- Subject: Mt. Washington Hill climb: a track-side report (very long)
- From: frank@zk3.dec.com (Douglas Frank USG)
- Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1998 13:12:57 -0400
(dateline: at work, Monday morning)
Well, it's all over now for another year.
I'm not really a motorhead but when Paul Royal's (New England Quattro
Club) information packet about the race arrived in the mail, it did
mention that the SCCA was looking for volunteers. A quick phone call
confirmed that they were still in need. Now, what would you rather
do-- loaf all day in the Quattro Corral jawing with the usual suspects
or be up on the Auto Road watching 'em roar by? Me too.
My instructions were to be at the bottom of the road at 5:30 AM on
Saturday (work prevented me from being there for the first practice on
Friday). That's all I knew-- just "be there." I had no idea what
for, because this is the first such event I've ever been to. Like I
said, I'm not a motorhead.
Saturday, the second day of practice, dawned bright and clear...
somewhere, I'm sure. Where I was, it was raining. It rained like
hell all day and I couldn't wear my yellow poncho because it's, you
know, yellow. (Hint for other newbies: browns, blues or greens are
all OK, even white or "camo"; but don't wear red or yellow. You'll
look like a flag to the drivers.)
Compared to many others on the planet, Mt. Washington isn't much of a
mountain. It's only just over 6000 feet above sea level, and for
those for whom even a nontechnical hike is "too much," you can even
drive to the summit in your own car. Good thing, too, because that
road makes a helluva race track. It's 8 miles long and mostly
unpaved. For the past week, New Hampshire had been deluged by record
amounts of rain, turning the road into what the track owner called the
world's biggest waterslide. Crews had been out all week repairing
damage but even so, the practice runs on Saturday were limited to the
lower half of the mountain. So, drivers new to the course were not
going to see what's above turn 20 until their run for record. (In
truth I don't know if it was poor visibility, unfinished repairs, or
just too slippery to drive up there.) But, at least it wasn't cold.
On that mountain, you have to be prepared for snow in August. I was
fully stocked with clothing for conditions tropical to sub-arctic (too
bad about the poncho).
* * *
Practice started late that day (I won't say why because I don't know,
but thank God it did because it's awful hard for a guy my age to be
there by 5:30). A large group of strangers was milling about a small
building near the start line. I went down and milled too, trying not
to do anything a motorhead wouldn't do; noticed many of them were
wearing badges saying things like:
WB3VNZ
Fred Ham
Pretty cool, must be an important dude. I wanted to look official too.
I went inside and signed some papers. They probably said I promised
not to sue if someone ran over my toe, but what the hell I got ten of
'em and I wanted that badge. Mine said:
NER-SCCA
Volunteer
Rats. Not even my name. Turns out ol' Fred was a ham radio operator
and a real gadget freak. Me? my gadgets were to be a couple of flags
and a fire extinguisher, last inspected in 1996.
"Yo, WB3VNZ Fred and Douglas Frank" [ed: not his real name, which was
Bob, Bob Ham], "you're on turn 5." Into Fred's beater Wagoneer, we
grind up the hill to a white sign with a '5' on it, turn off and set
up shop. For me, that meant untangling the flags (one yellow, a shade
that clashed with my poncho of fond memory, and one red). Oh, put the
fire bottle down somewhere, and go find a tree to stand under.
Meantime, Fred the gadgeteer was in his element, plugging things in
and ohdammiting an on and on until the back of the Wagoneer began to
emit beeps and squawks and other noises I never heard a Jeep make
before until all of a sudden:
"All stations, this is the Mt. Washington Auto Road emergency net, all
stations radio check." We were on the air. The Wagoneer's tail gate
was open and looked more waterproof than my tree, so I went over and
introduced myself to Fred and please could I stand next to his stuff.
"OK, don't touch." Not me, I don't touch stuff if I don't understand
what makes it go, my A4 being the only exception. Fred pushed a
button on his walkie-talkie and said to it, "Net, this is 5, ready."
'Ready' is a technical term us motorheads use a lot. I had to pee.
* * *
9:00 AM. A red (and I do mean RED) A4 Avant breezed by. The course
opening car was on its way to the top, checking alles in ordnung to
begin the practice. As he went by, Fred reported him. Shortly
thereafter, "All stations, net, the first car is at the starting
line." Listen to the engine rev over the radio! Rain or no rain,
this was going to be good. "Car one four has started." (Actually I
don't remember which car started, I made that part up. 14 was a white
Volvo and was definitely not the first car.) After about 40 seconds
or so, I could faintly hear his blast through the trees. Changing
gears up and down, this guy meant business. Onward, the exhaust note
beat against the trees around me louder and yet louder until surely he
*must* appear around the sharp right turn below me and climb the short
hump into full view but no, no... he's still coming GOD where the hell
is he, still louder THERE HE IS there he goes, gone.
Hill climbing! On it went. Some cars went fast, some very fast
indeed. Sixty-one cars wailed by. Some were little Eurosedans with
little Euroengines in them that needed lots of gear changes. Some
were old American tanks with engines that, I guess, you just put in
third and forget about the shifter. Others were, well, imaginative.
I was in love. My favorites? no, not the Audis: the vintage
machinery. An old Allard isn't very fast, and isn't even very pretty,
but it *is* an old Allard and it's GOOD to see them run. A Spitfire,
even an old Sunbeam were on the course that day. I haven't driven a
Triumph for almost 25 years, and that lucky dog was actually *racing*
one. Even if loses, he wins.
The rain kept it up, and I'm told kept speeds down. Huh. I was
soaked and smiling, but by 11:30 it was all over. Each car had the
chance to make two runs, and most of them did so. Unfortunately there
were two crashes, no one hurt but they were out of it for this year.
I can't tell you much about the cars. While my unseen and unmet
compadres of the Quattro Corral were able to examine them up close and
at length, I could only get fleeting impressions. One impression I
did have was that of a smart looking Quattro with "Yokohama" painted
all over the tail. Boy was HE fast. No need for a stopwatch, any
experienced motorhead will develop an instinct for this, and I'm sure
all you puppies will, too. Yes, it was Sprongl. Not bad for an old
guy (like me).
* * *
Forget the next few hours. I'm sure stuff was going on, but it wasn't
racing and I wanted to get to North Conway to look for Canoeing
sandals at LL Bean and maybe grab a bite. After a SOLID HOUR of
stop-and-go, I finally parked by the roadside and hoofed it into town
for eats. Got my sandals at the EMS next door. It was now 3:00 and
time to head back for the big feed. Back at the ranch, the tourists
were leaving and I got a chance to meet with Paul Royal and one or two
others with cooler cars than mine, which is absolutely stock and
likely to remain so. Paul soon got bored and left so I wandered over
to the big top where all the other important people were, and sat down
to eat some free lasagna, free meat balls, free salad, free bread and
free beer. Free ice cream, too. (Did I mention the free beer?) (I
love bread. Beer is just liquid bread. Think about it. And, bourbon
whiskey is to beer as brandy is to wine. No connection to racing, just
telling you what I like and why.)
Next to me was a nice family: grandpa, grandma and the grandkid. Fell
to talking, trying not to brag too much. Noticed he was wearing a
badge something like mine, but not quite-- and not like Fred's either.
It said:
VIP
This was after beer no. 2, you understand. So, I ask, discreet-like,
"who are you?"
"I own the mountain."
"Oh, hi."
Another old guy there was one of the Rutan brothers. I don't remember
which one. The story I heard that night was this: that he had won
this very same race back in 1961. That he'd set a record that day
that stood for 29 years. That that record stood until 1990 when it
was finally broken. By him. Driving the same car. I'll leave it to
someone else to confirm this; I don't dare in case it does turn out to
be an improved version, which would be too bad.
* * *
Sunday, race day, dawned bright and clear... YES! I didn't even have
to haul a** over the Kancamagus highway to get there by 5:30, as 7:00
is good enough on race day. This day, my ham partner was Jim S., a
colleague of mine from work whom I didn't even know would be there (or
that he was a ham). Of course, he probably didn't know I was such an
expert race commentator and driving critic, either.
I was hoping to draw a station above tree line that day, it being a
rare day up there especially. Luckily for the mosquitos, I ended up
at turn 6, just 1/4 mile up the road from where I'd been on the day
before. It's a good spot though, a long (say, 50 yards) straight
coming from the right, into a sharp left turn just below our perch,
then up, straight up over a few humps and wallows, until a climbing
left-then-right 'S' puts a car on the straight to turn 7.
The procedure is the same, I won't repeat it. In fact, I really have
little more to say. (Loud cheers in the distance avail nothing.)
Sprongl won, and so did everyone else who raced that day. Kevin
(Holmes? I think) blew his motor somewhere above turn 5 and skidded
into the weeds right next to me, and I mean like 18 inches right next,
out of it. I ran around his tail to stick my head in the window, and
I won't repeat here what he was saying in there. This is a family
list, after all. He was driving a Beemer, an M3 in fact. Heh heh.
It was junk now (his words, not mine. Nice car, it did pretty well
too.) At the top, an Audi was unable to start its engine for the trip
down for the second heat, and had to be flatbedded back to the start.
Egg on the sponsor's face, I guess, but he ran back up like a
frightened rabbit a while later, so all's well that ends well. I hung
out the red flag once, to pull over car no. 7 when we heard radio
reports of an off-track excursion somewhere above us. He and two
others were sent back down for another go. That's that. Oh, an
electric car made one run. Don't know why. He won his division, I'm
sure. The second heat was less populous than the first, so even
though they were starting the cars at two minute intervals instead of
the minute-apart starts of the first heat, we finished early. Too
early, though by now my back was killing me from sitting on the ground
all day. As I said at the top, it was over for another year.
Oh, I forgot to mention the lunch truck. Between heats a pickup
wandered by and tossed us a couple of bag lunches (ham & cheese). Too
bad, I really wanted to see a Domino's car that day. One of the guys
in the truck bed sees my pearl A4 in the trees and calls out as they
were driving off, "Nice car!" Ahem.
* * *
Note for next year: apart from what's supplied, you'll need the
following additional gear to be a truly efficient corner flagger:
snackage
bug spray
sunglasses
lounge chair
thermos of coffee
flask of hair-of-the-dog, post race use of course
remember, no red or yellow clothing
* * *
Car racing is a rich man's sport and I can't afford it. I ain't such
a hot driver anyway. This is a way to participate that anyone can do,
and I am definitely doing this again. I wonder if it wouldn't be a
Good Thing if the NE Quattro club actually supplied a gaggle of
flaggers next year? I'm sure the SCCA would appreciate a steady
supply; they turned no one away that applied as far as I know.
* * *
The best part of all was the parade down. Led by the course opening
Avant, they cascaded by, and nearly every single driver waved at me,
or flashed his lights, or beeped the horn. It felt good to be
appreciated for making their race possible; even though I really
wasn't "doing much" and anyway if I hadn't been there of course
someone else would have taken my place, still they need the flaggers
for safety's sake. Humor aside, it demands little except good
judgment and the drivers' safety depends on you. Please, if you can
make the weekend free and northern NH is not too far to drive, come
with me next year. Maybe one of us will attain nirvana, and red-flag
an ambulance!
--
--Doug
Douglas Frank Digital Equipment Corp. (a tiny little division of
ZKO 110 Spit Brook Rd. CompWinTel Heavy Industries, Inc.)
DTN 384-0501 Nashua, NH USA 03062-2711
bait n. A preparation that renders the hook more palatable.
The best kind is beauty.