The Legend
of the dragster known as “Scardust” Or Brenda's strangest birthday
A few years back at Top Slots Raceway (from here on TSR), we were working
on a TRSF motor class of dragsters.
I had never built a dragster, just funny cars but I thought now’s as
good a time as any to give it a try. The class never
really got off the ground, but I was working on building one anyway using
an old “Blue Streak” model (which really
blows by the way. Gotta shim EVERYTHING.) THEN, I realized that the motor
mount was wider than the end of
the body. I should have taken that as an omen that this car should not be.
TSR track owner Bill put a little whoopee
bend in the chassis so the mount would fit and that solved THAT problem.
Then the decals were crap so I had to
figure out what to put on the car. Using some extra Stardust funny car decals,
I created the yellow Stardust dragster.
It ran fairly well down the track but it was a bit off of ninety degrees.
Not good. So, in the manner of all slot car builders,
I fiddled with it and it got better but never “right”.
Since the car was better, and seemed to run pretty consistent, I
started entering it in a few bracket races. One evening,
I was doing some dial-in runs, an accident occurred. At TSR there was a bit
of a shadow at the end of the track created
by the timing readout. Now you KNOW what’s coming: rolled out the glue, staged
the car, hit the light and a nice run
down the track ending in a sudden explosion of plastic parts. WHATTHEHECK???
Seems one of our younger racers had left his car in the shutdown
area (of course his car was just peachy, thanks for
asking) and the front end of my dragster was now MANY pieces of the front
end of my dragster. Man was I pissed.
I am now an old pro at having my cars become shrapnel at the end of the track,
but then? That was the first time and
didn’t know what the heck to do. The young fella was quite apologetic, so
it was kind of hard to vent too much at him.
So I went and yelled a lot outside. Now I’ve got a bunch of pieces that was
my car, and not sure whether to salvage it
or repair it.
One night I was talking to one of our “model guys”, I’m pretty
sure every track has them…the modelers who build
slot cars rather than slot car racers that build models out of necessity,
and he thought I should try to put it back to together
using some modelers putty and plenty of glue. And then I asked if he had
any of that chrome bumper tape I could use to
cover up the glue and bondo on the car AND did he think if I scratched
it up with scotch-brite did he think it would look
like 200 mph duct tape? The answer was yes and THUS, “SCARDUST” was born.
Now I told you THAT story to tell you this
one and I will try to leave names and places vague to protect the guilty.
I figure if you were there, you can figure out who is/was who.
Once upon a time in a strange and disturbing place there was
a somewhat big money race. About a dozen of us were
trying to go, but this particular race was happening on THE WIFE’S BIRTHDAY
(ooohhh)!!! Would she let me go,
Should I even ask, and if I asked to go, should I invite her along (thinking
that at least we would be “together” on her
Birthday. I know, but hey we racers, we’ll try anything.)? I
told her they had a TV, she could probably watch what she
wanted and knit to her hearts’ content. Oddly enough, she said that it was
fine if I wanted to go to the race, and she figured
she might as well come along too. SCORE!!! Brenda and I gathered up B. at
the track on Friday after work and headed
down to race. Others were coming later that evening or heading down early
the next morning. ROAD TRIP…
It was gonna be 12 for _____.
Arrived at the track after a pleasant journey, filled with
good talk and music and set up our boxes. And then we waited
for the other group that was heading down that evening. And waited.
Eventually they showed up and so we went hunting
for a motel to stay at. There was one down the street but we were warned
off by the locals. Finally found one with the
proper amount of rooms and we thought we were set. B’s room was fine.
And our room was fine.
We found out the next morning the other gangs’ room was far from
fine. Something about a women throwing up in the bathroom when they went
in. And random disturbances throughout the night. An interesting tale to
tell, but not to live through,
I suppose. B (in HIS room), B and I (in OUR room) slept just fine and in
the morning headed to the track for the race. I later learned that the other
gang had left a message full of some serious invective regarding our choice
of lodging for the night on the wind shield of my car. Never did see it,
probably was worth reading as those guys have a wide and colorful mastery
of the English language. They shared some of that language when THEY
arrived at the track.
It was a limited entry race and I loaded up with my usual biggest
guns but since, as a rule, I don’t like running a car more
than 3 times I had to come up with a couple of cars I didn’t “mind”
running. One of which was (you know it was coming) SCARDUST. Entered just
one time. I had raced at this track one other time and just about had the
most horrendous second round conceivable. Started with 13 cars (out of 14
entered) and ended the round with 2. Said screw it and headed home. It wasn’t
only the lack of success I was having that made me just want to split, but
a bunch of circumstances that made figure it wasn’t worth staying overnight.
One of which is/was the tree.
Let me tell you about the tree. First the starting line is
right next to the caller stand. And it CLICKS. Which is just peachy when
you are both running the same dial on practice runs, but when you are running
different dials? FORGET ABOUT IT!
So when I came down there this time, I came prepared. I brought my earplugs,
just like at the big boys’ races. And yes, it helped a bunch. The OTHER thing
about the tree is that the three amber lights come down in tempo, but there
is a slight difference in tempo between the last amber and the green. If
you anticipate the green you WILL red-light. You can get a nice teen light
if you almost see the green. It’s like: yellow…yellow…yellow..Wait for it..
GREEN. A very odd home field advantage if ever there was one.
There is also another very odd home field advantage for at
least one person, the race operator. You see, he and his young protégé
enter about 50 or so cars between them. AND since, at his track, the quicker
car ALWAYS has lane choice in every round, he runs quick cars and ALWAYS HAS
LANE CHOICE IN EVERY RACE HE RUNS. How could that be you may ask? SURELY,
he must face someone who has a quicker car at least ONCE in a while? Not when
you arrange who races who and in what order. Home field advantage.
So, knowing that the odds are skewed towards the house (welcome
to Vegas, baby) but being at least on even footing as far as the number of
entries and knowing that there were going to be a bunch of us Northern Invaders
supporting each other there,
I figured I still wanted to go and race. Such a schmuck, I know, but YOU
know that when you want to race, YOU WANT TO RACE, DARNIT! SO, armed with
my earplugs, remembering the “quirks” of the tree and Brenda, the birthday
girl, happily knitting away in the other room watching AMC, WE WENT RACING.
It was definitely an US against THEM kinda race. Especially since as long
as it was possible, every race was outta staters vs. the home team.
I was set up close to B. and J. and R. and T., M. was towards
the end of the track giving everyone a high five when they won and a “you’ll
get ‘em next time” if they didn’t. The race goes on. I had mentioned
to local racer W. that I had my wonderful wife along and that she had let
me go out of state to race even thought it was her birthday. This was one
of the reasons she was, in fact, wonderful. After like the first round
or the buy-back round (sorry, I can’t remember which) W. called all us racers
into the other room to have cake and sing “Happy Birthday” to my wife. W.
had called his wife to get a cake and ice cream and bring it to the track
to celebrate Brenda’s birthday. Now THAT’S a NICE GUY. A truly terrific thing
to have done for my wife (and for me, also). I’m pretty sure Brenda
has never, in her 40+ years, celebrated her birthday at a hot race track with
a bunch of guys singing her Happy Birthday while anxious as all get out to
get back to racing their toy cars down a scale drag strip. That’s my gal.
Before I get to the end of this thing, I’ve got to make special
mention of a couple of the Northern Invaders: R. & T. These guys are 1:1
drag racers so they’ve been there, done that. And if you are looking for
a pair of racers to add their own special brand of madness to any race, you
gotta have these guys. Loud, Boisterous and more than a little Profane, there
have been fewer racers I would rather race against than these two guys. They
take their fun seriously. And have serious fun while doing everything (and
I mean, EVERYTHING) in their power to kick your butt. Get ready for some
starting line jabbering when they are on a roll.
Anyway, back to the race. Sometime in round 3, I spotted the
little protégé sitting behind the callers stand going through
the entries. Since only the race director and the race caller are supposed
to be up there, when he got down and walked by me I asked him what he was
doing up there. He said, “I wasn’t up there”. “Wrong” I said, “I just SAW
you up there going through the entries, what were you doing?” He told
me nothing and I said since nobody but the two people I mentioned were supposed
to be up there and there was no reason for him to be up there, that he shouldn’t
go up there again. Of course he did, you KNOW he did. And since I was following
how many entries he had, and lost, it was amazing how they didn’t jibe. Just
another home field advantage to be overcome. Also, later in the round, the
race director was “arranging” the pairings for the next round. Into five or
six piles. I would think one or two would be sufficient if you weren’t doing
anything funky. Anyway, I thought it was odd, that with a somewhat limited
number of entries, I hadn’t raced him once (and young protégé
ONLY once) in the first, buyback, second and (so Far) in the third round.
In fact, I wouldn’t face him until the round before the 1/4’s and THEN 4 times
in a row. And, of course, he had lane choice in every match-up.
So up until that point, the Northern Invaders had done
pretty well, even pulling slightly ahead in entries at one point. But the
round after that was disastrous and the Home Fielders kicked our collective
behinds.
And then I faced the race director.
I had three big guns left and one water pistol. Race one…Winner:
race director. ”poop”, says I. Race two…Winner: race director. “$h!+”, I think.
Race three…Winner: race director. Now, nobody is talking to me, they know
me and know that I am probably about to lay a brick. But oddly enough, I
wasn’t that bent out of shape. I had run well, one run was an error of mine
that cost me the race, but I could’ve (would’a, should’a) won two of those
three races. So when I went up with my Last Car, the water pistol and last
minute throw-in, SCARDUST and of course, not having lane choice I was relaxed
and just gonna run my race and to hell with the results. Double nothing light
and a couple off my dial and there was nothing the R.D. could do but watch.
So I was still alive and water pistol was starting to look like a SuperSoaker.
B. was still alive and playing games with the R.D. at the starting
line where they were putting $20.00 on the race. Which is B’s game and I should
know. I once raced him, and feeling a bit cocky because we have a tendency
to trash each other a bit, and bet him a buck on the outcome. The bugger
had a perfect run. He’s still got the dollar too. Had me sign and date it,
as well. Back to the race, B took him out and then there were three. Me,
B, and young protégé. Young protégé had gotten
himself a bye into the finals, so it was B. and I going for the other slot
in the finals. Trashing of a degree (not anywhere near the degree B. and R.D.
had gotten themselves worked up to) took place and I took B. down, running
a couple off my dial again and a teen light. THEN SOMETHING OCCURRED.
In every race at TSR, the lane choice goes to the person closest
to their dial in the previous round. Except in the first round, when the fastest
dial listed gets lane choice. Now at this track, as I mentioned earlier, the
fastest dial was always getting lane choice. Scardust is not fast. TSRF motor,
remember? So little protégé walked up to his lane of
choice in the finals and I created a bit of a fuss. He hadn’t run his Bye
into the finals, and if he wanted the lane choice IN the finals, he needed
to get closer to his dial than I did, and he would have to RUN his bye. The
Race Caller agreed and made little protégé run his bye. His
run wasn’t closer to his dial than mine and so I got lane choice. The lane
I had in the two or three previous rounds had run its dial and been no more
than .004 off. Little P. was apoplectic. He gets that way. All happy and sunny
and then starts getting down to it and cars start dropping out and the outta
control knob gets turned up to 11.
Now USUALLY, I am THE LAST person to try to be a calming figure
ESPECIALLY when I am racing somebody who is obviously bent out of shape and
hardly thinking about what he IS doing but thinking more about what he HAS
done. And somebody I don’t particularly like very much. We have a bit of a
history. But that’s another story. So he was fuming and I said something about
“Hey, we both just outlasted 300 cars, we’ve done good just to be here.”
As I’m putting Scardust down on the track, I see my hand shaking a bit so
I put the car down as fast I could hoping my opponent wouldn’t notice I was
a little “excited” too. Not to mention tired: it was around 2:30-3:00 in the
morning and I was pooped. Getting older isn’t for wussies, as my daddy said.
Well, my little junkyard car that could, took the race with another solid
rt/et and there was much rejoicing. R.D. passed out the winnings and trophies
and we packed up to head home.
I was buzzing and when we left we needed some sustenance
before hitting the highway. We were going to head back in a caravan
so we got OUR stuff but waited and waited for the other guys to get theirs.
Which they FINALLY did. Something happened in whattaburger and they SAID that’s
what took so long. Must’ve been good. I led (naturally) the way home
and we made it with only a couple of misadventures. My “crew” crapped out
on me, but that was okay. It HAD been a long day. When we got back to
TSR, I learned from the other gang of Northern Invaders that my opponent in
the finals, Little Protégé after finishing runner-up, took his
very nice acrylic trophy outside and threw it across the street where, when
it landed, did not land well. I’m not proud of the fact that this made me…
happy and a bit angry at the same time (hey, I’m human). What? Second
place wasn’t an achievement to be proud of? of?
And that’s the story about my victory with the “little Scardust that could”
on my wife’s 50th birthday.
It has never quite matched that days’ quality runs, but since
then whenever there has been a big race, I have entered the car I was considering
scrapping out, the road warrior: SCARDUST.
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