continued from Chronicles: the death of a goal (Part 6)
2:34 pm - Aroused from another slumberous rest, a practice session awaited. I pushed the modified back away from the trailer, facing the direction of the staging area. The most convenient fix to the broken roof tab was a taut bungy cord that circumferenced the aluminum sheet roof and the chromoly roll cage. Getting into the seat required climbing in the side, ala Dukes of Hazzard style (fitting since the car owner's last name is Hazard). I gave out a rebel yell to make light of my entrance. Back in the office, the bruises on the inside of my arm sent shooting reminders. My scrawny frame didn't fill out the oversized seat making it impossible to avoid contact with the tender inner biceps. Waiting on the grid, I unfocused myself until we started rolling onto the speedway. Pacing around I left a few cars length separation behind Doug and Tim's race cars. What little moisture that existed ten minutes ago was now almost gone and in one lap would be completely blown to the outside fence. The flagger started his circling motion with a folded green flag signifying 'go time'. Easing into turn one I hammered the trottle as soon as it got sideways. Getting instant traction the car rolled slightly on the right rear. Three seconds later I released the gas halfway down the back stretch and applied slight brake pressure to set the car entering turn three. I repeated this process twice a lap for five laps, each time changing the entry lane, while adjusting the application of throttle and braking. It was as if I was always sideways. Running closely behind Mineri, I noticed that running just a half a lane off the bottom was proving pointless as he spun tires through the entire corner allowing me to close and pass him with ease. With the checkered flag out, I wheeled my entry pitside being ever mindful of the young kids running about the area.
2:57 pm - I stared at the bucket. Damn golf balls. Reaching in I dug my hand to the bottom in the futile attempt to pull out the number one pill. Much to my surprise I pulled a dimpled Top Flight XL bearing the number four. Having lucked into the pole position for the feature event, I knew I had only myself to blame for not pulling off a win. Go-kart features were slated next which allotted another extended down-time. Congregating at Doug's trailer I reacquainted myself with the lawn chair. Typical gossip about this driver and that owner circled about, much like it does at every racetrack on any given night. To turn a phase, every now and again I added my two cents worth. The monotony of waiting was getting to me. Usually, the nervous anticipation of the next race would play havoc on my psyche, but today a calm, unassuming attitude presided.
2:34 pm - Aroused from another slumberous rest, a practice session awaited. I pushed the modified back away from the trailer, facing the direction of the staging area. The most convenient fix to the broken roof tab was a taut bungy cord that circumferenced the aluminum sheet roof and the chromoly roll cage. Getting into the seat required climbing in the side, ala Dukes of Hazzard style (fitting since the car owner's last name is Hazard). I gave out a rebel yell to make light of my entrance. Back in the office, the bruises on the inside of my arm sent shooting reminders. My scrawny frame didn't fill out the oversized seat making it impossible to avoid contact with the tender inner biceps. Waiting on the grid, I unfocused myself until we started rolling onto the speedway. Pacing around I left a few cars length separation behind Doug and Tim's race cars. What little moisture that existed ten minutes ago was now almost gone and in one lap would be completely blown to the outside fence. The flagger started his circling motion with a folded green flag signifying 'go time'. Easing into turn one I hammered the trottle as soon as it got sideways. Getting instant traction the car rolled slightly on the right rear. Three seconds later I released the gas halfway down the back stretch and applied slight brake pressure to set the car entering turn three. I repeated this process twice a lap for five laps, each time changing the entry lane, while adjusting the application of throttle and braking. It was as if I was always sideways. Running closely behind Mineri, I noticed that running just a half a lane off the bottom was proving pointless as he spun tires through the entire corner allowing me to close and pass him with ease. With the checkered flag out, I wheeled my entry pitside being ever mindful of the young kids running about the area.
2:57 pm - I stared at the bucket. Damn golf balls. Reaching in I dug my hand to the bottom in the futile attempt to pull out the number one pill. Much to my surprise I pulled a dimpled Top Flight XL bearing the number four. Having lucked into the pole position for the feature event, I knew I had only myself to blame for not pulling off a win. Go-kart features were slated next which allotted another extended down-time. Congregating at Doug's trailer I reacquainted myself with the lawn chair. Typical gossip about this driver and that owner circled about, much like it does at every racetrack on any given night. To turn a phase, every now and again I added my two cents worth. The monotony of waiting was getting to me. Usually, the nervous anticipation of the next race would play havoc on my psyche, but today a calm, unassuming attitude presided.
4:32 pm - As the go-kart features were winding down, the slingshot drivers were buckling in. This was our clue to get prepared. Amish Larry performed an impeccable job of preparing all three cars for racing each time we hit the track. I thought he might have been a little overzealous with the air in the tires, so I went to each valve stem and released what looked like the desired amount. Usually I'm very precise so in lieu of an air pressure gauge, I kicked each tire satisfied with it's sponginess. With the advent of beadlock rims, running two to three pounds of air in the left side tires is not uncommon. Climbing in the side once again I was pulling shoulder belts, connecting my arm restraints, and latching the lap belts making sure I included the submarine (crotch) belt in the process.
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