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Rounds 6 & 7 Molecule Formula Mazda Challenge

Lil- Red-Nuht Raceway Park, May 30-31, 2009

Although Mark has so succinctly reported the bald faced facts of Rounds 6 & 7 of the Molecule Formula Mazda Challenge, take a moment to soak up the emotions of perdition, pathos and rapture that pulsed thru the paddock last weekend. If you'll open your Bible to John 11:38 -53, you'll recall that Lazarus was the guy who was deader than a friggin' doornail until he was miraculously brought back to life. And so it was with certain Molecule/WorldSpeed disciples as they soldiered on through the despair that weighed heavily on their souls like the swarms of bugs that weighed heavily on their visors. For you see, some of them looked into their machinery and found "no-mo'-go" until miraculously it came back to life and they found themselves once again on the gas and yelling "ye-haw !!" And now the details.

The Parable of Larry. There was a PFM racer, Larry, who was practicing his religion like a true disciple on Friday. Round and round he'd go in the clockwise di-rection on the track built to go anti-clockwise. Racing in this di-rection is not for the faint of heart. For example, risking life and limb, he hustled the car over the blind crest at the entrance to T-9 at well over 100 mph before tapping the brakes and flinging the car thru the 60 degree downhill right-hander. On and on he went til he once again reached the rather benign T-2. Being a Friday, but not Good Friday, he went off the track in Turn 2, got all turned around, caught a tire sideways and pirouetted into the air in a ½ back flip and ½ barrel roll. Sort of a lomcevak, which makes air show crowds gasp when they see pilots do such things. Only two corner workers and 4 cows gasped when they saw Larry's version.

They immediately red flagged the course and rolled the equipment. They found 2 things OK: Larry and the top of the roll bar. But the rest of the parts, formerly known as a car, had to be gathered up in a WorldSpeed flag draped basket. As we go to press, none of the graphic photos of the parts or the flag draped basket have been released to the public. As Larry came back to the track after a leisurely breakfast Saturday morning, Mark Milazzo quipped: "The World Speed army turned your carbon fiber kayak back into a Pro Formula Mazda in about 10 hours. Turns out we had to go all the way back to the shop at Infineon for a trunion because we don't carry them in the trailer." Why you ask? Because the logic goes "if you need one of those, you also need about a week." Doing the impossible, they started final set up at 6:30 AM Saturday morning and brought the car back to life in time for Larry's 8:30 practice. And Larry turned his eyes skyward to the WorldSpeed banner and gave thanks.

The story of Bruce and Ted; Who's dead today? Then there's our Shoe String Racing (SSR) story; kind of tame compared to Larry's but you're gonna hear it anyway. On Saturday, I had qualified 2^nd in the SSR half of the grid. The kid, Cameron, was on the SSR pole, with Bruce right behind me and John right behind him. The start was kinda messed up (long story; not worth repeating without a bottle of something with blue agave and a fresh Macanudo) so, we were all in a confused cluster going into the first turn (T-15 if you're paying attention). With cars all around me, I had no visual clues as to my actual location or speed. All I knew was I was ahead of the Kid and…….. oooooooooooooohh, sheeeeeet, around I went. Sitting dead still in the middle of the track, and watching the guys coming straight at me, the air was smelling 'expensive'. The good news is the SS brothers missed me somehow. The bad news is they left me for dead. By the time I got the lump re-fired, I was 25 seconds in arrears. Now if I had been Lewis Hamilton, I'd have said, "Never Give Up", but since I'm not, I wondered; "what am I doing out here, I'll never catch those guys." Then I realized, "Oh yeah, I'm out here hoping for a safety car." Which never came.

So, I'm pounding around lap after lap burning gas, killing time, not really trying too hard or experimenting with any new $hit either. And not seeing anyone; nothing behind me, nothing in front of me, I was pretty much uninspired. So I got to watching the corner workers, wondering what they're thinking. I could see each one had his own personality; some leaning on their fist, some texting, some really paying attention and some not. I got so familiar with them, I gave them all nick names. "Swivelhead", "Texty", "Bodacious ta-ta's" and so on.

Finally, for no apparent reason, I could start to see my SS brethren up ahead locked in a vicious 3 way battle with John "Widebody" Ertel leading the parade. As I somehow gained ground, Cameron, the kid, got around John and eased on ahead, leaving John and Bruce to go at it hammer and tong, as they say. Pretty soon, I'm on their ass and thinking; "well lookee here, I'm in the race." So I jump Bruce coming out of T-14 and pass him on the back straight. I follow John around for a lap or 2, knowing that time is running out. But I detect a bit of caution thru T-9 and decide that will be my chance. Meanwhile, like I don't have enough to do, here comes the General in that unmistakable "get outta my way" look. No one's behind him, so I mumble "just take a seat Bill and enjoy the show, because here we go" as I make a go-for-broke run on John out of 9 heading into T-8. John, who has fought me tooth and nail for 5 years, surprisingly gives me some room thru 8 although I'm not really wheel to wheel yet, so I take advantage, looking to go side by side thru 7. Shockingly, he just lets me go. A half lap later we drive under the checkers. Now, I know that 2-3 guys locked in a fight, slow each other down, but how I came back from being DFL by 25 seconds is still a mystery.

But wait there's more. The next day, I go out and I can't get out of my own way; practice and Q are dismal. Meanwhile, Bruce finds a big bucket of speed and turns a buck-53 or less; about 5 seconds faster than yesterday. He's ahead of the Kid who's going about one second quicker than yesterday. I go over to his trailer and ask for some explanation. He shrugs and says something about "you guys never told me to take it all the way to redline, and, uh, gosh, I guess I just got serious about left foot braking and, well, I dunno, I decided not to be such a wuss?" And some other stuff, but I had stopped listening and my expression said "don't toy with me son." I hate it when I hear such platitudes. But look at ........this face…does it look like it would lie?? NFW.

Well, I lapse into my Dilbert mode, figuring out why my lap times are lifeless while Bruce is feeling like it's Easter morning. And I discover that my muffler, being off and on the car a few times, now has 33 hours on it. Might be my problem? YA THINK??? So, I change the muff but it doesn't change the fact I'm still starting DFL. John and Cameron are DNS for various mechanical woes so it's me and Bruce, mano-a-mano. On the start, Shawn gets all balled up, then weaves thru traffic which makes Bruce lift slightly. I see that coming and make the pass in my favorite spot, down the back straight. Waiting for Bruce's 1:53 speed to kick in and thoroughly piss me off, I'm still leading him 2 laps later, wondering what's up. Clueless to the fact that he's spotted my weakness thru the high speed T-1 (last turn onto the front straight), I do note that he likes to show himself even when he's not coming. Perfectly setup by lap 3, I'm blissfully asleep at the switch on the front straight when he out-brakes me going into 15. Dammit. Expecting to get him back out of T-14, it don't happen and we pound around another dozen plus laps in that same order. Hoping for a mistake that never comes, my spirits are in the doldrums by the end of the race.

The Biblical Enigma of Stew Tabak. Bruce and Ted's 'excellent adventure' is nothing compared to Stew's travails. To set the stage, the Counselor has been feeling pretty good this season with a new motor, a new paint job and some good dicing with the General even. Pretty sure wife Fran has a new mantra for him on the radio too. Like Job of the Old Testament, the Counselor was feeling pretty "blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil," except when there was some Meyers, a cigar and a B.S. session to be had. If you recall, Stew likes to get it on with ole' Fireball 77 and Wild-man Shawn for the right to be first loser behind Bill. And so it was in Saturday's race that these 3 men of the SFM cloth waged battle through the first few laps, when lo and behold, the Counselor "strayed from the narrow path of macadam and gathered much straw on his radiators." Charging back off to catch "the evil doers who sought to do him such harm, he girded up his loins" and ignored the warnings of his temp gages. (What that means is he saw 230F and kept going.)

Back in the paddock after the race, the mill was not sounding right, not by a long shot. Summoning Telo and the WorldSpeed elders, they sought to stave off the inevitable conclusion that "she's just cooked." Nothing seemed to make any difference and those of us close to Stew's paddock cringed when he started it up and we had to listen to its mournful pathetic wail. As the sun set, so did Stew's hope and spirits. It was bad. How bad you ask? It was so bad I didn't even want to think of a smart ass remark, that's how bad it was. It was like last October on Wall Street. Fran wisely removed all the sharp instruments from the vicinity. Plans were already set for Derry to box it up and send it Darrell on Monday.

For some reason, either because the Counselor had a visit from an angel or made a pact with the Devil, he got up Sunday morning determined to drive it again. And while it was not dead, it was definitely not healthy and the Stew-man was relegated to the despised Shoe String end of the grid.

On the race start, Stew flogs the 28 machine mercilessly and traps Wild-man Westerhoff behind a dog slow PFM. With the General absent from this race, Fireball Derry gets out front cleanly, then retires with a broken A arm and Shawn overtakes the Stew-man. Shawn is driving like a flawless Jensen Button until he takes a peek in his mirrors to see where the purple Barney car is. That peek was very poorly timed however as he was going up the very steep hill to Turn 5. Understand that even though all you see is sky on the approach to 5, it ain't exactly the stairway to heaven!! Any-who, he promptly spins to let Stew by for the win. Standing tall on the podium, Stew guffawed, "Here I am looking down on you guys and 45 minutes ago, you thought I should be home already." Lesson learned: Never count the Counselor out.

Our closing scripture for this week is from Revelation 2:10

"Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried; and ye shall have tribulation ten days: be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life."

And there was much rejoicing in the paddock. Amen.