Orange County Speedway (or bust)
by Steve McCollum

"A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it." -- John Steinbeck

Saturday, 7:15 a.m. There are sodas (for the road), beer (for later), and snacks on board, as well as the usual tools, tapes, first aid kit, etc. The T-bird Super Coupe and I are all set for the trip from Fairfax County, VA to Chapel Hill. I should arrive at the Ward's in time to have a relaxing afternoon of getting acquainted with everyone and watching the BGN race before heading out to OCS for short-track action.

9:30 a.m. Cruising down I-85 in nice, light traffic, I see smoke in the mirrors. Oh @#$%, the black flag is coming out, and it's for me. A glance at the gauges reveals nothing; there is an exit just ahead so I pull off into a gas/food store (not to be confused with a service station) and take a peek under the car. What can only be fluid from the recently-rebuilt transmission is dripping down onto the exhaust system. Inquiries are made and I decide to limp just down the road to the Williams Truck Repair in McKenney, VA. Gee, it sure is HOT outside.

While waiting for someone to take a professional look under the car, I walk up the street (gosh, it's HOT) to a pay phone to tell Kathy I won't be arriving on schedule. I estimate that I'm 120 miles from Chapel Hill, 150 miles from home, and 110 miles from my wife and daughter, who are visiting relatives in Virginia Beach. Soon, my initial diagnosis is seconded; it's probably a leak from the front seal. I call GEICO, if only to confirm that they won't pay to tow the car more than 50 miles. Since I have a six month/6,000 mile warranty on the transmission work performed in July, I accept Mr. Williams' offer to keep the car in McKenney until it can be transported back to the shop in Northern Virginia. I park it out back and remove my duffel bag while he calls a gentleman who will take me to Petersburg to rent a car.

Shortly, an elderly man with very thick glasses puls up in a non-air-conditioned '81 Chrysler (my goodness, it's HOT) and we hit the road. Half an hour, and 50 hair-raising lane changes later, we arrive at the Budget rental office. There are no cars available for dropoff in the DC area. I call Enterprise and Avis; no dice. OK: I could try to reach my wife and wait two hours to be picked up. Nah. I don't want to sit that long, she might get lost (*I* sure don't know how to get from where she is to where I am), and it's too early to give up. My chauffeur is willing to take me to the Richmond airport; I belt up, wishing I had a 5-point harness, and we're off again! Did I mention it was HOT?

At the airport, I am told the ride (has to be a 110-mile round trip for him) will cost all of $35. I give him two twenties and heartfelt thanks. Hertz has no 'DC' cars, but Avis will rent me an Altima for a mere $99 per day(!). Four hours after the smoke first appeared, I'm now 100 miles from home and 170 miles from OCS. However...

"An involuntary return to the point of departure is the most disturbing of all journeys." -- (I think someone of note said that)

I call Kathy to let her know I'm still coming. I'll catch up with the group at the track.

I arrive at the speedway at 4:30; more than nine hours to go 270 (net) miles. The sodas and beer are in the T-bird, far far away. I'm dressed for air-conditioned driving, not the blazing sun, but don't have the energy to haul stuff back and forth from the parking lot to change in the men's room. Hot, tired, and probably a little depressed and smelly, I have arrived! I locate what looks like the designated r.a.s.n. section of the stands, which is empty. Perhaps there was a rain delay in the BGN race...

An hour later, I swing by the roped-off bleacher section and see a lone figure sitting smack in the middle of it. Could she be one of the group? Climbing up the stairs, I start to pick up something; this young lady is a sensitive soul, the kind of person who would have a lyric from Jeff Buckley's 'Last Goodbye' in her e-mail sig. Well, at least she isn't recoiling in fear of the approaching stranger. Yes, she has to be Karen Jensen! (Tattoos? What tattoos? I never noticed any tattoos. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.) Karen points out the rest of the folks, who have had the good sense to stay outside the track, in the shade. There is just about enough time to walk over and say hello to Kathy, Susan, Cheryl, Jerry, Lou, Paul, and jEff, and try out a lawn chair that looks to be in about the same sad shape that I am, before we head back inside.

Once there, I parked myself next to Cheryl Thompson and Lou Lauer for the next six hours, leaving only to pick up a sandwich and water. You have already read about the action on the track (and are regretting starting to read this tome). What I will report is that, given my circumstances and Steve Hatley Racing's much worse break, I had a good time meeting nice people and I will be back to root for Steve again soon. I am determined to dispell any notion that I came to OCS like Joe Bftstplk (sp?) of the "Li'l Abner" strip, trailing a dark cloud of misfortune behind me. My enjoyment of the evening was also due in no small part to the kindness of Cheryl Thompson, who conversed with a hot, sweaty new acquaintance for hours.

As the curtain fell on the day's events, it occurred to me that I would have to be on the road by 6:30 a.m. in order to return the rental car within 24 hours. Feeling somehow kind of 'wired' and ready to pull an all-nighter (it must have been the Day-Glo red hot dog I ate), I decided to take leave of my new friends and start for home immediately. Of course, I was semi-addled and only said goodbye to Kathy, Cheryl and Lou. I hope everyone else, who I barely met this trip, will know that I was just pooped. I'm generally not rude until you know me better. :-)

I drove straight through and got home at 6:00, slept until 10:00, called my sister-in-law to follow me to Dulles airport, and dropped off the car in time to avoid giving Avis an extra hundred bucks. BTW, I have thought of a good thing to do with the savings, and I'll bet you can guess what that is.

Addendum: As of 9:00 p.m. Tuesday, the Super Coupe is back in our garage, filthy but restored to good health. The leak was indeed from the front seal, and Trans Auto Dynamics has absorbed both the cost of the repair and a reported $300 in towing charges.