By on June 8, 2011

Hear the rhyme of the Tetanus Neon
See the pictures on T-T-A-C
Mesmerizing the unlucky reader
Stay here and listen to the nightmare of defeat

Well, that’s more the Iron Maiden version of “Rhyme Of The Ancient Mariner” than Coleridge’s, isn’t it? And yet, this is not a dissimilar tale. There’s plenty to tell about my stint as a driver for last weekend’s 24 Hours of LeMons — misfortune, dehydration of the aqueous and fuel varities, damage, failure, and, finally, escape.

Friday, 1:30AM — “You can’t write about me,” she says, “and, also, I’m not crazy like that one girl on your Facebook, (redacted).” Agreed on both counts, so that’s all we will say about this particular blue-eyed Tex-Mex beauty. I’d flown in to Houston’s Hobby Airport at five o’clock to meet some friends for dinner. In the early stages of the drinking, I’d gotten a text message from our own Murilee Martin, telling me that the Tetanus Neon team had been battling some sort of fueling issue all day in practice. “I’m sure they will figure it out,” he wrote.

Vaguely disquieted by this news, I’d allowed myself to have a couple of Ketel One doubles to wash away the worry. The party kept moving, from the Pappas Steakhouse through four more bars and finally landing at a “jazz club” where the house band played “Purple Rain” and “Rock With You.” After sobering up, I return to the steakhouse and convince the night janitor to find the keys for my rental in the valet stand.

Saturday, 9:00 AM — I arrive at the racetrack to meet my team and shoot the breeze with the other TTACers at the event. Mary, the young doctor who owns Tetanus Racing, is petite, forceful, and pale-skinned. She informs me that the fueling issue — a “bucking” which limits the Neon to 4500rpm — was intermittent yesterday and may not recur. In all other respects, the car is set to go. I’m scheduled to drive the fourth stint of this nine-hour day. With temperatures in the 105-degree range, it’s planned that those stints will be about an hour. I’m concerned about this. My experience racing LeMons has taught me that 150-minute stints are absolutely essential to winning, and 180-minute stints are better. We’ll have to see.

Saturday, 1:00PM — Our first driver, Jimmy, had experienced no problems with the car, but by the time Mary gets in, 4500rpm is the most it will rev without shaking and cutting out. Our lap times are perhaps twenty seconds slower than the car’s true potential. Still, we’re in the top half of the field from the simple expedient of continuing to proceed. All three of the other drivers come out of the Neon looking fairly dehydrated and dizzy; without power steering, and in this heat, it’s fairly tough to pull even a 75-minute drive.

We’re required to wear full drivers’ suits and keep our visors down while fueling the car, so I’m feeling a little beat just from being wrapped up in several layers of Nomex and running around pit lane. Mary, the third driver, reports that the rev ceiling has dropped to about 3800rpm and that the car can no longer sustain full throttle. We decide that the fuel pump needs to be swapped, but the nearest one can’t be in our hands until the end of the day. She’s also concerned about vibration from the CV joints. I agree to take it out for a while just to see what happens, but request that they completely fuel the Neon before I get in. Off we go!

Saturday, 2:30PM — I’ve been driving for an hour now. For most of my stint, the Neon hasn’t been able to accept more than half throttle or run more than slightly under 4000RPM. By using one-third throttle and no more than 3500RPM for a few laps, I’m able to build up a “push to pass” time where I can run as high as 4300RPM and full throttle opening for a few seconds.

Yes, I’m passing people. The driver talent pool at LeMons is always shallow — this is entry-level racing in $500 cars, not GP2 — but I’m surprised at how many people are utterly dismal at negotiating turns. If you are reading this and wondering, “Am I good enough to try LeMons,” and you successfully drove to work without killing a busload of kids, the answer is probably “Oh, yeah.” With about fifty horsepower on tap, using fifth gear where possible to get above seventy miles per hour but never seeing eighty, I’m passing cars almost as often as I’m being passed. Too often, however, they will simply blow by me on the next straight and then hold me up for two or three corners before I can short-brake them again. Still, we are climbing up the charts as cars break, retire, or take long driver changes.

Saturday, 3:00PM — I’m ninety minutes in and I am feeling pretty good, actually. Although I had failed to maintain my training regimen prior to arrival, I have a few advantages my co-drivers don’t have. To begin with, I’ve been racing cars without power steering for years, and I’m physically the largest person on the team, so the work is easiest for me. I’ve also consciously worked to keep my breathing and heart rate down during the stint, used my hand to direct fresh air to my face, and although I don’t use a Cool Shirt, I do have a hideously expensive OMP custom Grand-Am drivers’ suit that is much cooler than everyone else’s three-layer G-Force specials.

I find a true joy in driving the utterly powerless car as fast as it can go, holding the very last bit of corner speed, methodically unwinding out of every turn as soon as possible, drafting the faster cars and offering no courtesy to passing traffic. I decide to drive until the fuel runs out.

I’ve found a sparring partner on track: a Miata which drives away on the straights but falls back to my front bumper on the twisty back section of the track. This situation — a Miata having power, but lacking cornering, compared to a Neon — is so backwards from club racing it makes me laugh. A few times I manage to get side-by-side on the front straight, only to be drag-raced out by four car lengths. Oh well. Our duel lasts almost ninety minutes before I finally start to fuel-starve at 3:32 and call for a pit-in.

Saturday, 7:30PM — A full load of cold fuel fixes the bucking issue and the next two drivers have full use of the car. We’re up to seventh. Chris, the co-owner, sweats it out through a very difficult ninety-minute closing stint as I sit ready by pit lane to jump in at a moment’s notice. Amazingly, we are in seventh place; my lap times without power were very similar to the full-power laps turned later in the day, and running at that pace is apparently good enough.

Sunday, 2:30AM — (redacted)

Sunday, 6:30AM — I tumble into bed to sleep for two hours before the race.

Sunday, 6:45AM — There’s an emergency conference call for a production issue with my job back home. At one point I interrupt the proceedings to dry-heave for five minutes.

Sunday, 12:00PM — I arrive at the track to find the Tetanus Neon sitting in the paddock. The CV joints are making big noise and shaking like hell. On the plus side, the first driver had full power for his whole stint; on the minus side, the second driver didn’t. The new fuel pump, replaced by Mary and the crew while I was wandering drunk through downtown Houston, didn’t fix the issue. We are still in seventh but we are dropping fast.

Sunday, 12:30PM — Mary comes back in from a testing stint complaining about heavy vibration above pitlane pace. The left CV is thrashed. Worse yet, one of the lugs has snapped off the disc, with another one wobbling. We have no replacements. We are done.

Sunday, 3:00PM — I’m playing the bass line from “Tom Sawyer” through a massive Ampeg tube amp while notorious TTACer doctorv8 plays drums. It’s very cool in the house. Afterwards, we tour his collection of fabulous automobiles and discuss our Saturday nights. It seems very far from the heat and misery of LeMons, and it occurs to me that I could skip the race next time I come to Houston.

Sunday, 6:00PM — I’m stuffing my helmet bag into the overhead compartment when the woman seated next me says, in her Texas accent, “So… what do you do?”

“I’m… um, a race car driver,” I respond.

“What kind of cars?” she inquires, leaning over to display her fabulous endowment and smiling with megawatt teeth.

“Crappy ones,” I respond.

Thanks to: Tetanus Racing, Mary, Chris, Jim, Phil, Sajeev, the rest of the LeMons crew, and Sanjay. You see! I didn’t write about you!

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20 Comments on “Trackday Diaries: Dangerous ticks, a descent into madness....”


  • avatar
    YellowDuck

    I do enjoy Jack’s writing…but if these tales of going out, getting sick drunk, then sleeping for two hours before driving on a racetrack are even partially true…then Jack, you are a true a**hole. Sorry. Not cool. I don’t care how good a driver you are, that is irreponsible and shows criminal disregard for the safety of others, not to mention your own.

    • 0 avatar

      Re-read the time-line and then apologize for being a douche.

      He never got back in the car.

    • 0 avatar
      Jack Baruth

      YellowDuck,

      Four responses:

      1) You’re right. It’s a bad idea to drink the night before a race…

      2) …but it is almost universal. Many NASA races have free beer all Saturday night. I’ve also seen racers drinking on race day. Speaking personally, I wouldn’t drink within six to eight hours of the time I expected to get in the car.

      3) I also don’t get in the car unless I can perform a series of Ross Bentley’s awareness tests… cross-crawls while counting, fast lazy-eights, and juggling while walking. I have three foam juggling balls in my race kit for exactly this purpose. Of all the things I am willing to do to endanger my fellow racer, driving impaired is not one of them.

      4) I will admit to an excess of enthusiasm sometimes, mostly becasuse as a bicycle racer I spent fifteen years without a drop of alcohol, and I mean that literally.

  • avatar
    Sinistermisterman

    What is it with you racing drivers? When I was filming/photographing amateur rallying in the UK I often ended up in the bar after the first day only to see a majority of the drivers knocking back 6-8 pints and several ‘wee drams’ before staggering up to bed at 1am, only to be up again at 5am.
    I’m 29 now, but even I’m past the phase of drinking heavily the night before going to work. C’mon Jack, being a badass doesn’t have to involve having zero self control when it comes to booze.

  • avatar
    Bowler300

    I’m still hunting for the ‘un-redact’ button on my keyboard…

  • avatar
    lmike51b

    Hope your jorts helped you stay cool here in H-town!

  • avatar
    YellowDuck

    NSF, according to the story he was out doing plenty of drinking the night before, and had to get his keys from the night janitor, so safe to say he hadn’t had much sleep prior to Day 1 at the track. Also, when he decided to poison himself that night and got practically no sleep at all, at that point as far as he knew he was going to be driving the next day. Incredible (if true).

    I know LeMons is more or less a joke…but still…

  • avatar
    Educator(of teachers)Dan

    If the word “Baruthian” was in the Oxford Dictionary this latest post from Jack would be part of the entry as an example of correct usage.

    What a completely Baruthian weekend that was…

  • avatar
    NormSV650

    Nice funny at the end!

  • avatar
    Domestic Hearse

    Hopeful yet discontent,
    He knows the buzz isn’t permanent,
    But booze is….

    /newlyricsforyourbassline

  • avatar

    That ending was wonderful.

  • avatar

    Thanks for racing with us, Jack. Despite the breakage (and sweat) we had a fun weekend.

    To everyone concerned about the sleep/hangover issues… Lemons is most definitely *amateur* racing but we’re not crazy. If he’d been unsafe he wouldn’t have been getting into the car. We keep an eye on each other and play things safe– to the point that I’m sure Jack thinks we’re too conservative.

    We normally *do* target 120-minute runs, but since we have three additional races planned this year for the Neon (our only race car), we cut our driver stints substantially on a hot weekend with two new drivers on the team. (Y’all both passed the unspoken test, obviously!)

  • avatar

    Oh, and an additional note: Jack’s answer to his fellow passenger is totally correct. It is a crappy car. It frustrates me in so many stupid ways, every time it can. Crappy crappy crappy. Yet I love it and it’s the most entertaining way to waste time I’ve ever found in my life.
    I think every gearhead should get out to a Lemons or Chump event and race a crappy car, just to appreciate every other car in their lives.

  • avatar

    enough about all the car-nonsense,

    So: [excepting what I know about wimmins 4 a sec.] did you somehow Derek Flint your way into renewing your membership in the 5280+-feet-in-altitude-chamber-of-commerce with Ms. megawatts at the end?

    .
    Good story.

    • 0 avatar
      Jack Baruth

      When she saw me crying during the descent as two weeks’ worth of congestion tried to air-pressurize its way through my eardrums, I think it may have thrown off my game.

  • avatar

    Life would really be more enjoyable without those YellowDucks.
    Let us simply ignore the pious. Boring at best. Confine them to Sunday schools.
    Ask yourself, instead: “How would James Hunt have done it?”

  • avatar
    mnm4ever

    If you are reading this and wondering, “Am I good enough to try LeMons,” and you successfully drove to work without killing a busload of kids, the answer is probably “Oh, yeah.”

    – Lines like these are why I read every Baruth article!

    • 0 avatar
      Byron Hurd

      And as an added bonus, it happens to be true. I believe the prerequisites for a LeMons racing “license” are $50 and a set of safety gear (helmet, nomex, maybe a HANS?). You should also probably not be red/green deficient if you want to understand which flags indicate “go like hell” and “hot death imminent.”

  • avatar
    Andy D

    Lighten up, Francis, Great prose, Jack.


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