Roadtrip Home from the Races

We rolled out of camp just after 8am in an attempt to beat the heat.  Marc was in the lead, then us, then Joe in his hot rod and finally Forrest in the modern Surburban, keeping an eye on all of us.  As we pulled the trailer up hill after hill without any issues, we were feeling pretty elated!

In the middle of the Nevada desert, between Wells and Jackpot, we saw Joe and Forrest fall behind.  We called ahead to Marc on the radio to let him know we needed to pull over.  He was too far ahead and could not understand us, but would not slow down, so we pushed the poor GMC as fast as we could to close the gap all the while watching cell phones to see if we could find a pocket of service.  I finally got a call out a few miles down the road and told Marc we'd left half of the party behind.  We found a nice place to pull off the road and tried to contact Joe and Forrest to see if we needed to come back or run ahead for parts.  Again, there was no cell service, unless you climbed the hill along the roadway.

When we got a connection, we learned that Joe had run out of gas.  We had the spare gas jug in our truck, so we turned back to fill him up.  Marc continued on to Jackpot.  We found Joe, filled his tank and let him lead the way.  A hundred yards or so later, he was again sputtering to a stop at the side of the road.  This looked all too familiar to us!  Joe decided to limp it along, as we had, until the next town 30 miles ahead, but gave up that idea not 5 miles down the road.  We needed to come up with a better solution.  With the tools and spare parts we had with us, the guys re-routed his fuel line and installed a new filter.  And still, he sputtered.  We called ahead to Marc to ask about a parts store in Jackpot.  His response? The locals laughed at him when he asked.  Apparently they live 60 miles from the nearest parts store, which was behind us in Wells.  Forrest unhooked his trailer and everyone except Andy piled into the suburban to ride back to Wells.  Andy stayed behind to nap and watch our stuff.

Three hours later, Joe's car had a new fuel pump and we were on our way to Jackpot.  We reunited with Marc, waited for half an hour for him to fuel up his car (not an exaggeration), and continued toward Nampa.  Everyone was crusing along nicely, getting a little warm going uphill but nothing serious.  The scenery was pleasant too.  Maybe we could just relax and enjoy the drive now!

Then, as we were passing through one of the small towns near Bliss, we heard some indiscernible static over the radio.  Something like "Iiislthween."  What? "Iislth! Wreen!"  We saw Marc pull over and park right downtown.  We didn't know what was going on and there was no space for us and our trailer too, so we continued up the road.  Forrest and Joe pulled off soon after, so we finally rolled to a stop at the end of the main street.  Andy called back to the group to learn that Marc wanted ice cream.  Now, I usually get abnormally excited about ice cream, but...we were only halfway through our drive for the day and it was only getting warmer.  And, we once again had plans to meet up with people in Nampa.  And!  Why didn't he get ice cream while he was waiting nearly 4 hours for us to arrive in Jackpot?  Not to mention fill up his slooooow-drinking car in the meantime?  Needless to say, our patience for waiting on a dude with no car trouble had run out.  Forrest had a similar sentiment, so we left Joe and Marc to use the buddy system and we continued on to Nampa.

When we hit the freeway, the sun was beating mercilessly on the hood and through our windshield.  Our engine didn't cut out this time, but the temperature gauge did not look very good.  We tried pulling off once at a rest stop in search of shade.  We didn't find shade, but the rest area was air-conditioned (unlike the truck), and the stop gave the overworked engine a little break.

We finally pulled into Nampa, boiling over and sweating profusely, in time for dinner at Forrest's folks' house.  They didn't seem to mind their travel-weary guests, and it sure felt nice to get out of the sun and eat something besides road food!  After dinner, we headed to "Uncle Bob's" for a tour of his car collection and the possibility of finding a flathead motor for my Model A project.  Bob is the uncle of one of Forrest's high school buddies, and they'd known each other for years.  He is also a retired architect and U of I alum, so I could relate to him on that level too.  We uncovered multiple flatheads and heard stories of the dozens of cars in his yard, and finally parted ways around 11pm!  From there, it was off to Tony's to again camp in his yard before continuing home the next rmorning.

The last, and most dreaded, leg of the trip got underway early that next morning. Joe was headed back to Oregon, taking a different route, so we wished each other luck and off we went.  That day, we had two grueling passes to climb - White Bird Pass and the Lewiston Grade.  And the weather forecast said sunny and HOT.   The cars were all pretty warm by the time we reached Riggins, so we pulled them into some shade in a park and enjoyed a picnic lunch.  Marc suddenly decided we should stay for the afternoon and raft the river, and then drive the rest of the way when the sun was setting and it was cooler.  That sounded fine and dandy, except the part about driving home in the dark.  Cars are rather hard to work on when you can't see!

We convinced him that getting home was a better goal for the day, and off we went again, watching the vital signs of the truck as we neared White Bird Pass.  There is a downhill stretch of road right before you hit the pass, and Andy pulled over at the top of this to cool the engine and prep to gain speed on the downhill to carry us up the pass.  Marc didn't have an electric fan on his car, so this plan did not work for him and he went ahead.  Forrest stayed behind as always to keep an eye on us.  We cooled off a bit and then took off down the hill, nervous as could be.  As, we were building speed toward the bottom to tackle the big climb....the truck died.  From full power to no power.  And, it wouldn't start back up right away.  

It was 90 degrees outside, but the engine was relatively cool, and we hadn't even started climbing yet!  A nice man pulled up and said people were breaking down left and right today with the heat and the hill, and he was running to get parts if we needed anything.  We couldn't think of what part we might need, and the truck started up again, so we thanked him anyway and inched our way up the pass, sputtering like crazy.  At the first pull-off, Forrest decided to run to the top and drop off his trailer and then come back and pull ours up the hill if needed.  He left, and we let the truck rest for a bit and then continued slowly up the hill.  At the halfway point, we pulled off with all the semis, motorhomes, and Volkswagons to cool off again.  By the time Forrest returned, all the other overheating vehicles had continued on their way.  After some deliberation, the guys decided the suburban could just hook right up to the front of the truck and pull everything up the hill!  So, this was our view as we climbed to the top of White Bird Pass:

The face expressions we saw as we passed all the semis, motorhomes, and Volkswagons were priceless!  That surburan was a towing champ!

On the other side of the pass, we met back up with Marc, made sure everyone had enough fluid and continued on toward Lewiston.  As we entered the valley, the temperature was higher than anything we'd experienced during the entire trip!  The vehicles were boiling over uncontrollably in the 104° heat, and the passengers were exhausted from the heat and stress of White Bird behind us and the Lewiston Grade right up ahead.  We debated staying in Lewiston for the night, or even until the temperature started to drop, but everyone really just wanted to be home by this point.  Marc took off to begin his slow ascent, and Forrest stayed behind with us until Andy's dad arrived to pull our trailer up the grade with his truck.  The ol' GMC struggled up the hill even without the load of the trailer, but we made it to the top!  There, Don gave the trailer back, wished us luck, and we were on our own.  Together, Andy and I talked the old truck into climbing the rest of the hills to home.  What a journey!

Roadtrip to the Races Part IV

 

By this point, we'd met many of the racers and seen them fly by on the track.  The part of it all we were still missing was seeing the racing action up close, so the next day we made our way to the starting lines to see the cars and bikes launch into their quest to reach their speed goal.

 

 This roadster holds the record in the A and B class, and was racing with a C-class motor this year with hopes of rolling away with that record as well.

The thrill of being at the starting line was not the speed of the vehicles; in fact, they start off rather slowly and sometimes squirrelly as they work through their gears and find stability in speed.  The experience at the starting line was about being mere feet away from these powerful machines, sensing the nerves of the drivers and their crews, and holding your breath for them as they disappear down the track.  It really completed the picture for us.

We spent just half the day on the Salt, bid it a sad farewell and headed to Wendover to watch open drag races on an abandoned airstrip at the Wendover Airport.  We expected to see more hot rods, knowing from the impromptu car show just how many were in town, but the event attracted more muscle cars and imports.  

The only nostalgia racing that went on were these two old Tin Lizzies with original put-put engines.  They got a laugh out of the crowd when the car in the lead slowed down and motioned for his opponent to catch up!

 

 As we were leaving the races, we spotted a perfect background for a photoshoot, and beelined to it.

 A building with perfect patina just fit right in with our preserved rides!

As we were shooting photos, a truck came flying up with flashing lights.  The security guys in it wanted to know what in the world we were doing roaming freely at an active airstrip!  Well, I think we were more surprised than they were!  The place looked pretty deserted, but it turns out that we crossed an active runway to get to...the Enola Gay hangar.  Perhaps we should have done a little research before visiting the historic Wendover Airfield...  Thankfully, security was very understanding of our ignorance and invited us to visit the museum when we were finished with the cameras.  We were more than happy to accept that invitation and learned a lot about the history of the place in the very small museum they have set up currently.  Also on exhibit was this airplane...

 ...that you could go inside and even climb into the cockpit to see what it was like.

They are in the process of restoring buildings on the airfield and raising funds to eventually restore them all.  It will be pretty incredible to see this WWII-era training base brought back to life.

We took our educated selves back to camp, and enjoyed some down time.  Andy had a pinstriper he'd met out on the Salt come to camp and dress up the ol' GMC.  These artists are so fascinating to watch!

Then, Andy and Marc worked to re-route the fuel line away from the heat of the engine in hopes of getting home without choking up every little hill.  We went to bed crossing our fingers...

Roadtrip to the Races, Part III

Day 2 at Bonneville, the Races begin!  We hit the Salt early, with the group of car guys who had joined our caravan from Nampa/Boise area.  We set up a little canopy camp and settled in to watch a few seconds here and there of cars and bikes screaming by at the 4-mile mark of the long track, which was 1/2 mile across the salt from us.

Between the short-lived excitement of each run, we set about finding other sources of entertainment.  Our buddy, Aaron, had purchased a microbike online for us to pick up for him at Bonneville.  We located the seller that morning, and a tiny bike contained in a large suitcase arrived at our canopy camp.

Apparently, it's advertised that it can carry a 300lb person going 18mph.  Hard to believe!

We were just sitting around, waiting for the next fast car, when a man from a local news channel approached the group and asked to do a photoshoot of all the hot rods and drivers!

 Then, he had them do a drive-by for more photos and video.  The guys had a lot of fun with this!

 The rest of the day was spent biking through more pits, and just hanging out in the shade watching races.

Before we left the Salt, Andy drove out toward the mountains a bit for the GMC's own little photo shoot.

 

 

That night, we went to an impromptu car show at one of the many Wendover casinos.  

 

 

And the good times continue...

Roadtrip to the Races, Part II

We'd set up camp with flashlights and gone to sleep with a very limited idea of what this place was like.  

We woke to the sound of hot rods.  Lots of them.

Everyone was headed to the Salt, so we loaded up the ol' GMC and off we went too!

Our camp at the Bend in the Road was on an expanse of salt and soil mixed, with a shrub here and there.  A mile or so down the road we found the End of the Road.

Once you leave the pavement, there is just brilliantly white salt as far as you can see, edged with a mountain range.  For the Speed Week events, orange cones were set up for miles, directing traffic on this seemingly boundless dry lake bed.

 Many of the cars passing by were owner-built.  This was better than a car show!


Races would not start until the next day, but all the drivers had gone through orientation that morning and would be setting up pits and going through inspections to be approved for racing.  So, the plan was to make our way through the racers' pits and absorb all we could.  We parked the truck and took to the bicycles for the day.

 
Everything except tech inspection was open to the public, and the whole attitude of the place was surprisingly friendly and down-to-earth.

The first few pits we stopped into were streamliners - these are the cars that really scream down the track.  They are very low to the ground and aerodynamic, with engines optimized to the max.  The owners and pit crew were happy to answer questions and tell stories of the cars' history.

This streamliner was electrically powered, and was designed and built by engineering students at BYU.

Then, there was the jaw-dropping Blowfish.

This car was built inside and out to show car standards.  Absolutely stunning.  Every piece of it is well thought-out and so carefully executed.  It was built by Rad Rides by Troy, if you want to look up more info.
Amazingly, competitors would visit one another's booths to share their strategies and give tips to their opponents.  No secrets in this all-out race-for-the-pure-joy-of-it atmosphere!

Perhaps the most intriguing to us were the racers who came without the big names and deep pockets.  Those who built their idea of a racemobile and came with a dream to experience the thrill of racing on the Salt.  This father-son rookie team was so excited to be there!  They'd spent hours together on their belly tanker, and were hoping it would pass through inspections so they could get it out on the track.

 
 Another pit that we were drawn to was this team from France.  They spoke very limited English, and we knew even less French, but we unraveled their story with a lot of gestures and pictures and common Latin-based words.
 
 The story was quite similar to that of "The World's Fastest Indian" (a movie about Burt Munro, a New Zealander who first raced his homebuilt motorcycle on the Salt in the late 60s).  The fellow in the red shirt built much of the bike by hand, even the pistons!  That book of photos shows his step-by-step process, and he is describing one part of it there.  This was the family's first time to the States, although it had been the father's dream for years.  The bike was not built to break any records, but he still wanted the chance to drive as fast as he could on the Salt.  There were three motorcycles in the shipping container the bike came over in.  The airbags separating them popped in transit and the bikes were damaged when they fell against each other.  As he told the story, he kept saying "Just like Burt Munro you know!"


In such a unique landscape, it was common to see photo shoots taking place out away from the designated "roadways".  Even better, the car owners and photographers loved to tell you all about the car in the spotlight.
The "City of Salt Lake" was homebuilt in Salt Lake City and challenged the world record in 1960, but wrecked in the attempt.  The late driver's son carefully restored the car and is writing a book about his father, Athol Graham's dream.  One of the peaks in that mountain range is named after him.

" 198C", a 1940 Ford, is a head-turning show car now; however, in the 50's this beauty had a pit crew and a speed goal too.  We had a great conversation with the owner as it was in the middle of a photo shoot by the same magazine that featured it nearly 50 years ago.

Also common on the Salt were shade devices of all shapes and sizes!

 

 

Creativity was everywhere we turned. 

Even some of the push cars were rather unusual.

We thoroughly enjoyed our first day on the Salt Flats.  There was so much to see and learn from the wide range of people and vehicles, all with the same goals - to have fun and go fast.