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Chasing the dust (a very personal view of USA 500)
July 20, 2011 at 12:31am
On
January 29, 2010 I and Chuck finished 3rd in the Snow Rally, and the
day later 4th in the Drift Rally. Since then, I have DNS or DNF every
gravel rally or off-road I entered. You may say a hundred times: ”It
does not matter”, but it does; it does get into your head.
This past weekend I flew to Las Vegas and then drove to Reno (way cheaper that direct flight to Reno) to take part in the inaugural off-road Master Pull USA 500 miles with Desert Dingos in Class 11 – a slightly modified 1969 VW Beetle.
I met with Jim on Thursday and the day proceeded as expected – I found out that the 4 feet of my legs, comprising a substantial part of my 6’6’’ body, stand no chance to fit under the steering wheel. There was no chance I could touch the braking pedal, and since I usually do not claim that braking is overrated, I felt we had a problem. The next day Jim secured a very small steering wheel and we bought a quick release that fit the steering column. This solution obviously provided two benefits:
1/ We always had two steering wheels in the car. A very useful approach to racing driven by the idea that more spares is better than less.
2/ A small steering wheel in a car without the power steering leads to a beautiful workout for your shoulder muscles and biceps. Those of you who know my feeble body type and my generally avoidance driven approach to exercising might certainly consider this as a huge benefit.
Not to speak that it looked cool and the look is always 50% of the success.
The Friday also developed as expected, since we worked on the car up until 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning, found out (among other things) that the GPS was burned out and the replacement GPS was totally useless. But the real men and the woman of the team don’t eat quiche, or drive according to GPS, or for that matter pre-run. Hoping that all of the little turn pointing arrows will survive the race so one can stay on the course is always more exciting, isn’t it?
After the refreshing 3 hours of sleep we met on Saturday at 6:00 for a team meeting and then moved to the start. The course looked like a balloon with a stick – the “stick” led from Start/Finish to Pit 1 (i.e. service area 1) and then we were to drive the “balloon” (with Pit 1 , 2 and 3), three times and then back to the Start/Finish.
Bob and Emme drove from the Start to Pit 2; apparently there were some great blind crests with 2 storey drop offs on the other side to keep their adrenalin flowing and the only problem was their overwhelming urge to pee that obscured the enjoyment of some of the drop-offs in the hills. Now, since that car was on brand new shocks, I just do not know what were they complaining about?
At Pit 2 Richad took over and I co-drove with him to Pit 3 and then Pit 1. The course was still awaiting being ripped to shreds by the Trophy Trucks and others, the shocks were new, the sun was shining, Richad drove like a madman and life was great. Before Pit 3 we started to see the dust of Bob Messer who was in the first position at that time. According to Messer, his crew in Pit 3 told him that we were gaining on him. His response? “Catch me if you can.” So Richard obliged. When he finally saw the Messer’s car, Richard speeded up and had his eyes only for the closing distance between us and Messer. But so did Messer. We drove quite a few miles with the distance sometimes shortening, sometimes lengthening, and both guys very aware of each another. Then Messer lost front wheel and we gave him a nice wave through the window as we passed him. Richard turned to me and said: “We are FIRST”. Since I am an accountant, I just retorted: “It is a long race”. Ten miles later Gary with the Green Bugger waved at us as he passed us. We came to the Pit 1 in good shape, except for the rear wheel rim that was heavily bent. The BFH (big f. hammer) shaped it back and it was up to me to destroy the car.
I drove with Crusty as my co-driver from Pit 1 to Pit 3. All my experience in off-roads was based on co-driving for David Hendrickson in Snore 250 and pre-running in Yerington last year for Messer’s team. As a rally driver, the speed on the straights did not faze me and neither did the turns. But that is about it. I had no idea how to drive the whoops (series of “waves” on the road), did not know what was the proper speed over the huge potholes, had a vague idea about driving through the silt beds (deep powdery sand), etc., etc. Luckily for me, Crusty did and it helped. Up until we saw a steep hill in front of us with a slight leveling off in the middle of this hill.
The Class 11 cars do not have an excess of power, so I decided to “gun it” uphill. And so we launched, flew over the flat part and………..nose dove into the next incline. The car threw two buckets of gravel into our faces and stopped. That was one of my lowest points in the last two years. Not only I had another DNF, I was causing DNF for all others on the team. For a few second I felt only one thing – huge desperation. But desperation does not help. Chuck taught me that when I hit the overplow at Perce Neige Rally and ended up in a huge snow bank. He was out shoveling the snow madly in a few seconds. Emily taught me that when I destroyed the second gear at Tall Pines Rally and she turned to me and said: “Do you still have the first and third? Go.” Alexei taught me that when he was finishing the stage with a ziploc bag in his hand, but always finished the last note before filling the bag up.
So we jumped out to asses the damage. The front was visibly hurt, but the axle, steering and all the other “useful” stuff seemed to be OK. Crusty, with a bit of my help, removed the bumper, fender and the front skid plate. That took us quite a while as some of these items decided to change their shape in an unexpected way. We jumped back and the car drove as well as before! Every emotional low has its own opposite high and this was my high. We drove on, blew a tire between Pit 2 and 3 but brought the car to Pit 3.
There was just one small problem: The cage cross tube underneath the steering wheel was not designed for 6’6” people. Also the tube was made from significantly harder material than my knees. The constant banging of my knees into the cage was slowly reshaping them into something as bumpy as the road in front of us. The last 10 miles I ground my teeth and had to slow down. But we did bring it to Pit 3.
At Pit 3 Emme took over as a driver and Richard as a co-driver. In her own words:
“With a class 11, stock VW and 500 race miles, just finishing is an accomplishment. This was my first time in the car and it wasn't mine, so after a 10 miles of going a bit hot and doing a couple dumb things, I settled down. We lost a fan belt but were able to change it quickly. My mantra was, "Just get it back to pit 2 to hand the car off. Pit 2, pit 2, pit 2". After about 30 miles I changed it to, "Pit 1, pit 1...just get it to pit 1." Baby steps and all.
About 20 miles into it, I got nerfed by a truck. Nerfing is when someone comes up behind you and gives you a little tap to say, "GTFO of my way!!!" The problem with nerfing a class 11 is that we run stock deck lids. So you nerf us, you run the risk of killing our alternator and we are out of the race. VORRA explicitly said at the driver's meeting that there was no nerfing class 11, but this guy did it anyway. I knew he was there, but I couldn't get over quickly enough I guess. When I did, I overestimated our clearance and high centered on a rock. Richard showed me how to use just the starter to get out of trouble, and we were off again!
The last 10 miles of so of my leg were the absolute most challenging. I had run it earlier in the day with Bob, and it was rough but no too bad. By the time I got around to it, all the big guys had been through and we had 4 or 5 miles of silt. Powder fine silt. Deep silt. Crazy silt. Silt in the dark. Silt coming into the car. Silt coming into my helmet since our Parker pumper was broken and I had to keep my face shield cracked so it wouldn't fog. Silt going into my eyes and up my nose. “So much for her quote and back to my experiences.
I was supposed to be moved to Pit 1 for driving the last leg to the Finish. After a little over 200 miles in the car, first as a co-driver and then as a driver, I was bushed. Yet, Richard, who has diabetes was not in the best shape and Bob asked me whether I could co-drive instead of Richard for the 60 miles from Pit 2 to Pit 3 after Emme comes back. One more leg? Sure, but no more.
Emme, a very intelligent driver, brought the car back in one piece, and we jumped in. Messer broke down and was fixing his car somewhere in the desert. Green Bugger’s rear part of the cage disintegrated and one of the shocks broke off – they were limping into the Pit for a welding job. And we were leading. Bob drove accordingly – fast, but with enough safety margin to bring the car to Pit 1. The shocks were getting bad, the car disintegrated a bit and the road was shredded by the trucks; the potholes getting more brutal, the silt beds getting deeper and more treacherous. In one of these silt beds, while avoiding a stuck buggy, we got stuck as well. As the shovel was nowhere to be found (probably jumped out of the car at one point or another), we just turned into a couple of voles to burrow out our car and then get it going with the help of our jack.
A couple of miles later the yellow light went on. This usually means that the alternator belt (which also runs the cooling fan), is broken. Bob checked the engine, but the belt was still on the pulley. However, a few seconds later he realized that the pulley broke off from the shaft – a consequence of the nerfing by the truck mentioned by Emme. We were cooked; or better, if we drove on we would have been cooked. While I was standing there, trying to hypnotize the pulley to grow back into one piece again, Bob pulled out the J.B. Weld and glued the pulley together. We waited until the weld hardened and then started the engine. The yellow light came on again. Bummer.
We checked it again and found nothing wrong. Started again and the yellow light stayed off. So Bob drove on, driving in low revs and relatively slowly to keep the car going. All the time we were calling Pit 1107 and Chase 1107 to let them know where we were and what was happening. Our Rugged Radio was awesome (see here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0cl4pnoq7oc&feature=player_embedded). However we were unable to get anybody and only later we found that our little beetle shed the antenna somewhere along the way, together with two cameras that now also dream their happy dreams in the high desert.
Did I mention that along the way we passed Pit 3 and I was told we go on? Or, maybe, I was told before and only misunderstood. The Pit 3 to Pit 1 was brutal – look at Emme’s description and multiply it for all the trucks that already came through three times and the shocks that were more or less gone. Bob was complaining about his back, I was complaining about my knees, so I say we fit well together.
Yes, there was a huge beautiful yellowish Harvest Moon with thousands of stars in the clear sky. And I felt cold, and banged up and tired and old and started to see the damn Ontario trees along the road. I do not know if, or how much better Bob felt. This was high desert at about 5,000 – 6,000 feet and the nights are freezing. As a matter of fact, I recalled Connor’s recollection of the cold nights at the Dakar Rally and started to understand him maybe a bit more.
Finally we came to Pit 1 thinking that we might not have enough time to finish before the cut off time at 5:30 am. There was nobody to expect us. We went to Baja Pits to get the gas. They called our guys. I asked at the check point what time it was. “A bit after four”. We had 35 miles and perhaps an hour? I turned to Bob and asked him: “Can you drive to the Finish?” He said “Yeah”. I said: “I you can do it, so can I. We won’t switch, we have no time to let the other guys in and then come 5 minutes or so late.” Bob just put in the first and drove.
The last leg was the University of Driving for me as a co-driver. Bob knew that we had no time. If we blew the tire we would not finish on time. If we ripped the pulley we would not finish on time. But if we drove slowly we would certainly not finish on time. He drove the hell out of the car.
And then I could see the Finish and was very happy about it. We crossed the finish line 20 minutes before the cut off time. No more DNFs.
This past weekend I flew to Las Vegas and then drove to Reno (way cheaper that direct flight to Reno) to take part in the inaugural off-road Master Pull USA 500 miles with Desert Dingos in Class 11 – a slightly modified 1969 VW Beetle.
I met with Jim on Thursday and the day proceeded as expected – I found out that the 4 feet of my legs, comprising a substantial part of my 6’6’’ body, stand no chance to fit under the steering wheel. There was no chance I could touch the braking pedal, and since I usually do not claim that braking is overrated, I felt we had a problem. The next day Jim secured a very small steering wheel and we bought a quick release that fit the steering column. This solution obviously provided two benefits:
1/ We always had two steering wheels in the car. A very useful approach to racing driven by the idea that more spares is better than less.
2/ A small steering wheel in a car without the power steering leads to a beautiful workout for your shoulder muscles and biceps. Those of you who know my feeble body type and my generally avoidance driven approach to exercising might certainly consider this as a huge benefit.
Not to speak that it looked cool and the look is always 50% of the success.
The Friday also developed as expected, since we worked on the car up until 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning, found out (among other things) that the GPS was burned out and the replacement GPS was totally useless. But the real men and the woman of the team don’t eat quiche, or drive according to GPS, or for that matter pre-run. Hoping that all of the little turn pointing arrows will survive the race so one can stay on the course is always more exciting, isn’t it?
After the refreshing 3 hours of sleep we met on Saturday at 6:00 for a team meeting and then moved to the start. The course looked like a balloon with a stick – the “stick” led from Start/Finish to Pit 1 (i.e. service area 1) and then we were to drive the “balloon” (with Pit 1 , 2 and 3), three times and then back to the Start/Finish.
Bob and Emme drove from the Start to Pit 2; apparently there were some great blind crests with 2 storey drop offs on the other side to keep their adrenalin flowing and the only problem was their overwhelming urge to pee that obscured the enjoyment of some of the drop-offs in the hills. Now, since that car was on brand new shocks, I just do not know what were they complaining about?
At Pit 2 Richad took over and I co-drove with him to Pit 3 and then Pit 1. The course was still awaiting being ripped to shreds by the Trophy Trucks and others, the shocks were new, the sun was shining, Richad drove like a madman and life was great. Before Pit 3 we started to see the dust of Bob Messer who was in the first position at that time. According to Messer, his crew in Pit 3 told him that we were gaining on him. His response? “Catch me if you can.” So Richard obliged. When he finally saw the Messer’s car, Richard speeded up and had his eyes only for the closing distance between us and Messer. But so did Messer. We drove quite a few miles with the distance sometimes shortening, sometimes lengthening, and both guys very aware of each another. Then Messer lost front wheel and we gave him a nice wave through the window as we passed him. Richard turned to me and said: “We are FIRST”. Since I am an accountant, I just retorted: “It is a long race”. Ten miles later Gary with the Green Bugger waved at us as he passed us. We came to the Pit 1 in good shape, except for the rear wheel rim that was heavily bent. The BFH (big f. hammer) shaped it back and it was up to me to destroy the car.
I drove with Crusty as my co-driver from Pit 1 to Pit 3. All my experience in off-roads was based on co-driving for David Hendrickson in Snore 250 and pre-running in Yerington last year for Messer’s team. As a rally driver, the speed on the straights did not faze me and neither did the turns. But that is about it. I had no idea how to drive the whoops (series of “waves” on the road), did not know what was the proper speed over the huge potholes, had a vague idea about driving through the silt beds (deep powdery sand), etc., etc. Luckily for me, Crusty did and it helped. Up until we saw a steep hill in front of us with a slight leveling off in the middle of this hill.
The Class 11 cars do not have an excess of power, so I decided to “gun it” uphill. And so we launched, flew over the flat part and………..nose dove into the next incline. The car threw two buckets of gravel into our faces and stopped. That was one of my lowest points in the last two years. Not only I had another DNF, I was causing DNF for all others on the team. For a few second I felt only one thing – huge desperation. But desperation does not help. Chuck taught me that when I hit the overplow at Perce Neige Rally and ended up in a huge snow bank. He was out shoveling the snow madly in a few seconds. Emily taught me that when I destroyed the second gear at Tall Pines Rally and she turned to me and said: “Do you still have the first and third? Go.” Alexei taught me that when he was finishing the stage with a ziploc bag in his hand, but always finished the last note before filling the bag up.
So we jumped out to asses the damage. The front was visibly hurt, but the axle, steering and all the other “useful” stuff seemed to be OK. Crusty, with a bit of my help, removed the bumper, fender and the front skid plate. That took us quite a while as some of these items decided to change their shape in an unexpected way. We jumped back and the car drove as well as before! Every emotional low has its own opposite high and this was my high. We drove on, blew a tire between Pit 2 and 3 but brought the car to Pit 3.
There was just one small problem: The cage cross tube underneath the steering wheel was not designed for 6’6” people. Also the tube was made from significantly harder material than my knees. The constant banging of my knees into the cage was slowly reshaping them into something as bumpy as the road in front of us. The last 10 miles I ground my teeth and had to slow down. But we did bring it to Pit 3.
At Pit 3 Emme took over as a driver and Richard as a co-driver. In her own words:
“With a class 11, stock VW and 500 race miles, just finishing is an accomplishment. This was my first time in the car and it wasn't mine, so after a 10 miles of going a bit hot and doing a couple dumb things, I settled down. We lost a fan belt but were able to change it quickly. My mantra was, "Just get it back to pit 2 to hand the car off. Pit 2, pit 2, pit 2". After about 30 miles I changed it to, "Pit 1, pit 1...just get it to pit 1." Baby steps and all.
About 20 miles into it, I got nerfed by a truck. Nerfing is when someone comes up behind you and gives you a little tap to say, "GTFO of my way!!!" The problem with nerfing a class 11 is that we run stock deck lids. So you nerf us, you run the risk of killing our alternator and we are out of the race. VORRA explicitly said at the driver's meeting that there was no nerfing class 11, but this guy did it anyway. I knew he was there, but I couldn't get over quickly enough I guess. When I did, I overestimated our clearance and high centered on a rock. Richard showed me how to use just the starter to get out of trouble, and we were off again!
The last 10 miles of so of my leg were the absolute most challenging. I had run it earlier in the day with Bob, and it was rough but no too bad. By the time I got around to it, all the big guys had been through and we had 4 or 5 miles of silt. Powder fine silt. Deep silt. Crazy silt. Silt in the dark. Silt coming into the car. Silt coming into my helmet since our Parker pumper was broken and I had to keep my face shield cracked so it wouldn't fog. Silt going into my eyes and up my nose. “So much for her quote and back to my experiences.
I was supposed to be moved to Pit 1 for driving the last leg to the Finish. After a little over 200 miles in the car, first as a co-driver and then as a driver, I was bushed. Yet, Richard, who has diabetes was not in the best shape and Bob asked me whether I could co-drive instead of Richard for the 60 miles from Pit 2 to Pit 3 after Emme comes back. One more leg? Sure, but no more.
Emme, a very intelligent driver, brought the car back in one piece, and we jumped in. Messer broke down and was fixing his car somewhere in the desert. Green Bugger’s rear part of the cage disintegrated and one of the shocks broke off – they were limping into the Pit for a welding job. And we were leading. Bob drove accordingly – fast, but with enough safety margin to bring the car to Pit 1. The shocks were getting bad, the car disintegrated a bit and the road was shredded by the trucks; the potholes getting more brutal, the silt beds getting deeper and more treacherous. In one of these silt beds, while avoiding a stuck buggy, we got stuck as well. As the shovel was nowhere to be found (probably jumped out of the car at one point or another), we just turned into a couple of voles to burrow out our car and then get it going with the help of our jack.
A couple of miles later the yellow light went on. This usually means that the alternator belt (which also runs the cooling fan), is broken. Bob checked the engine, but the belt was still on the pulley. However, a few seconds later he realized that the pulley broke off from the shaft – a consequence of the nerfing by the truck mentioned by Emme. We were cooked; or better, if we drove on we would have been cooked. While I was standing there, trying to hypnotize the pulley to grow back into one piece again, Bob pulled out the J.B. Weld and glued the pulley together. We waited until the weld hardened and then started the engine. The yellow light came on again. Bummer.
We checked it again and found nothing wrong. Started again and the yellow light stayed off. So Bob drove on, driving in low revs and relatively slowly to keep the car going. All the time we were calling Pit 1107 and Chase 1107 to let them know where we were and what was happening. Our Rugged Radio was awesome (see here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0cl4pnoq7oc&feature=player_embedded). However we were unable to get anybody and only later we found that our little beetle shed the antenna somewhere along the way, together with two cameras that now also dream their happy dreams in the high desert.
Did I mention that along the way we passed Pit 3 and I was told we go on? Or, maybe, I was told before and only misunderstood. The Pit 3 to Pit 1 was brutal – look at Emme’s description and multiply it for all the trucks that already came through three times and the shocks that were more or less gone. Bob was complaining about his back, I was complaining about my knees, so I say we fit well together.
Yes, there was a huge beautiful yellowish Harvest Moon with thousands of stars in the clear sky. And I felt cold, and banged up and tired and old and started to see the damn Ontario trees along the road. I do not know if, or how much better Bob felt. This was high desert at about 5,000 – 6,000 feet and the nights are freezing. As a matter of fact, I recalled Connor’s recollection of the cold nights at the Dakar Rally and started to understand him maybe a bit more.
Finally we came to Pit 1 thinking that we might not have enough time to finish before the cut off time at 5:30 am. There was nobody to expect us. We went to Baja Pits to get the gas. They called our guys. I asked at the check point what time it was. “A bit after four”. We had 35 miles and perhaps an hour? I turned to Bob and asked him: “Can you drive to the Finish?” He said “Yeah”. I said: “I you can do it, so can I. We won’t switch, we have no time to let the other guys in and then come 5 minutes or so late.” Bob just put in the first and drove.
The last leg was the University of Driving for me as a co-driver. Bob knew that we had no time. If we blew the tire we would not finish on time. If we ripped the pulley we would not finish on time. But if we drove slowly we would certainly not finish on time. He drove the hell out of the car.
And then I could see the Finish and was very happy about it. We crossed the finish line 20 minutes before the cut off time. No more DNFs.
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