The Drama of the Queue

Crunch and Smoke
Sleeping on the job, and missing the braking zone makes for a smoky DNF.

At my last race, as I was sitting in the queue line waiting to get on track, my mind started to think about how even as I was waiting silently, in my rumbly, rattily cocoon that that moment still had a lot of excitement, even before the race started.

I strap into the 3 point harness, and lock my CG Lock to keep me snug in the belt my heart starts to increase in speed. I put the key into the ignition and bring my four cylinder beast to a violent if not hesitatingly filled life.

The solid motor mounts transmit every vibration and quiver of my Sentra's heart through the chassis and into my butt and up my spine. 

I slip my open faced helmet over my head, and as it covers my ears, I am transported into slight environmental deprivation.  The noise of engine is muffled now, but I now have more of a tactile awareness of the slightly irregular idle.  I can feel through the steering column and into my hands the engine and all of its nuances.

I click the shifter into the gate of first gear, with a satisfying clunk, and slowly I engage the clutch with a small chatter as it engages, and starts to spin the aluminum flywheel.  I creep slowly forward through the paddock, being ultra-aware of all of the biological and mechanical life that swarms around like aimless wasps.  You never can tell what someone might do in these places, especially since many of the people there are there to watch only, and don't fully understand that this place can be dangerous.

Buzzing everywhere around me with a lot of energy, worker bees hover around some cars that have bonnets open checking fluids, or making adjustments.  Air compressors and impact guns are heard through the area, echoing off the walls of the surrounding warehouses. 

In contrast though from the busy-bodies, there are also a tonne of people loafing around, talking and enjoying the greatest sport on Earth. (my opinion of course).  

They talk about the past Le Mans, or some mod that they are trying out that day, or what our goof of a mayor was up to that past week.  Whatever the conversation, and no matter what differences we may all have out in the non-autocross world, we are all there now, at that moment,  autocrossers, and that is all that matters.  We are all friends there.

I can't get distracted though, and keeping my wits about me is very important.  Again, you never know what can happen unexpectedly.

Through my Hankook Z214's stiff sidewall, I can feel the cracks, and pebbles I'm rolling over through the paddock.  I feel connected to my car, much more than I do on my regular summer tires, with all the disruptions of everyday life.  I'm focused.

I arrive at staging, stop and think about what I am about to do.  I take a deep breath, and think of every corner of the course.  I walked the course at least 5 times so I know it pretty well by this time.  Some people draw out the course on a sheet of paper.  "This season I didn't do that, but I'll start next season.", I think to myself.  

My thing is to walk the course alone in the beginning of the day.  Free of the distractions of conversation.  I have an entire day to talk to my friends between runs.

When it's my second, or third run of the day, I'll think about where I can improve from the previous run, but right now, all I have is my morning walk-throughs.

I stare ahead, and go through the entire course in my head.  A perfect run in my brain could just translate to one in reality. 

The car ahead of me roars out from the starting box, spitting smoke and bits of rubber, a Ford Mustang Boss 302.  Man that exhaust sounds viscous. 

I take one more cleansing deep breath.  I shake my hands vigorously to get rid of all the creaks, and stretch out the joints. 

The starter man signals me to move forward into the start box.  I move forward with the direction from the starting man, until I stop inches away from the laser timer's invisible beam.  

In front of me seems like an endless sea of cones.  From this lowered vantage point I scan the parking lot.  The course looks like a jumble of spaced out traffic cones.  It could look extremely confusing to someone who has never done this, but after so many years of racing, I know better, and I know where I'm going.

I watch for a short period of time the Boss 302 that just burst out onto the coarse, tracking it like a sentinel on a watch tower, as it corners around a tight hairpin with a slight twitch in the rear.  A momentary lapse, but I focus back on the job at hand. 

I take one more deep breath and stretch out my fingers one more time, while looking as far forward as possible, because that is where I will be in a few seconds.

"Ready?", the starter yells at me so I can hear him through my helmet and the popping of back fire from the car's on track.

My heart races, my brain is now focused fully on the course.  My eyes are unblinking, and I watch the first important gate where I'll be entering. 

A gentle breeze comes into my windows over my face.  With that movement of air a slight odour of rubber, and burning brakes fills my nose.  I slightly push down the accelerator pedal to increase the engine's RPM's to 1250.  More vibration.  More noise.  More exhilaration.

I depress my SPEC clutch forcefully to the floor, and push the gear lever into first gear.

Rolling my fingers on the shifter knob,  I can hear my breath inside my helmet.  Everything is peaceful.  Everything is quiet.  There is nothing now left to do except blast out of the starting gate.  It seems the world has stopped momentarily...  

"GO!"