Are we there yet?

The GingerMan DE is a weekend event. Two days of driving; saturday and sunday. The rich folk infiltrate the South Haven hotels and spend the evenings on some crappy king size bed with televisions and running water in the bathroom.

That's not my style.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE king-sized beds and running water. I just HATE paying for them.

The owners of the race track allow people to camp on the premisis. They even provide bathrooms and showers - all for the low price of $10/night. For a bit extra, they will even give you some electricity to power your mobile home. Now that's what I'm talking about - $20 for two nights, plus sleeping under the stars. You can't beat it!

So, that part of my plan is settled - I will sleep on the cheap and camp on site. I've done it before at BlackHawk farms - trucking the tent and some necessities in the 911. It was a tight fit, but certainly doable.

Well - except for one small detail. A five year old, 40 pound detail named Max.

I had decided a while back that it would be cool to bring my "big boy" Max along for the weekend. A father/son weekend - just him and me. Leave the twins and my wife at home. This plan has the added benefit of keeping Max off of Mom's back for the weekend and making it a bit easier on her.

The thought of squeezing into a "two man tent" (Northface baby - I could summit Everest in this tent) with Max in the sweltering heat, with him fidgiting and carrying on made me re-think the camping thing. Or at least the tent. Couple that with a three hour drive in the 911 without A/C and a whining 5 year old, and we're into misery territory here.

But, I have our family truck - a nicely aged Chevy Tahoe which, with the rear seats folded down, can easily fit Max and myself. I won't have to worry about rain flys, tent stakes or any of that nonsense - so it seems like a natural solution. Well, except for another small detail - how to bring the car?

Well, it's not what you know, but who you know - right? It so happens that there are a few gear heads here at work, and with a little prodding I snagged a loaner car trailer. A serious one - black, enclosed and around 20 feet long.

It made my truck look kind of silly and scared the hell out of me a few times on the highway.

I will say, however, that the ol' 350 handled the load admirably (we're talking about 6000 pounds here, fully loaded) and got us out of Illinois, through a bit of Indiana and into Michigan with nary a compliant.

Max, on the other hand, complained quite often.

But he's five - that's his job.

Anyway - I'm getting ahead of the story a bit. I pick the trailer up and bring it home on Thursday (the day before we leave). My plan is to load everything up Thursday night, go into work Friday morning and leave for the track after lunch.

Well, we all know my plans are usually quite worthless - and this proved to be the case here. I decided the best thing to do would be to load up the car first so I could do it in the light of day. Since the fuel repairs, however, I have almost no gas in the car, so I figured it would be best to go fill up the tank now and not have to worry about getting gas at the track.

Lucky for me I did.

On my way home after filling up the car a couple of miles away I noticed that the gas smell was getting stronger and certainly not dissapating. I pull over on a side street and pop the top on the smuggler's box. Shit! Gas leak. Damnit!

I tentatively drive home and pull into the garage - bring out the tools, lights etc. and find that the leak is from a 90° piece right out of the regulator. Pull it out, wrap the threads with teflon tape, re-seat. Wrench, wrench, wrrrrrench. Cross fingers, turn on pump and...

drip. drip. drip.

SHIT!

Quick decision here... Jump in the truck, off to Ace hardware and buy a new elbow. Dash back home (damnit, it's getting dark!), off with the old ninety, in with the new. Wrench, wrench, wrrrench. Cross fingers, turn on pump and...

Clean.

Yessssss!

I throw the old elbow away with a flourish - drive the car into the trailer, and promptly decide that tomorrow is better for packing since I'm cashed and it's dark. I'll just take the entire day off and call it quits tonight.

Friday morning I run around like a maniac trying to pack everything in that I can think of - I must have checked the straps on the car a hundred times. I had Gatorade, snacks, some new toys for Max, all ready to go. Amy brought me lunch and things were looking amazing well organized. Whew.

So, come Friday afternoon, I hook up with another bastard (who is carting his track wheels on TOP of his 911 - kudos!) and go pick up Max at daycare - trailer in tow. Strap in, check the trailer (and car nestled safetly within) and we're on the highway.

Uggg. I HATE this trip. Going south to get around lake Michigan is a bitch. There is a section of I-94 that is perpetually under construction - and plenty of tractor-trailer rigs to keep things interesting. Add a twenty foot trailer, stir in a restless kid and include a dash of nerves; we're talking white knuckled driving.

No real drama on the highway however - we meet up with another bastard pulling his rig behind a mobile home and start the convoy. Around three hours later we arrive at the gate to Gingerman.

We pay our entrance and find a spot to claim our own. Unload the car and head back towards the highway (driving the Porsche, which feels like a go-kart after the trip pulling the trailer) to grab a bite to eat at the local Big Boy. The whole time on the road I'm sniffing the air like a bloodhound - waiting to pull over and yank Max out of a fuel soaked car. The short drive was clean, however, and it felt great to get behind the wheel of the 911. By this time it's almost 10pm, and we're all a bit tired. With some food down our gizzard, we head back to the camp site to prepare for the night.

The truck converted easily into a double bed for Max and myself - we then took a little walk around the track (and out on the track too) - checked out the stars, and talked "guy stuff" (well, in reality, we talked about how I owed Max a new car or two since the toys I bought him were - ugg - action figures). Back to the camp site, and a few of the group were sitting out in front of the mobile home drinking beers and talking track. "I'm going to lay down with Max for a few minutes - I'll be right out" I say - and into the truck we crawl.

The next morning I wake up with the sun - realize my "few minutes" turned into about six hours, and promptly went back to sleep. Only to be woken 10 minutes later by Matt pulling in with his wheel-toting 911. Oh well, might as well get up and start getting ready.

The pre-track events were pretty typical - register here, driver's meeting there, meet your instructor, here's your schedule, have fun and be safe. My instructor's name here is Bob, and he seems like a decent guy. He's been to GingerMan a bunch of times and knows the line fairly well. I'm excited about finally getting a lap on this baby, and also excited to see if my hesitating engine problem has dissapeared with the fuel re-plumb.

So, our time has arrived and we strap in. I'm feeling pretty good, and have been mentally going over the description that Chris wrote up on the board. As we head out on the grid, Bob is already talking about turns 3 and 4; then about what to do in the 5/6 double apex. At this point, my mind went completely blank - I had completely forgotten the layout. I'm lucky I remembered how to shift.

So, the first few laps were a complete embarressment - my lines were all over the place and my braking was sloppy and tentative. I did, however, manage to get it together for the last 3 or 4 laps where I felt like it was starting to come together.

After that first session, I told Bob I was pretty dissapointed in my performance. He reassured me (at this point, I didn't care if he was bullshitting me or not, I needed an emotional pickup) that everyone has a hard time at first on this track and I was showing definite improvement. "The next session should be much better!" he said. Well - I certainly hoped so.

Back to the campground and to see how Max did. He was hanging with some of the gang, but obviously getting a bit bored. Luckily, Chris had brought this way cool go-kart which he graciously let me take out - with Max in the right hand seat. So we take that for a spin - talk about our imminent trip to Wal-Mart (which is near the Big Boy) for a new car or two, and the next thing I know, it's time to get out on the track again.

So, back out we go - and this time it's feeling better. A whole lot better in fact - I've even gotten some "yeah YEAH!" comments from Bob. The highlight of that session was handling turns 5 and 6 really well - that combo was hard for me to nail.

As we're pulling off the track, Bob gives me the news - I'm cleared to go it alone. Awesome! He offers to come out with me anytime I need some pointers, but his job is basically done. I decide to do session three on my own, and see how it feels. "I might ask you to ride along for the last session of the day, depending on how this next time out feels" - yeah, right...

So, I go snag Max and we motor down the street to the local Wal Mart and buy ~$10 worth of cars and trucks - grab some "food" at a nearby Wendy's, and head back to the track. Eat and play with Max and his new cars (after tediously removing the tiny little phillips head screws which seem to attach every god-damned toy to the packaging). Max has also made some new friends - a couple of cute-as-a-button girls whose parents both go out on the track (see that Amy?) who prove to be invaluable in keeping Max entertained and out of trouble. After introducing myself to their parents, I take the kids for some go-kart rides for a few minutes until session 3 time rolls around.

So, I head out to the GingerMan track alone for the first time in my life. Butterflies are there, but not distracting. I feel confident, safe and excited. The track is still fresh in my mind, I'm consistently hitting the lines, and I'm slowly pushing the car faster and braking later. I'm feeling really good!

The checkered comes much too soon for my tastes, and off I drive. Back to the camp to find Max and his new friends playing happily in the dirt (note to self : we WILL take a shower tonight!). Chatting it up with some of the gang and we start talking about lap times.

Oh yeah, lap times. Duh.

Ok - so I confess, I've done three sessions without my lap timer on. It's not ALL my fault however. You see, my Hot Lap receiver is mounted for BlackHawk - with the 'eye' pointing out the passenger side. At GingerMan, the eye needs to point out of the driver's side... Well, with some time on my hands, I quickly turn the receiver around and (assuming the transmitter is strong enough to broadcast through the rear side window) I should be able to get some lap times for the last session, and the four sessions on Sunday.

Repeat the go-kart rides, dirt play and whatnot. Max has found a colony of earwigs and is taking great glee in distrubing them; squeeling as they fall out of their nest and crawl around. At first I was going to ask him to stop, but quickly realized that he really wasn't hurting anything, and was keeping himself (and his new buddies) occupied.

Session 4 time comes up fast. Suit up, strap in, and head out. I'm early on the track this time, so caught up in a lot of traffic. I spend 3 or four laps trying to find some clear space (but verify that the Hot Lap system is working - score!). By about lap five I'm in the clear on the front straight, and decide to try for a nice fast lap. Up the crest heading to turn 1 - brake, and turn in. Track out back to the middle of the track for turn 2. I've been taking turn two as a REAL late apex, but it's a hard corner to "feel right" on, and I've seen a lot of cars spin. Hard on the gas up to turn 3 behind a silver 993 who is turning in - and spinning. Damnit! He pulls it together without going off, but I've slowed WAY down to avoid any contact. Tip toe past him and back hard on the gas. Brush the curbing on 4 and going hot into 5. Late brake and track out to the right setting up for six. Past six up to seven. Pretty standard apex, and keep left to set up for the 8/9 combo. Through those and around 10 - I get pointed past...something (probably a car - I can't be sure now) and dive into eleven. Track out nicely and I'm screaming back up the front straight. "Ok, this lap looks clear - I'll really nail it this time," I say to myself. Heading fast up to turn 1 in fourth gear - hard on the brake, clutch in - blip throttle, down to third gear and let out clutch; back on the gas...

BANG!

Uhoh - what the HELL was that?

Look in rearview mirror - no pieces of my car on the track behind me.

Look at gauges - no obvious issues. Engine still running, temps ok, ALT light fine (off).

Maybe it just popped out of gear?

Feel shifter. Nope; still in third.

Then I notice that the gas pedal is all the way to the floor - but the engine is basically idling.

Meanwhile, I've pretty much coasted through one and I'm heading to turn two. The corner worker is pointing the blue and yellow (passing traffic) flag at me since I'm WAY slow. I give him the wave, and continue to assess the situation.

Ok - pull out of third, and downshift into second. Clutch out... nothing.

Shit. SHIT shit shit shit shit.

Well, by this time I've coasted all the way around turn two and I'm still losing speed. I pull off the track into the infield and shut down the engine. I wave to the worker at turn 3 that I'm ok - and he motions to me to bring the car up to him. Well, let's see if I can limp it up there... Start'r up, drop into first and slowllly let up the clutch. Nothing.

I motion to the worker that my car isn't going anywhere, so he jumps into his vehicle and drives down to meet me. He quickly gets me out of the car and arranges for a tow after the session is over. I walk over to the worker stand at turn two and watch the rest of the gang have fun.

Poor me :(

At the end of the session, I run back out to my car to meet the tow vehicle (Chevy SUV with a tow strap) and while he's backing up towards me, I take a gander under the engine. And what I see makes me sick. Dangling bits. Greasy, grimy bits. Drive shaft type bits....

Shit. SHIT shit shit shit shit!

Hook up the tow strap, and begin the parade of shame back to the camp. The track seems a lot bigger when you are being towed at 10 mph... And those bits are making a nice racket too.

Back at the camp, the gang swarms up and begins BDA (battle damage assesment). The verdict actually is not that bad - the half-shaft on the driver's side broke off the output flange of the transmission - bounced a few times and caught up the throttle linkage. The fix is pretty much a new half-shaft assembly and some linkage parts. Jerry even offered his garage that night so I could get back on the track sunday.

Well, I was in full pout mode now - and basically wanted to forget about the whole thing. I decided the best thing to do would be just trailer it home and fix it later. I was all ready to leave that night, but the boys convinced me I would be better off leaving sometime early Sunday so I could chill out tonight and drink beer.

Those guys can be pretty wise...

We pushed the car back into the trailer (damn - it really is a good thing I brought a trailer!), go enjoy a nicely catered dinner and head back to the camp. Max is running on borrowed time by now - no nap and lots of activity, so we take a quick shower and he's sleeping within 10 minutes after climbing in the truck. I hop back out and enjoy a couple rounds of poker outside of the camper, and call it a night. I actually managed to sleep quite well and awoke refreshed and in a much better mood than 12 hours prior.

We got back on the road around 11am, and made it home in 3 hours flat. The traffic was light and Max slept for a bit of the ride. We even pulled off at one point to grab some chow. It was a nice ride home.

Now I just have to fix the car. Again...


Oh, wait. You want a picture? *sigh*