Never the Same IC#25 The Big Day Part 2

Awestruck, nervous, and excited Kirk arrived at his destiny or his fate. Really?

 

Cue: “Stand” https://youtu.be/M91_IWYzmYA

 

Turning his grim expressionless face, Kirk’s ice-blue eyes gazed across the expanse of colorful stock cars parked in the field along with the stirring plenitude of drivers and mechanics. On that early summer day, the sun shone bright and warm illuminating the track and pits, glinting off stock cars and towing vehicles parked here and there creating a scene which could only be construed as a veritable paradise for a wannabe racer. The striking, panoramic milieu was entirely lost on Kirk.

Instead, with his heartrate up and his anxiety maxed out, Kirk surveyed the track regulations sign. 

 

“Pease observe the following speedway pit regulations:

NO unauthorized entry on non-racing days

NO open exhaust after 10PM�"NO exceptions

Speed limit is restricted to 10MPH for ­­­­­all vehicles

NO loud music or voice amplification systems allowed

NO open alcoholic beverages

NO rowdy behavior

NO fuel or oil spills/dumping

Violators will be immediately escorted from the premises”

 

A deep sigh forming in his chest, Kirk recalled watching the races much of his younger life from a school kid through his teen years when the track had been dirt, right up to last year when they asphalted it, and now, now, he got to experience the other side of the retaining guardrail�"driving on the track with his own stock car. So, what else could he feel? Yeah, there formed some kind of excitement somewhere among Kirk’s arsenal of negative emotions along with fulfillment and perhaps elation?

With Don behind the wheel of the car hauler truck with the loaded trailer behind, Kirk sat in shot gun position tensed to see what came next. Don hadn’t been through the racing process and Mike, who had raced before, was nowhere to be seen. They pulled in the dusty driveway behind a couple other car haulers. After a short wait in line, a white outfitted NASCAR official stopped them. (North American Stock Car Racing) Kirk jumped down to ground level to interact with said official. On a clip board, the official wrote down the basic information he required like the car number, race class, and drivers’ names. More or less, he was there to inform everyone that they would be required to undergo a technical inspection before heading out on the track. With a visualization of what the official’s statement might mean, Kirk’s heart skipped a beat. Maybe he just had a heart defect.

As they moved out to the pits, Kirk realized the official didn’t comment or gaze longingly at the shiny silver stockcars. They ventured slowly into the pit area and found a flat, grassy area with plenty of space, at least for the moment, around them. Kirk jumped out and began unloading and positioning the ramps. At the sound of racing engine exhausts here and there, he stopped a moment to gaze around at the cars he recognized as his class competitors. Kirk saw that some of the guys looked in his direction probably scoffing at the expensive silver paintjobs. Kirk felt pretty small and insignificant as a young, untried rookie wannabee driver while taking the look around at the array of racers both human and mechanical.  

Apparent well-worn veterans of the track, some of the cars were downright wrecks that had once been painted years ago and since in the course of many, many racing laps bore the myriad results of fender-benders, scrapes, crunches, and collisions that had been encountered and then hammered out somewhat but never really fixed. On the other hand, there were cars that had obviously never seen the track before this particular day. Pristine paintjobs covered immaculate sheet metal with brand-new shiny wheels mounted with brand new racing slicks. Engines that you could eat off of and expensive looking shiny suspension fittings adorned these big-ticket rigs. Kirk knew those cars were the ones to be reckoned with whether the drivers were experienced or not. Bottomline: You cannot compete with copious amounts of cash converted into pricy speed equipment despite the drivers’ talent and experience. 

With the ramps in place, Kirk unchained one end of his car while Don did the other. The car was in gear and faced front downward so there wasn’t a possibility that the car would coast away. With Kirk reaching inside the car, he slipped the car out of gear. Together the two guys pushed the car the two feet to the ramp edge and from there it rolled down the ramps with the guys holding the car from running away, though it didn’t go far. There it sat. It had arrived! Touch down in raceland.

Mike still wasn’t anywhere in sight, so they just left the other car on the truck for the time being. Kirk decided to scope out the technical inspection area which was just another wait in line behind a couple of checkered flags. He saw that the drivers just drove over there without helmets or fire suits and got out of their cars as the inspectors went over the cars. He watched as the inspectors scrutinized the cars up and down, front to back. Kirk felt completely confident about his inherited car passing the inspection. 

 

 

When he returned to the cars, Kirk found Don sitting on the back of the trailer. Obviously, Mike hadn’t arrived yet, but Kirk asked Don anyway. No, Don hadn’t seen him. Even though Kirk felt confident about passing tech inspection with flying colors he had thought that Mike should be there during the inspection because Mike knew the ins and outs of stock cars and his in particular than he. He watched as the trickle of cars drove in and out of the inspection area and that more car haulers were coming in by the minute. Uncharacteristic for the normally subdued Kirk, he decided that it was about time he took matters into his own hands.

Going to the truck cab, Kirk retrieved his helmet and fire suit and dropped them into the stock car. Nervously, he climbed in. Despite the sign, he wasn’t sure about the rules about driving in the pits, so he figured to be on the safe side and donned his helmet.  He fired off the engine, warmed it a bit, backed out and slowly idling along in first gear he headed to the inspection area. He didn’t want to break any rules by driving too fast. There was only one car waiting in line. He sat there impatiently watching the inspectors closely. After several minutes, the inspectors said something to the driver and stuck a sticker on the car’s door post. Kirk mused that the car must have passed just fine. Surely, he’ll have no problem either, but surely wasn’t there to help in case he did.

Kirk drove forward and shut the engine down when the inspector waved him forward. Kirk climbed out. The inspector asked to see Kirk’s state driving license which Kirk hadn’t foreseen. With too many thumbs, he fumbled it out of his pocket for the inspector to take the number down. The inspector eyed Kirk’s profile.

“Have you raced before?”

 Kirk compliantly replied, “no.”

‘Well, you need to thoroughly study the on track/competition rules in the rule book. Do you have a book.”

“Ahhh, not with me.”

“Take one and read over the section of competition rules before going on the track today. “The inspector waved his clipboard at a pile of books on the table. Kirk took one.

Starting at the front of the car, the inspector took hold of the hood and yanked on it while peering underneath. He checked off something. He poked at the old recapped tires, shook his head, then took a wheel and shook it. He checked off. Going around the front, he grabbed hold of the radiator overflow which was an old gallon antifreeze jug and pulled it out.

“This catch can needs to be secured,” he said, rattling the jug. 

“Okay, no problem,” Kirk said.

The inspector got down on hands and knees which seemed difficult because he was old and stout. He peered underneath, front to back. He got back up using the side nerf bars as leverage.

“All right, let’s take a look inside.” The inspector ran his hand across the silver flake paint. “Interesting paint job for this sort of car.” Kirk wasn’t 100% sure what the guy was referring to but had a general idea. The inspector stuck his head inside the cockpit.

“Son, where’s your driver’s net.”

“How’s that?’

“You do know what that is don’t you? Driver’s protection net for the driver’s side window.”

“Oh, ah, I didn’t know about the requirement, but on which side? The seat is in the middle.”

“NO matter,” the inspector said gathering up a huff. “NASCAR requires a window net on the left side.”

“Okay,” Kirk said meekly.

The inspector eyed up the kill switch and then handled the 5-point seat harness.

“Can’t have the lap belt anchors like this.” He held it out so Kirk could see. “The lap belt anchor must be directly secured to the frame or roll cage. You cannot use chain like this.”

“Umm,” Kirk mumbled. “It’s been raced like this before.”

“NASCAR requires the harness to be secured in that way. That has to be remedied.”

“Okay.” Kirk began to feel like it was  a waste of time to bring the car when it won’t pass inspection.

The inspector looked down along the inside the body and stuck his hand in there.

“Is the fuel tank enclosed in a separate fireproof enclosure?”

“Hmmm, no,” Kirk shook his head. “Just mounted on the back frame, there. Does it need a separate enclosure?”

“No, it doesn’t, however, seeing it doesn’t you have to have a full firewall between the cockpit and the tank. These sides have gaps. If there is a fire it’d reach you in a second. Not something you want, right?”

“No, no, I sure don’t. I can fix that.”

“Good.” The inspector checked his clipboard and checked a couple things off and wrote notes.

“All right, ahhhh, Kirk. Almost done here.” He squatted down and peered in the rear wheel well at the gas tank and battery box. “Is the battery secure inside the box?”

Kirk swallowed. “Ah, yes sir.” He was unsure, actually.

The inspector poked at the rear tire. “These tires aren’t going to work too well for you out there, but that’s fine, you can run them. That’s it, Kirk.  I’ll give you a copy of the discrepancies with your car. Remember, there’s a drivers’ meeting at one o’clock.”

“Okay. But I can’t run practice today, I s’pose.”

“No, you can go out and practice today. I give you a yellow sticker, so they let you on today, but you can’t race until you fix these items, get reinspected and get a green sticker.”

“Oh, okay!” Kirk was relieved with the information. “Thank you, sir.” Kirk stuck his hand out to shake the man’s hand after he adhered the sticker to the car. The old guy had quite the grip surprising Kirk.

“Good luck this season, son and read those rules, eh?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Kirk got in the car and drove back to the parking area. By then, Mike had arrived with the shiny silver Charger and had his car unloaded.

“Been through inspection, Kirk?” Mike said, noticing the sticker.

“Yeah, went pretty good.” Kirk wasn’t about to let his dismay show.

The track officials hadn’t opened the track yet which was supposed to be one-thirty. Kirk sat on a tire and drank a Coke. Mike took off with his car to get it inspected. Eventually, Kirk noticed a teenager going from driver to driver in the pits. The kid circled around to where they were parked.

Out of breath the kid said, “We’re photographing all the cars and drivers today before the races start. Down at the north end of the track.” The kid gestured.

“How much does that cost?”

“Nothing until the pictures are done,” he shrugged. “Then, up to you. “

“Well,” Don said. “Gotta’ get your picture taken before you’re famous, huh.”

“Yeah,” Kirk said, with a sigh. “Or crashed.”

Kirk got into the car again and seeing everyone drove their cars around without helmets, including Mike, Kirk just fired off the car and headed to the north side of the track. When he rolled past the third turn, he glanced up at the gate where the officials let the cars on and off the track. It was hard to swallow down his dry throat.

As he pulled to a pristine area of grass, Kirk coasted up and slammed down the kill switch. The engine died a quick death. At the time, a turquoise late model car and driver were being photographed. The driver kneeled down beside his car wearing his firesuit. Kirk wondered if all the drivers wore their firesuits for the pictures. He recalled that he’d have to take his boots off and on for putting the suit on so he decided to skip it. After the other car pulled out, the photographer waved him into position.

“Wow, nice shiny paintjob. Must have cost a pretty penny,” he said. “Say, aren’t you wearing your firesuit?”

“Nah, just like this,” Kirk said, gesturing with a flap of his elbows.

“However you want to be, it’s up to you. Your name? I have your class and number.”

Kirk gave it to him. He didn’t know what he wanted in the picture so he just sat down on the side nerf bar and nervously slouched over. He never liked getting his picture taken, he just thought he wasn’t all that interesting despite his mother telling him otherwise and besides, he didn’t like looking at his own visage. Kirk heard the camera click twice and the photographer stood up away from the camera.

"Okay, got'cha. They'll be ready in two weeks at the fan booth.”

And that captured Kirk and his shiny number 3 car on practice day, wearing faded frayed bottom, button fly jeans, a tie-dyed tee shirt, and his engineer’s cap. Not the typical image of a stock car driver, but Kirk didn’t know if he’d be one for real. When the picture came back, Kirk bought one for sure, but there he was captured on film: he didn’t look thrilled to be there ready to race, he didn’t look happy to be in a place of his dreams, he didn’t even look like a young, tough, determined racer; Kirk plainly looked grim.

Looking exactly the same as he did in all of his childhood pictures; for all imaginable prosperity Kirk sat there on his shiny silver stock car appearing grim.

Kirk was Never the Same.