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January 22, 2006
My first NHRA point racing experience
I didn't really WANT to enter NHRA point racing, but somehow I ended up in it. All I wanted was try out the Hoosier drag radials I had bought from OsideJimC. Sadly, even in mild-weathered Sacramento, California the Wednesday fun drags don't start til February, and I could not wait that long. So I became part of Team Sacramento. Car number, T-shirt and all.
Those who are familiar with Sac Raceway know that its website, representing web page technology of circa 1997, is cryptic to the max and rather devoid of information such as start times or anything that could help a noob. However, Jennifer there promptly answered my email and so I motored on over this Sunday morning. It was so foggy I couldn't see a thing when I left my house, but by the time I got to the track is was a cold, sunny morning.
Everything, of course, was completely different from the Wednesday fun drags and so I felt like a first grader on his first day at school. Get a wristband to get in, but to actually register for racing, that'd be at the souvenir stand. There's a long line there and I notice something else: whereas I am usually among the oldest at the Wednesday fun drags, here I am actually one of the younger guys. And whereas the fun drags are usually about 50/50 imports and domestics, this is almost 100% big, hulking Detroit iron.
So I try to act cool while still asking a bunch of questions to get the basics: Do you need to drive the same car all season in points racing? (No). Can you switch classes during the season? (Yes). Where do you change your wheels? (Anywhere). Should you secure them? (Naah. No one steals anything). Where is tech inspection? (Oh, in the pits. Somewhere.). How do you know which lane to go in? (The loudspeaker will call your class and tell you.) Oh good. The registration lady is both helpful and hot (how often are those two qualities combined in one person?) and so I am on my way.
I park somewhere and change my front wheels. No big deal, but on an ice-cold morning not much fun either. But hey, that's just the way it is. Even though I was told no one steals anything, I secure my nice front wheels to the grandstand structure with a nifty locking mechanism I had picked up at Walmart. I mean, someone stole a notebook computer out of my car IN MY GARAGE.
No one shows up for the tech inspection, so I drive over to the lanes and have it done there. "Sportsman time trials in lane four," the guy says. So I go to lane four. When I said all Detroit iron I meant it. Wherever I look, all big old muscle cars with gigantic slicks and all the trimmings. Most driven by dudes that seem time-lifted right from the mid-60s.
Now for the burnout. I've never done a burnout with Hoosier drag radials that are really slicks with two very shallow straught lines around the circumference to somehow make them DOT-legal. Jim had told me to do the burnout in second gear. I saw videos of Palmerblock producing fierce smoke with these same Hoosiers. So I drive through the nearly dry gulley, pull the e-brake tight, and... then courage deserts me and I am just convinced I'll fry my clutch if I do it in second. So I chicken out and do it in first. Well, the car isn't happy. It's wheel hop city and the Hooisers drag the car forward even with the e-brake locked to the max.
And I'm racing a mean looking nuscle car Challenger--no clapped-out Civics here. Now what RPM should I launch at? 3000, 5000, 7000? I decide to go for around five. Well, the Challenger blasts off with a 1.69 60-foot and disappears into the distance, doing an 11.9. I, on the other hand, look like an idiot. 5000 rpm is way too much and the Hoosiers spin and the car bucks. Okay, off the gas a bit and into second. Ahemm.... that WOULD be second if I still had my B&M shortshifter, the one that bent my shifter cables so that I returned to the stock box with its l-o-n-g throw. So second won't go in. I eventually cross the finish line with something good enough to beat a stock SRT-4, but no better. Back to the pits and waiting for the second of just two time trials.
I watch the action and realize that the NHRA might be closer to the NRA than to your typical import fest. Every stinking car hits 10s and 11s, and some do 8s. A Diesel truck does an 11.1. I might well be the slowest car at the entire event. I mean, almost everyone here would show Oside JimC's awesome maximum-boost, nitrous-ed, beslicked RSX speed demon the taillights.
Second time trial. This time I get paired with, thank God, "only" a stock-looking 05 Mustang GT. I do another painful, whimpy first-gear grind-out that probably made Mr. Hoosier spin in his grave, and once again hop off the line in a most-embarrassing way. I am not exactly sure WHAT the Hoosiers are doing as it all happens much too quickly, but second again won't go in and my gears grind. I think, "Shit! I DID win two trophy events this season and came in second twice, so I think I do know how to drive." Well, the Mustang gets a jump, but then for some reason slows down and I "win" the time trial. The good news: a trap speed of 108.03 mph, my best ever. The bad news: my ET stinks. And I mean as in horribly, awfully embarrassing. Some of the muscle dudes run low12s and high 11s with that sort of trap.
So then my beloved unexpectedly shows up and parks herself ringside. Just as I am getting ready for my first-ever NHRA Sportsman point run. I have no idea what to dial as both my time trials stank up the place with wheelhop and shifting problems. I decide on a 13.5. That's better than the 13.7 and 13.8s I can get with my street tires, so I figure it's safe as I apparently still have no clue how to use the Hoosiers.
The big guns go first and it's not only their speed that's demoralizing, but also their incredible consistency. Dial 10.72. Actual: 10.725. Dial 11.33. Actual 11.332. And so on. Car after car. Sure. No biggie with automatics, but still.
Then my time comes. I draw an innocuous looking littel trucklet, but there's obviously more to it as he dialed a 12.69. So with me beloved looking on, I do my best to put up a credible show. I am still using first for the burn-out, but actually managed a whisp of smoke and entertain the crowd andf the wife with some of the trademark metallic whine of the Comptech blower that actualy hit 10 psi (no datalogs as they wouldn't let me) during the runs.
So we stage... and I swear the stupid track all of a sudden isn't quite level anymore as the car seems to inch ahead on its own. WTF? Orange lights start counting and the car creeps just enough to.... redlight. Auuuuuugh!!!!! So I take off anyway, silently cursing myself, the people who built this miserable, slanted track, and everyone in the clutch business. This time the Hoosiers bite, the car hops less, second goes in after a bit of coercion, but, of course, I lose. Would have lost anyway as the trucklet ran a 12.728 on his 12.69 whereas I have, by far, a personal best. 13.167 at 107 mph, thus running way under. Okay, so that's good news/bad news. Lost in the first round in front of my honey, but ran a personal best.
But Sac Raceway isn't done yet. My last redlight came two cars before the Christmas tree conked out and it had redlighted me when I could have sworn I was well on the safe side. This time the slip shows neither reaction time nor 60-foot. Or my T4. So I take my 13.167 with a grain of salt. I also realize that even with the Mugen SS, my stock mounts can't handle the motor. So before I take the car to the track again I'll instal stiffer mounts. The "creeping" clutch needs adjusting. And I need another shortshifter so the gears go in.
As for NHRA points racing, I am not sure I like the idea of being the sole modified import among several hundred growling, snarling monsters whose idea of an off-day is being 0.05 over a 10 second dial.
Posted by conradb212 at January 22, 2006 2:07 PM