Duff Beer; An IOE Story

So, I wasn't going to be able to get to Road Atlanta because I was working in Germany, and Robert (our local Atlanta hot shoe) wasn't going to make it because he had a family commitment in Colorado, but Charles and Ricky were going to be there, and the car is still more of a work in progress than an actual Class C race car, so we figured it would still be good to get it out there and try the new suspension (Rock Auto 300TD springs and KYB Gas-a-Just shocks) and fat sticky tires (205/55r16 Ventus R-S4) out and see what shakes loose (or falls off). It was going to be a kind of a car development weekend, no real racing, not a lot of laps, just hang out and see how the car does.

Then Ricky and Charles both got sick. They got the car loaded and Ricky got the RV headed toward Atlanta, but Charles had to stay in Raleigh and recuperate. Ricky made it to the track before literally collapsing, so Robert came over on Friday before he flew out to CO and got the paddock set up and helped us get through tech.

Since at this point we only had one person on site and he was too sick to drive, I wrapped up work early in Germany and got a direct Frankfurt-ATL flight, so I got in Friday night and braved the inches of slush to get to RA, then crashed immediately because I was exhausted.

Saturday morning we get up and Ricky is still pretty sick, so he goes back to bed and I venture out to find an open gas station with diesel before the race starts. I had to go all the way to the interstate before I found some place open, and I got a big cup of coffee and chugged it on the way back to the track because jet lag is kicking in.

At this point the race has just started, so I get suited up and get on track. A few laps in, the car makes a horrendous racket (even more than it's usual racket) in the esses so I pit and find that our fat tires are interfering with our right front fender, probably because of the foot of suspension travel that our Rock Auto springs are allowing (and the fenders and a little smashed-up from prior wrecks). I pry the fender out with a jack handle, run a couple of laps, then pry it out a bit more, and finally get it clear enough not to eat our tire. I also add a pair of socks to my feet because they are going numb from the cold.

A few more laps go by, and now it makes a horrible racket through 12, so I pit and pry the left front fender out with a jack handle, as well as add a third pair of socks because my feet are still freezing and I'm having trouble feeling the accelerator stick (pedal fell off, so there's just a short little stick that you mash for acceleration (not that a diesel Mercedes has much of that).

Back on track, I can feel everything but my big toes now, and the car is running without making a horrendous racket, although I did have a corner worker tell me that it does sound quite alarming coming around 10b, but I think that's just its normal, non-horrendous racket. I have to back off early and engine brake for the end of the back straight; my $6 Rock Auto brake pads are really not up to the task of late-braking my Mercedes tank on the downhill stretch before 10a without emitting an alarming smell, and I can't break 80 MPH anywhere, and my point-by finger is starting to go numb from the cold, but otherwise the enterprise seems viable enough. I decided I was just going to try to stay out of everyone's way and drive until I felt tired and park it until Ricky felt better. Kim said she'd try to find us another driver.

So several hours go by and I still somehow feel okay, although somewhere between hours 3 and 4 I start loudly singing an 80's pop song, which is what usually happens when I stay out too long. It's Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" this time, which is kind of refreshing; my brain usually goes for "Toto" or "Asia", or one awful race "Big Country".  I only know one word in ten of the song, so this is mostly me mumbling very loudly and enthusiastically to the tune of the song. It's probably good that nobody can really see or hear me at this point, as I may have had an alarming resemblance to a crazy person.

Just after hour 5 it starts to fuel starve coming around turn 7, so I pit. Ricky is still curled up in a ball under a blanket, but the Chevron station outside the gate has finally opened, so I get in a reasonably quick refuel, hit the head, and chug a large energy drink before driving back on track.

Another hour and a half of singing "Time After Time" (not kidding, I sang that song for hours) and chugging that energy drink was not looking like the best idea, as I really had to go, so I stopped for a bathroom break and Ricky was up and suited up, so he jumped in the car and did the last hour and a half. Apparently Kim had come by with a driver for us somewhere in that time, but Ricky was comatose and I was busy singing, so nobody was around to get them in the car. Sorry Kim. Ricky and I both crash early after handing out a record-low number of beers. Sorry everyone, we were exhausted.

Sunday dawns and Ricky is feeling much better, so he's taking the first stint. I'm watching him drive by from the heated HQ viewing area and I start thinking, the new 5-cyl turbo engine is only marginally better than the old 4-cyl non-turbo engine, which seems odd, because on paper it should be almost twice as powerful. It's always bothered me that I never understood how the fuel injection pump is boost referenced; as a turbo-gas EFI guy I understand how I do it there, but mechanical injection turbo diesels are new to me and I'd never heard of an "ALDA". So Ricky turns clean laps all morning and during the 2-hour "quiet hour" I ask the Idle Clatter team if I can look under their hood. They are happy to help and I find the boost reference line, which was never on the engine that we got. So for 1.5 races, our turbo has been doing nothing but making a cool noise. The ALDA fitting is missing, so I fabricate one out of some fish tank tubing that I cut out of an old homemade cool shirt, pipe thread tape, Honda-Bond, and zip-ties. Now we should really kick ass!

Ricky goes out again on Sunday afternoon and we are only 6th in class. He immediately takes 8 seconds off of my fastest lap time; I think the turbo works now. My half-assed boost reference line fails to fall apart and the process of attrition continues and I go out for the last three hours in 5th place. Before it's over, I'm in 3rd, 3 laps out of second, and no 80's songs, but I ran out of time before I was done winning class C, so we'll pick this up again at Barber.

We ran all weekend, no flags, no breakdowns, and finished in a pretty close race for 2nd, so not bad considering that on Friday afternoon we only had one guy there and he was too sick too drive.

Thanks to everyone for driving around us all weekend and congrats to the Ape-X team for their class C win. Those guys put on a two-day school for the rest of us on how to drive a terrible car well.