American Irony: It’s all over but the cryin’
Last weekend we at Team Reynolds Style competed in our second official and sanctioned racing event: The 24 Hours of Lemons: American Irony Race at Gingerman Raceway in South Haven, MI. (dot com slash the movie II in 3D and based on true events)
Due to a death in the family we were down our best-looking team member so we ran an out-law race with fewer than the “required” number of drivers. (I make up my own rules and then i break those too!)
Turns out Michigan’s West Coast is cold and windy (who knew) and it made for some chilly camping. We tech’ed and practiced on Friday, where the judges for the second year insulted our cheating abilities by not even lifting the hood. Joke’s on us for running a stock engine, I suppose… It was a completely different experience this year with no mad, last second dash to finish the car. Instead we dined on fancy Italian cuisine Friday night and told dirty jokes while those other schlubs worried about things like roll-bar padding and why their train-wreck of a car wouldn’t start. Honestly, it was too cold for that shit anyway.
Saturday was the big day and it started with our fearless leader taking the green flag. After two hours we were in a heady 13th place of 53 when Mike put 4 off (He swears an armadillo ran out onto the track and I’m inclined to believe him) and the resulting black flag dropped us to midpack while waiting for the concession stand girls to whip up 6 hot chocolates for the judges (my $1 tip to “speed it up” was sorely under appreciated). The flying Romanian took over and immediately started earning back those lost positions. The car was turning and stopping like Christ on a bike but the go button was still much devolved from the rest of the pack. Even so, we were back in the top 15 when Seb pulled in for “odd brake pedal feel.”
The oddness, it would seem, was somehow related to the brake fire. (This story ends with Team Reynolds Style back on the track and our neighbors being repayed one fully charged fire extinguisher).
As you, the reader can see now, there is pattern emerging that goes something like this: 1) Make some headway 2) lose it to misfortune. Remember that. After the fir- … Brake problem, we were deep in the numbers, somewhere in the bottom half of the pack. This is when your fearless author stepped up to the wheel and again, started climbing the ladder that so loved to buck us off. I put in my two hours and El Capitan rotated in for another 2 himself. Saturday was free incident for the last half of the day and we ended the day somewhere in high teens/low 20s.
Sunday was supposed to be our day. Sunday was supposed to end differently than it did. When I woke up Sunday, shivering and sore, I KNEW in my heart we could pull a top 10 finish, but It was not meant to be. Seb drove hard but the exhaust header down-pipe let go when the bolts loosened and abandoned ship. 30 minutes later when his driving stint was up, we had to run a NASCAR style tire-swap (you know, without the power tools or training or manpower) as the tires that worked so well yesterday were worn and gnarled today. I took over for the final 3 hours and required 2 unscheduled trips to the pits- once to repair the OTHER exhaust failure (this time requiring tow-truck assistance and a bungee cord) and once because some yahoo in a hack-sawed MR2 tried to occupy a lane i was already occupying. After he pit maneuvered himself on my front clip and spun out, we had to sort it out in front of the judges. Luckily i whooped his monkey ass in a high-heeled foot race (while wearing a wig and a dress, like i do) and was spared the 15 minute sidelining penalty that he suffered.
The final tally for the damages? 21st place. Some Pictures.
(Here’s a shout out to the people who showed up to support. Pretty much all your names start with J.)
-Sleazy C
