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WAITING FOR INSTANT RESULTS By Kyle Doyle - 06/22/07
One of the many locations I would pass through on my way home from Los Angeles back in April was the border town of Joplin, MO. The 4 States Chrome Shop and the adjacent Petro truck stop was about all I had ever seen of Joplin, even in my eight-plus years as a Missouri resident (and frequent visitor). But, with irony being an ever present force in my life, I would find myself returning to Joplin only a few days later with the R/T to participate in a motorcycle rally for children.
The R/T in Joplin.
Only a couple of days after returning from the Dodge Avenger commercial shoot in L.A., Travis and I loaded up the R/T and made our way back down to Joplin, a familiar route that carried us through Springfield, IL, St. Louis, and Springfield, MO plus a great deal of smaller, forgettable towns. Over the last four years I’ve trodden that path so many times that I was almost on autopilot the entire drive, save for the traffic-induced calamity that is the bridge across the Mississippi River in downtown St. Louis and our normal lunch-time stop in Sullivan, MO. Our final destination in Joplin would be a fairgrounds-like facility just down the road from the Petro truck stop, where we stopped just long enough to have our rig washed at the local truck stop. $70.00 and an hour or so later, we were back on the road to finish the last two miles of our drive, arriving at the official venue for the third annual Choppers 4 Children event.
Travis and I had been under the impression that the event was scheduled to kick off late in the evening, just as the sun was setting, so that the lighting for the scheduled concerts would offer their full effect. We moved the hauler into place, and I set the air brakes at 4:00pm sharp, about the same time that Travis was informed by one of the event coordinators that the event kicked off at 5:00pm. You can imagine my dismay, as someone who is usually hell-bent on being punctual, if not ridiculously early. Hastily getting to work, we had the truck ready to go by the 5pm start time, only to look around and realize that the only other “vendors” that were ready to go were the carnival food stands. Hmmph. So much for being worried. Turns out that this laid-back approach would be the norm for the weekend, which suited Travis and I just fine. Needless to say, we are used to the high-tension hustle and bustle that our team is normally used to operating in.
We finished giving rides a mere 2 ½ hours after the event “officially” kicked off. Rather than unload the Dodge Neon that I often haul with me in the R/T hauler and try to fight our way in and out of the fairgrounds (which was now packed with bikes and bikers) to find dinner, we opted instead for a round of foot-long corn dogs and lemonade shake-ups. Fat on a stick and sugar in a cup. Our internal organs lodged a formal protest at our dietary choices, but were soon over powered by the cardio-clogging onslaught. As we finished eating inside the hauler, the opening band finished and the crowd roared their approval for the evening’s main act, an obscure “classic” rock band called “Head East”, who I later learned were from Champaign, IL (or at least they were at one point). This came as a surprise, as I had never heard of them nor had I noticed them playing any local gigs. Anyways, they rolled through an hour-long set of cover tunes and relatively obscure originals, culminating with their cover of Russ Ballard’s “Since You’ve Been Gone”, which netted them a #46 on the Billboard charts back in ’78. Despite that (limited) success, a cover of the very same song by the band Rainbow the following year (which only placed #57) is the version most often heard on US classic rock radio stations.
The next day was an emotional roller coaster for the two of us. The truck ran outstanding for the first half of the day, but then fell on its face just after our lunch break. As I finished my lunch, I poured five gallons of race gas into the truck’s fuel cell, which would carry me through the end of the event without having to stop to refuel again. The first lap around the course with the new fuel would prove to be disastrous, as the truck coughed and sputtered and came to a stop a short ways from the ladder. Frustrated and embarrassed, I tried in vain to refire the truck, but to no avail. After unloading our disappointed passengers, we managed to get the truck running (barely), but each time I put it in gear it would instantly die. I eventually was able to nurse the machine back to the hauler, where our first instinct was to make sure that the carburetor wasn’t obviously malfunctioning, and to put a fresh set of plugs in the motor. At this point, our best guess was that the slow and bumpy ride area had caused the motor to load up and foul the plugs. As we expected, the plugs were in pretty sad shape, but even after installing a fresh set of plugs the truck still did not respond well at all, shutting off at the touch of the throttle. Frustration and embarrassment were soon joined by despair, as we checked and double checked everything we could think off.
I suggested to Travis that we check the float bowl level, to make sure that the truck wasn’t instantly flooding itself. As I worked the fuel pump switch in the cab, Travis removed the sight glass plug to see where the level was at. As he did this, a foul mix of fuel and water dribbled out; the culprit had been found. The questions now were: a) how do we fix this and… b) how did this happen? We ended up pulling the in-line fuel filter out, which let us drain the carburetor and a few gallons of fuel from the fuel tank. Our hopes were that the water in the fuel tank had fully settled to the bottom over the course of the last twenty or so minutes that we had been fighting this problem. We quickly buttoned the fuel system back up, and I anxiously started the truck once again. It seemed to be idling fine, so I made a test lap around the ride area, and much to my (nervous) relief, it behaved exactly as it should. As we finished up the rides for the night, my mind couldn’t seem to leave behind the one lingering question: How did the fuel in the jug get contaminated with water? I filled that jug myself earlier in the day out of a brand-new, sealed VP barrel, and the jug sat under a table all day under our almost constant supervision. The only thing I can think is that the fuel was contaminated from VP (which would be a first), or someone had put water in the jug while we were off getting our lunch (which would also be a first). Regardless, I felt quite drained when the ordeal was over and my adrenalin had settled. Perhaps our hurried fixing of the fuel problem is a testament to the intense race environment that Travis and I have grown accustomed to over the last few years.
We parked the truck just as the sun was setting, and decided to get cleaned up and watch the evening’s concerts. Unable to tire the truck down until the event was over and the crowd was gone, we really didn’t have much of a choice. With the tractor parked a mere 50 yards from the stage, driving the truck through the surprisingly thick crowd and tearing it down wasn’t a viable option. So, after grabbing a quick shower and changing into some clothes that didn’t smell like mud and race gas, we sat back and enjoyed the headline act of the weekend, Three Dog Night. With 21 Billboard Top 40 hits to fall back on for stage material, it was a pretty good show, especially when you take into account that these guys are in their fourth decade of performing. Like many bands that make up the pool of music found on classic rock radio, TDN hit it big in the late 60’s, and carried that momentum through the 70’s, only to fade out in the 80’s, and then return in the 90’s and 2000’s as their generation grew nostalgic. Although they are borderline pop-music in my book, I really enjoyed hearing a lot of their songs that I grew up listening to as a child (hey, mom and dad did have good taste in music). Aside from groups like The Who, Rush, Aerosmith, and The Rolling Stones, there aren’t many long-lasting groups like Three Dog Night still alive (at least partially) and kicking. The concert seemed to come to an end quickly, though the crowd lingered for what seemed like an eternity. We eventually were able to tire down, albeit at 12:30 in the morning. After a short night of sleep, it was back on the road for Travis and me.
Dale pulling off a wild donut in Ft. Smith.
Dave Harkey ran Bigfoot hard in one of his last events.
Dale attempting a wheelie in Ft. Smith.
After another short week at the shop, Travis, Dale, Amanda, and I headed right back down towards Joplin with the R/T and Dale’s race truck. We veered south just before getting into Joplin, on the path that would guide us to Ft. Smith, AR for a Brad Darnell show at the local fairgrounds. The weather was hot and muggy all weekend long, which made me thankful for the air conditioning in my trailer. Friday night after the show, we made our way down the road to a Denny’s in search of food and drink. Although Denny’s is only one step above fast food in quality, they were eons slower than a normal fast food joint. We arrived and sat down at 10:36pm, and had placed our order by 10:45pm. Our drinks arrived between 10:49 and 11:00pm. Time ticked by, and still no sign of our dinner. 11:10…..11:15….11:25….11:30…the minutes were sleepily passing, our server assuring us that our food would be ready momentarily. Our lack of energy was about all that was keeping us from getting up and leaving, and then some food showed up. Not what we ordered, however. Travis had ordered some barbeque chicken strips, and instead they had brought him BBQ chicken wings. Hmmmm. As the waitress realized her mistake, she reached for the lone oasis of food on our table, only to be stopped mid-stroke by Travis and Dale: “Whoa whoa whoa, don’t take those!” The rest of our order arrived shortly after that, though Travis never got what he ordered, as the cooking staff got into a disagreement with the waiting staff, and decided to quit cooking. One hot, sultry night in northwest Arkansas, anarchy had struck Denny’s….
Saturday came all too soon, and in light of the previous night’s dining room debacle, we opted to cook for ourselves at the track. Dale and I fired up the grill, and we feasted on….well….a mixture of traditional and non-traditional grill items. It was quite silly, to be honest. Alongside of some cheap frozen hamburgers and some chicken breasts, we took race track grilling to places previously unexplored. We grilled miniature frozen pizzas from the local grocery store. But not any old frozen mini pizzas….these were cheeseburger mini pizzas! While they didn’t exactly suck per se, they didn’t become my number one grill-food choice either. Though, I must admit, the grill did add some authenticity to the taste of the pizzas.
Before we knew it the event was over, and we were on the road early the next morning, headed home. Along the way, we made a quick stop in Springfield, MO, where the 4-Wheel Jamboree was taking place. Mark and Geremie had dominated the previous day’s racing, but in the process Mark had lost a piece for his HANS device. Mat Dishman met us out by the interstate with our team’s Ram dually, and we scavenged a piece off of Dale’s HANS to help Mark get through the weekend safely. A mere three minutes later we were back on the road, with home in our sights.
Richmond, IN would be my destination for the following weekend, but not before stopping by the grade school in Bismarck, IL to give rides to students who had met their book reading goals for the school year. I can only imagine how excited I would have been back in elementary school if a monster truck had shown up at my school, much less one that was actually giving rides! I’ve always been a big reader (I read Tom Clancy’s Hunt for Red October in fifth grade!), so I guess I can take solace in the fact that had a ride truck shown up, I would have likely gotten a ride in it. These kids deserve to be rewarded for their efforts, though they should count themselves lucky that Geremie and Mat are from Bismarck!
Dale Benear returned to the Rammunition seat in Richmond.
Mark Hall catching air in Richmond.
The annual spring monster truck event at Richmond Dodge went off without a hitch, with three car crushes and 16+ hours of rides in two days. As usual, the dealership takes food donations from riders for the local food bank. This year, however, there was an added bonus for fans. HBR merchandise manager June Hall and Richmond Dodge general manager Terry Schwer teamed up to offer a Lima 4-Wheel Jamboree prize package by way of a raffle. The pack included 4 tickets for any day of the Jamboree, a $50 Cracker Barrel gift card, some great HBR merch, and the use of a Richmond Dodge rental car for a day to get to the event and back. It was a pretty sweet package, and winner Kim Hill of Richmond was pretty excited to win it, to say the least.
Dale and Mark calling it a wrap in Richmond.
Kim Hill and her son, winners of the Lima raffle, with Mark Hall.
Lima weekend came and went, surprisingly fast, and without much of an ordeal on our part (which of course is very rare for us). I met with Amanda’s dad Mike the Thursday night leading up to Lima for dinner, which has become a yearly tradition for us. We catch up on current goings-on, talk cars and motorcycles, etc, etc. While waiting for our check to arrive at the table, we were discussing the current state of affairs surrounding Dale Earnhart Jr, and where he might end up employed at in 2007. We both reached the same conclusion that we thought he would end up at Hendrick Motorsports. Our hypothesis proved to be accurate, if not prophetic. While discussing this, I was surprised by Jessica Hubley, employee of Special Events (and daughter of Bruce, the company’s owner). Jessica and co. were dining at a table in another part of the restaurant, and she had noticed me having dinner with Amanda’s dad. Jessica deals with a lot of the marketing and PR “stuff” at Special Events, so naturally our paths have crossed frequently this year, with me now handling PR “stuff” at HBR. I introduced her to Amanda’s dad and vice versa, and after some small talk, she returned to her table and Mike and I decided it was time to call it a night. He dropped me off at the fairgrounds, and informed me that he’d be back for at least one of the weekend’s events.
Mark leaving the line in Lima, Friday night.
Geremie making a pass in Lima, Saturday evening.
Dan Runte put Bigfoot 16 through its paces Friday evening, before succumbing to a back injury Saturday afternoon.
While showing up prepared for a race is something that our team is typically known for, things can sometimes get overlooked at the shop. In fact, some mechanical gremlins just have a way of flying under the radar in general. One of those things that often fails unexpectedly is the ring and pinion assemblies in the trucks’ axles. About two hours or so before Friday evening’s race, I pulled off the inspection cap for Mark’s rear axle to inspect the oil level. The weekend’s racing would take place on a long S-course, and I wanted to make sure that we didn’t burn up a locker or any bearings in the rear end. While taking note of the oil level, I noticed some scarring on a few of the ring gear teeth. I had Tim inspect it to offer up a second opinion, and we came to the conclusion that the scars weren’t in fact scars, but were cracks. If this truck went out on track with this particular ring gear, failure would be guaranteed right off the bat. The call was made to change the rear end out for our spare (which was complete with locker and all), so with limited time the crew sprang into action. In just over an hour we had the spare installed and the tires back on. I was happy to have found the problem, though I hoped it wasn’t an omen in regards to how the rest of the weekend went. One thing that struck me as odd was a conversation I’d had with Tim while on the way to Lima the previous day.
Mark and Geremie in Saturday’s early finals.
Joe Sylvester and Bad Habit ran outstanding all weekend long.
Mark taking out Charlie Pauken and Grave Digger during Saturday eliminations.
Our conversation was in regards to the new type of axle shafts that we were using in the trucks, the prototypes of which had been installed in Mark’s truck just prior to Lima 2006. Those prototypes were (and still are) in the truck. I said to Tim “I have a bad gut feeling about our rear ends. I think the axles will be fine, but I’m still worried about a pig [rear end] going out.” I don’t think I’m going to go buy a crystal ball anytime soon, but it turns out my bad feelings were justified. I’m just glad it was before the races started. Mark would go on to defeat Dan Runte in Friday’s finals, and Geremie in Rammunition in both of Saturday’s finals. Mark’s truck would succumb to RII problems in the first round of Sunday’s eliminations, but Geremie was able to pick up the Dodge banner and carry it to the final round, where he would easily defeat Charlie Pauken in Grave Digger.
So far this year at the Jamborees, the Grave Digger vs. Bigfoot rivalry that has been hyped up to no end has hardly materialized. Grave Digger was not present in Fredericksburg, TX (due to its close proximity to San Antonio, from what rumors I’ve heard), where Raminator won all three races. In Springfield, MO, the two trucks only met up once, with the new Bigfoot 16 suffering fuel system problems, giving Digger and easy win. By the end of that event, Raminator had won another event, while Rammunition and Big Dawg racked up their first wins. Come Lima, Bigfoot and Digger never raced each other at all, either by the way the brackets fell or the fact that, for at least one event, Grave Digger was removed from the racing bracket due to the fact that Masters Entertainment TV cameras were rolling.
Bryan Bertoletti, filling in on the fly for an injured Dan Runte, took a wild ride in Bigfoot 16, that started with this jump…
…carried into this wheelie…
…over a set of cars…
…and on to his lid. The damage was sufficient enough that Bigfoot 15 was tired up to replace 16. Bryan was OK, and would finish out the weekend for Team Bigfoot.
Much to my joy and relief, we managed to sweep the entire Lima weekend, leaving Big Dawg the only non-HBR truck to have won a Jamboree race thus far. Let the accusations and theories fly about the straight-line tracks in Texas and Missouri, but the way I see it the critics don’t have much room to talk after Lima. We aren’t going to win every time we race a turning course, but I think we’ve proven that the track layout isn’t constructed with favoring us in mind. I hope that every Jamboree from here on out is a turning course.
Mark and Geremie in the Saturday evening finals coming down the front stretch, a fraction of a second before Mark’s rear driveline broke.
By this point, the time in between gigs seemed to be growing shorter each week, and I was really beginning to feel the stress setting in. To combat this, it has been my goal for some time now to save up and purchase a very nice six or seven piece drum kit, with a reasonably large assortment of cymbals and such. Well, goals remain goals until they are actually completed, so with my car payment, camera payment, credit card bill, and rent to contend with (in addition to ridiculous gas prices), my goal of getting a nice drum kit is still just that: a goal. However, I still needed an outlet for my physical energy that was fun (i.e. not manual labor), so I broke down and bought a decent (not super-nice, but functional) new 21speed mountain bike. Riding bikes had been a major hobby of mine prior to turning 16 (as it had been for most all kids), but I had kind of “grown out” of it once I discovered how much more fun an accelerator pedal can be. Alas, gas prices had tripled since I began driving, so now a joyous drive on a day off was significantly more expensive than it had once been. Now, having finally gotten around to purchasing a new bike to complement Amanda’s like-new bike of similar quality and design, we could now ride to our heart’s content (or our legs’ dismay). Just prior to Lima, I had an afternoon off, and on a whim, decided to load the bikes into my Ram 1500 and head west of Champaign to Allerton Park.
Allerton Park in Monticello, IL
Nothin’ like a Sunday ride in the forest without tons of people everywhere.
Allerton Park is owned by the University of Illinois, and features a myriad of neat things to do, including hiking paths, bike trails along the Sangamon River, and even a reception hall-type of facility that you can rent for things like weddings and such. Amanda and I arrived there in the mid-afternoon, and while trying to enjoy the reflecting pond and the interesting creatures that inhabited the area near it, we were all but driven off by the madness of some undisciplined youth and their uncaring parents. We decided the best way to avoid these rude people would be to go ahead and get on the bikes and hit the trails. At this point, I hadn’t ridden a bike for anything over a short distance for a few years, but as the old saying goes, I hadn’t really forgotten anything. We enjoyed riding the forest trails at a brisk pace, frequently having to dodge or detour around fallen branches, bushes, and (for lack of a better term) mud pits. The main trail we rode followed the river for several miles, then veered away from the river at a 90 degree angle back towards the opposing border of the park. By the time we had circled back to the Ram, we had clocked somewhere in the neighborhood of 14 or so miles. My legs were tired but not to the point of burning, thankfully, though I can’t say the same for Amanda. She was not quite as enamored with my brisk riding pace as I was. After loading our gear and bikes back up, we treated ourselves to dinner at a seafood restaurant in Champaign, which mercifully had their air conditioning set to full-on.
Myself, Katelin, June, and Mark in Milton at the truckstop.
Between Lima and my next gig, a two-day stand in Milford, PA, I managed to squeeze in some evening bike rides around the small (and somewhat unappealing) town I live in, enjoying myself each time. While I’m nowhere close to being able to ride 50 miles in a day (yet, at least), I still like to get in a few miles any chance I get. Anyways, before I knew it, it was back on the road to Milford. While en route to Milford, we enjoyed dinner in Milton, PA with my good friends Scott White, and his daughter Katelin. I’ve introduced my readers to Scott and Katelin in the past, but this time, Katelin had the presence of mind to take a snapshot of us. Aside from the dust, the Milford event was fairly typical and uneventful, except for one fan (and his son) that I had the opportunity to meet. A few days before leaving for Milford, I had noticed a fan on an online monster truck forum who stated that they planned to stop by the event. I encouraged them to stop by and say “hi”, and that was pretty much the bulk of our conversation. Well, as I stood on the tailgate of the R/T Friday evening in Milford, I noticed a fellow with his wife and son in line for a ride. I’m not good at guessing guys’ ages, but I’d say this man was in his mid to late 20’s, early 30’s at the very most (please forgive me for my terrible age guessing skills). His son had on a fresh Raminator/Rammunition shirt, while he had on a tour shirt from the band Rush’s 2002 Vapor Trails tour. “Ahh, a fellow Rush geek!” I thought to myself. As he began climbing the ladder, I said to Mark “Hey, this guy’s got the coolest shirt I’ve seen all day!” As he reached the top of the ladder, he introduced himself as Jason, the fan from the online forum. Connections clicked and light bulbs went off in my head, and I now recognized him (sort of) from his profile picture. I was surprised to see that he was a Rush fan as well, and from there on the conversation pretty much left the topic of monster trucks and shifted towards music. Really good music. He informed me that he had tickets to see Rush in Scranton early in the summer, and I in reply mentioned the two tickets that I had purchased to see them in Chicago in early September. Although Rush have been playing for over 30 years and have sold millions and millions (and millions) of records, hard-core Rush fans are a rare breed and can be far and few between, so when you get two or more of them together in one place, the conversation usually takes right off.
I was flattered when Jason informed me that he reads my articles here on The Monster Blog, and gets a kick out of my obscure Rush references, which go unnoticed by all but a few people. We discussed Neil Peart and his writing projects and books, and the apparent influence he has had on me, both in words and music. Despite the brief time span that our conversation took place in, we both had a lot to say, and it was really enjoyable. After buckling everyone in, I took Jason, his son, and the rest of the riders on a trip around Milford C-J-D’s back lot, and despite the slow nature of the ride (the back lot is r-o-u-g-h!) his boy seemed to enjoy it. At least I hope he did, seeing as how they drove a little bit out of their way to come and see us. I didn’t get a chance to see Jason and his family after the car crush as things got a bit hectic with the long ride line and such, but we later corresponded online. He informed me that his Rush show was only a few weeks away, and that he’d be sure to let me know how it went. Here’s a tip of my limeade-filled Hard Rock pilsner to Jason for making the trip down to Milford.
While giving rides on Saturday in Milford, one of the many people who rode was an interesting gentleman who looked like a throw-back to the Woodstock-era of American culture. Tie-dyed shirt, rumpled khaki shorts, hemp necklace, worn leather sandals, and a scruffy, unkempt (but apparently clean) hair cut. He spoke very causally and care-free, and after the ride, he commented on the happiness that the children had been infused with after getting their ride. He said “Man, you must like your job!”. I replied back “Yep, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t love it.” What he said after that has really stuck with me: “Not only is it a cool job, but you get instant rewards.” As he said that, he motioned to the kids who were at that point excitedly exiting the truck, proclaiming their desire to get back in line. The trueness of that statement hit me like a baseball bat at that moment, but it has borne down on me like a freight train each weekend since then. Profound statements don’t just come from famous philosophers, world leaders, or star athletes; they can come from anyone, anywhere. Like the old adage “Hippies say the darndest things.”
Of all the rewards in life I’ve had to wait for (or are still waiting for), one of the most instantaneous rewards is that of happy people after riding the R/T. At one point or another every monster truck fan, driver, crew member, etc has cracked a joke about ride trucks and their drivers (myself included, admittedly), but a ride truck driver really carries as much responsibility as any other kind of MT driver, and if they do a lousy job or mess up, they get to hear about it from eight or more people right away. I mean right-freakin’-away, not a few minutes later or the next day on the internet, but right at that moment. So, it is indeed an instant reward for a job well done when you’ve got a truck full of smiling people thanking you for the ride. I wish so many of the other rewards that I’ve worked for (or are still working for) would come to me as quickly as the ride truck rewards do. Some of those rewards were even promised and/or offered as being instantaneous, but they eventually proved to be a bit farther away. I guess I’m still waiting on a few of those instant rewards.
We set off for home in the late afternoon from Milford, and made it home the following evening, in time for the team to enjoy a much needed and well-deserved break on Memorial Day, which I spent doing…well…I don’t exactly remember what I did that day, but hopefully it was fun. I probably should have started on this article so it wouldn’t have ended up 230 pages long, eh?
The R/T on display at Spartan Speedway.
The view out the windshield of the R/T just prior to hitting the track.
Dale Benear would be my traveling companion for my next two gigs, which would be spread out over a single weekend. We left on a Friday morning for Mason, MI, home of Spartan Speedway, a small paved oval. The nearby Dodge dealer, Beacon Sales of Charlotte, was sponsoring Dodge Night at the track, and had arranged for Dale and I to haul the R/T up for some promotion rides. You may remember Dave Howe and co. from Beacon Sales from one of last year’s articles…they hosted the R/T and I at the graduation party for Dave’s daughter Keisha. I’ve gotten to become good friends with Dave and his family, so it was nothing short of a blast hanging out with them at the track. We started the night off by making some parade laps on the track with the R/T, then at intermission we gave rides to some friends of the dealership and some contest winners. Dale and I had to be set up in Indianapolis the next morning, so we began tearing the truck down as soon as we could, knowing that we would have a long night of driving ahead of us. Just as we were prepared to leave, sweaty and dirty and ready to get to a truckstop to get a shower, Dave and Keisha begged us to throw the flags for the final race of the night, the main feature. We looked at each other and figured “To heck with it, let’s do it!” We climbed the flagman’s stand, and took turns throwing out the appropriate flags. We really enjoyed seeing the race from that vantage point, especially the crazy driving antics by the stars of the feature race. Before we knew it, we were throwing the checkered flag, and then making our way to the semi. By the time we called it a night, it was 2:30am and we were about an hour from Indianapolis. We awoke only 3 hours later and finished off our drive, our destination being O’Reilly Raceway Park (formerly IRP).
Dale, Keisha, and I just after intermission at the track.
Dale and I just after the final race of the night at Spartan.
For the next two days, Dale
and I manned the R/T at the Diesel Hot Rod Association’s drag racing and
pulling event. I’ve never seen so many stacks in my life outside of a
truck stop! Sadly, we were unable to catch any of the on-track action,
despite the fact that business was unusually slow for us. I think if we
had a diesel in the truck it would have been considerably busy, but the
hordes of non-spark-plug-using truck fans only seemed to have a passing
interest in my Hemi-powered, race-gas fed monster. Oh well. By the end of
that event, I was happy to have a short 2hr drive home. CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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