second groove could work. I entertained this notion but then dismissed that as implausible. Shippensburg Speedway, another stop in the Central PA circuit, was very similar in configuration and dirt composition offering only one lane of grip: the bottom.
11:19 am - The pits were coming alive with the presence of a wide range of tow vehicles and trailers. The haves and have nots co-existed in the grassy pit parking randomly. Go-karts, cage carts, slingshots, and 270cc micro sprints shared the card in today's racing activities. As the sun drew higher, my fatigue grew more noticeable. Retiring to a lawn chair I tried to catch some quite time. Given a choice, I would have opted to blow by this mom-and-pop racetrack to arrive at the confines of my abode much, much earlier in the day. Stuck, I drifted off to thoughts of my pregnant wife and a life soon to be altered.
1:04 pm - Hurry up and wait seemed to be the modus operandi. Apparently, Wyalusing Valley ran all of the go-cart practices and qualifying rounds prior to the 'big' cars seeing the track. Bored, I walked the pits observing the time honored tradition of families interacting at the race track. This grass roots level involvement is the cornerstone of our sport. During a break in the on-track activity, an elderly farmer carried a white bucket and proceeded to circle the track, picking up loose stones and depositing them into the plastic container. Never at any track (and I've visited many) have I witnessed such a commitment to the racer. I became an instant fan of the facility.
No comments:
Post a Comment