My First (Endurance) Race
Usually, when I’m at the dirt track, I’ve got one hand on my camera and one hand on a wrench, trying to play cameraman and pit crew member. On the many truck rides back and forth to this track, my friend Mike develops the idea of doing the endurance race at the end of the season. Little did I know I would be the one driving.
Here’s the deal: take a donated Pontiac Grand Am, slap on a roll cage, and hit the dirt track. Sounds easy, right? Well, it would’ve been if we hadn’t waited until two weeks before the race to even look at the car. Luckily, the local CTC auto shop kids had already gutted it for us. By the time I rolled up to the race barn, Mike had already lopped off the roof like he was opening a can of sardines.
Mike had a roll cage lying around, originally built for a late model stock car. Was it overkill for our modest little Pontiac? Absolutely. But safety first. With the roof gone, we somehow squeezed that oversized cage into the car’s gutted interior, and miraculously, it fit like a glove. Mike and I handled the prep work while our buddy Josh laid down the welds. We threw in an aluminum racing seat, strapped in some new harnesses, and fashioned a windshield out of chicken wire. A borrowed helmet and gloves later, and we were ready to rumble.
The race format? Simple enough: 100 laps turning left, 100 laps turning right, and any car that crashes stays on the track as a reminder of what not to do. I’d never raced on dirt before, so I was about to get schooled in a big way.
We started three wide, and I found myself in the middle of the second row, doing my best to keep calm and not destroy our hastily prepped ride. The green flag dropped, and we were off, sliding around the slick dirt track like we were on ice—thanks to an overly enthusiastic water truck. By the time I made it out of turn two, there was already a pileup, leaving two cars parked as trackside décor for the rest of the race.
Half the field were track regulars, the other half were rookies like me. While I wrestled with the car’s handling, the veterans were flying past me like I was standing still. But eventually, I found my groove, managing to stay somewhere near the middle of the pack. The only interruptions were the occasional red flag for debris and a few yellow flags to let that overzealous water truck have another go.
Around lap 40, the engine started losing power and misfiring. I convinced myself it was just the traction control acting up—we hadn’t bothered disabling it. Not long after, I got a flat on the right front, but the pit crew handled it like pros and sent me back out.
A long red flag marked the end of the first 100 laps. By this point, I was keeping one foot on the gas just to keep the engine running. I knew the problem wasn’t traction control anymore, but pulling into the pits would mean game over. Just as I got used to turning left, it was time to flip the script and go right.
By lap 150, I was finally finding some speed, catching and passing the slower cars, and becoming a bit of a nuisance to the front-runners. But my newfound confidence quickly outpaced my skill, leading to a sudden and not-so-gentle meeting with the turn one wall.
Lost in the race, I didn’t even realize when the checkered flag came out. The team congratulated me on a job well done, but I was convinced they hadn’t been watching the same race. They even dubbed me “Steady Eddie”—a nickname I’m hoping won’t stick. But a quick trip to the control tower confirmed their praise: 7th place out of 18. Not too shabby for a first-timer.
