Yesterday was one for my History Book.
It didn’t seem to be an auspicious start when the first thing I hear on the radio after starting the truck was “This is the worst trip I’ve ever been on…” by the Beach Boys. A little birdie suggested that I stop right there, write-off the $325 and go back to bed. But that’s not what Vikings do, right? Anyways, I head over to the nearest Tim Hortons to fortify myself with coffee and donuts (I like to think of them as Power Rings!), load up, hitch up the towbar complete with never-before-tested connections to the front bumper and head off for parts unknown. And guess what? Nothing bad happens. Ain’t caffeine great?
After two hours of drives, two thousand turns and too many kilometres at 50-70 kph, I make it. The guys are waiting for me and a place reserved. All seems well. And then it dawns on me: I forgot my HANS device. #@!%&! But that’s no problem, we run in various categories so I can borrow one. No problem. Wait, what kinda idiot forgets to install the HANS post in his helmet??? Me, that’s who!!! $##@!!! Undeterred, I set off to knock on trailers and tents to buy, borrow, or beg a set. Believe it or not, no one has any. I report back to my buddies. In what can only be described as a rescue mission, everybody heads off to find me some and they did. It turns out that there is a motorsport speed shop hidden in the woods by turn 2. I kid you not and now I’m thinking that I’m gonna be OK. Or so I thought. You see, there is no car inspection on test and tune days and I had cable tied my window net into place thinking no one would notice. But the speed shop folks did and insisted that I would not be allowed out on the track. Naturally, they could weld the retaining kit in for ~$140. Do it, said I.
By this time I had missed two of the three sessions and so my sudden appearance caused some alarm:
“Hey, is this a sleeper???”
“Where did that blue & white (no decals on yet) 924s come from?”
“Have we found a new Champion???”
“Oh boy, listen to the lake pipes roar! Who is this masked man???”
“Oh no! He’s tucked in behind a Miata who looks like he’s headed for the wall!”
“Oh, the Humanity!!! Wait a minute, hold on, he’s sliding on all fours in corner two but the Porsche’s OK! And off he goes. Slowly. ^&%$!, and I thought we had a ringer.”
“He’s a rookie!”
“Look, there’s the rookie triangle!”
“Let’s call him in and slap him!”
“I say we stomp ‘im!”
“No, I say we kill him, then we stomp ‘im and then we slap him!”
Me over the race radio: “I say we let him go!”
And thus began my racing at Calabogie.