Finally, Louisiana gave us Jeff (JBonifas) and his son (whose name I also forget).
There were many others in attendance that I missed either by passing by an opportunity to meet, or just plain missed seeing. It was wonderful meeting everybody and once again putting names and faces together.
As for the NCM Pre-Registration package and all that it included (and I paid for), I participated in none of it; I purchased the complete package in the event we would be doing something as a group and therefore I wouldn't get caught empty-handed. I took a walk through the museum, but much like the assembly plant--seen one, seen them all. The only reason I even did that was due to the fact Adam didn't have the registration table set up yet. I may have attended the seminars had it not been for the problems with my Corvette.
Saturday was the day set aside for autocrossing at Beech Bend Park, while Sunday held the drag racing. I won't get into specifics now, but suffice it to say that the nickname of "Leadfoot" should be Andre's handle, although he says he's known as Mario Andreti, Jr.; I knew as I pulled along side of him coming back from the autocrosses Saturday that I would have to put the pedal to the metal to keep up with him on the road back (Rte. 31W) to the museum. That was when I first discovered that I'm going to have to re-learn to drive my own car; the difference between how the old L98 came up on revs and how the new engine comes up is incredibly fast. I kept bumping up against my rev limiter as I tried to pass Andre; it wasn't until I was in fifth gear that I pulled abreast and sixth gear put me well ahead. This run also gave my brakes a test because we came up on traffic quickly. Mike was behind us and he said that his speedometer was indicating 135 mph.
I should mention here that when Chris and I took it out with the scanner hooked-up, we had a reading from the transmission that indicated I was doing 122 mph at around 4100 rpm. (I wasn't observing the tach when I was alongside of Andre.) Also, when we were at that speed the first day, I thought the car felt weird at 122 when I had it to 125 mph before and it was rock-solid. It wasn't until later that I realized that it felt different because of the fact it was still pulling big-time, whereas when I had it at 125 it was practically out of breath. Now at 125 the front end is still lifting from the torque!
On the way back from the museum Sunday, Chris and Nikki told me to let them hear it when I got on the Interstate, so I rolled into it from third, fourth, fifth and sixth gear. Next thing you know, I'm whizzing by the cars in the slow lane at an incredible speed. Tom was with me and he said that when I was backing off it finally, the tach was indicating 4800 rpm, which means I was probably doing 140+ mph. This is NOT something I do everyday in traffic; the only saving grace is the fact that there was an extra lane there near the museum and a car would have to cross two lanes to get in front of me. I promise, I'll never do that again on the pubic highways.
I've already mentioned my starter problems. Well, the thing quit again while I was at BG. This time I crawled under it to find it loose and wobbling around; I tried to tighten the bolts but only one of them would tighten, the other was stripped! Put it back on the trailer where it stayed until I got to New Jersey.
Before I put it on the trailer though, I HAD to leave my mark with the others in the lot behind the Ramada; I smoked 'em for about fifty feet or so.
I left Bowling Green around 10 am Monday morning and headed northeast toward Pittsburgh, PA. After a few wasted miles, and some wasted time trying to find my way in the dark to a place I haven't been in thirty years, I finally arrived in my hometown of New Brighton, PA.
The house into which I was born ...
The house in which I grew up ...
The time I spent in my hometown was spent doing exactly what I did when I left 30 thirty years ago: mainly just cruising around, chowing down at the local hangouts like the Brighton Hot Dog Shoppe, Hank's Frozen Custard, Jerry's Cheeseburgers, all the best places to eat in the Beaver Valley. I visited with a few old friends, stopped to visit my mother in Pittsburgh (she was 90 years old in June), and left the area on Thursday. The longer I stayed in that part of Pennsylvania the more depressed I got. It's true what Thomas Wolfe said many years ago, you can never go home again.
I arrived in New Jersey on Thursday afternoon, met up with Lou at the motel in Denville and off-loaded the Vette.
Lou played Pusherman, as he already so aptly put it, that evening as we hit a local cruise put on by his club, Goodfellas. Nice cars and a nice bunch of people. Friday we took it to his friend Keith at Mountain Tire & Auto in Jefferson; he was able to find a bolt to fit and hold the starter until I could get it home again and have it Time-Serted, a job that has yet to be completed. I felt right at home with Lou in NJ. Friday we hit another cruise in Newton, further spreading the word of the Corvette Action Center.
Lou welcomed me with open arms.
Lou's backyard.
I spent Saturday cleaning the Vette, shopping and doing the laundry that was piling up. Sunday we went to Hackettstown and Island Raceway for the "Ol' Time Drag Daze", a day devoted to nostalgia drag racers. We had a great time and met some very nice people.
It's hard to NOT meet people when you're riding in Lou's gorgeous 62 convertible. Everywhere he goes he gets beeps and whistles, people waving and giving him the thumbs-up sign, comments such as Nice car!, etc. Generally, just a lot of admiration. I loved riding in it.
I changed the oil in the truck at Lou's on Monday; I figured I was more than halfway through the trip and it certainly wouldn't hurt to give the old engine some new blood. We left for PA and Maple Grove Raceway on Thursday morning.
The weekend at the races was great.
Wheelstanding Corvettes, of which there were many:
Although my original reservations at a Travelodge proved to be way too far for commuting to the track each day, and we had to pay for a room we didn't use, we did manage to get a motel within a half-hour's drive so it worked out in the end. We spent the afternoon at the races, but by the time we got back to Coopersburg, loaded the Vette back on the trailer, drove back to Pottstown where we had the new room, and all of this after we spent a few hours driving around in circles on roads in Pennsylvania that bear no road signs or numbers. We finally retired at around one o'clock in the morning. Oh, I almost forgot to mention that when we jumped into the Vette to go to the racetrack, I was wearing my dark glasses and left my clear glasses in the truck. Lou I think, may have been shitting bricks, because while we were driving around in circles with me in my dark glasses, we were also running out of gas.
Friday we hit the track around mid-morning and didn't leave until racing was complete at around eleven o'clock that night. Even then, there were so many people there for a Friday, we simply stood around a BS'd for a few hours while everyone sat in their cars, with their lights on and engines running, going nowhere.
Lou is certainly a handsome devil, isn't he? You know, he IS a member of the Mickey Mouse Club, you can tell by the ears.
We got back to Pottstown and stopped at a place called Friendly's right next door to the motel, for a bite to eat before retiring. As we were getting out of the car, Lou asked if I wanted to put the windows up and lock it, so I reinserted the key and turned the ignition but it just spun in my fingers. No contact! This happened briefly when I was in NJ but I was able to get it to work again; I knew it was just a matter of time before it would rear its ugly head again. Luckily, we were right next door to my truck and trailer so onto the trailer it went, where it was to remain until I got to Florida. Thank You Lord, for looking out for me.
Of course by the time we loaded the trailer again there were no more places to eat, except for the Pottstown Diner. We sat there for at least 30 minutes before anyone even showed up at the table to wait on us. It was another half-hour before we ate. Another night for getting shut-eye.
Mad-Mic's uncle, Steve Lamplaugh, runs a Top Alcohol dragster known as "The Beast". These pictures show him and the crew, the TAD in the staging lanes, Steve doing his burnout, and a shot of his best time for the weekend.
The rains came on Saturday so it was just as well that the Corvette was warm and dry. We once again stayed at the track until the racing was complete for the day. A good thing too, because one of the highlights of the weekend occurred that night as the Super Comp C5 Corvette of the Finish The Race team, a Christian racing organization, pulled what has GOT to be the most vertical wheelstand a SC gas car has ever pulled without going over backwards! When he came down, the car jerked forward forcing the body off of the frame and flipping it over backwards so that it lay flat on its top being dragged upside-down for about fifty feet or so down the track in front of us. I took some pictures of it earlier in the day.
By the time I got my camera out of my bag to grab a shot of the car with the body upside-down behind it, it was too late.
Sunday was a washout. It rained off-and-on all day long, but they didn't call it officially rained-out until about six o'clock that evening. I thought of how devoted we gearheads must be to not only stand around all day in the rain, watching videos on the big screen at the end of the track, but to pay $60 for the privilege to do so. Ya gotta love it.
Lou returned for the eliminations on Monday, I however headed south to Manassas, VA and a visit with Eric (71Shark) and maybe Mike (Mad-Mic) and Bob (Nut). As it turned out Rob joined us for dinner that evening. All had a good time and I continued south in the morning.
When I hit the road the next day I figured What the hell, I'll go straight through to Jacksonville, it'll only be a little late when I get there.
I arrived in Jacksonsville around 10:30 or 11:00 o'clock that evening. I left Manassas around 10 am and only stopped for fuel once, all the while obeying every speed limit there was, good boy that I am. That was also the only time I had inclement weather on my entire journey; somewhere in either North or South Carolina it poured as if the skies had torn open and released all of the rain at one time. It rained like that for about 10 minutes, and then it was clear sailing again.
I hooked up with Chris on Wednesday afternoon after first taking the Vette to BLC Automotive to have what turned out to be a defective ignition rack. Evidently, when I had the tilt mechanism repaired a few years ago at the dealer they did a half-assed job, and finally the ignition just quit working. Ka-ching! Another $185 out of my pocket and into someone else's. We (who am I kidding, Chris did all the work) tinkered with the Vette that afternoon and got it to where we felt comfortable enough to take it to the dyno shop on Thursday. That evening Nikki made a delicious taco salad for our dinner.
Thursday we paid a visit, and $125 an hour, to Speedcraft Engineering and put it on their chassis dyno.
Ready for a pull.
Under the Beast.
We ended up pulling five runs to get the fuel and timing sorted out; it pulled a best of 346.2 horsepower at around 6000 rpm (my rev limiter's current setting) and 363 pounds/feet of torque at around 4100 rpm. Nothing to be ashamed of, but it can, and will, get better. I guarantee it!
On the final pull, the lifters started making noise and the car wasn't running worth a damn, so we took it to Chris's garage, let it cool for a while. You have to meet Chris to realize how hard it is for him to sit by and wait for something like that, he was in there tinkering while the headers were still way hot. He adjusted my valves, double-checked the timing, and was sorely disappointed that he couldn't figure out how to get my speedometer working. This guy loves to work on cars!
Friday I got some shopping out of the way while Chris was at work. That evening we had dinner with Dave and Susan Bacher (TZ Racer) at the McDonald's (not Mickey D's). Nicest people you could ever want to meet.
You know, I met some neat women (wives) on this trip; Barb is more into her Shark than her husband Steve, Nikki as we all know, is very much into whatever Chris happens to be working on at any given moment, and Susan is as much into their GT racer as Dave is. Great women all of them!
Now, can I be misogynistic again?
We changed the plugs on it Saturday and found that #7 was badly fouled; it had to have been arcing with the header tube after all. Chris put a boot on it that he had laying around and it's still holding up well, at least as far as I can tell. Funny thing is that when I toasted the first boot, a heavy-duty boot from MSD, we replaced it with a smaller red boot similar to what Chris used, but the one I installed was toast before too long just as the first was. The difference in Chris's boot is unknown to me, but it worked. We also found that my oil temperature sensor wire had got too near the header at some point and almost had burned through, that's why I was getting sporadic high oil temperature alarms. I haven't had a problem since.
I must mention too that Chris made his own tool for pulling my plugs; a couple were almost impossible to get a socket on. If you did get it on the plug, it couldn't be used for unscrewing the plug because of clearances, and it is also very difficult to remove the socket if you could get it on in the first place. Anyhow, he cut down an old socket so that the tip of the plug could be extended through the hole, while he ground flats in the side of it so that you can get a wrench on it. Thanks Chris!
We headed for Gainesville that afternoon to set up and get a few runs in so I could get some on-track experience under my belt.
Here is Chris giving me some pointers.
Chris made the first pass, and as he was returning I made mine.
When he got back to the staging lanes, one of the starters said Hey, your buddy in the other Corvette has a BAD leak., and when I got to the staging lanes they shooed me back to the pits immediately. At first it appeared to be a leaking fitting on the power steering rack, but as it turned out, it was the top bolt in the front of the block, where you can screw in a bolt to hold the rod on the old-style mechanical fuels pumps. The bolt had somehow worked itself free and dropped out onto (luckily) the crossmember, where Chris found it. He threaded it back into its hole and the leak stopped. Thanks again Chris!
The second run was actually my best for the evening.
I was still smokin' the hides, but I hit all of the gears and only bumped the rev limiter a couple of times.
The time was 13.37 seconds at 108 mph. The third attempt netted me a 13.45 at 109 mph but I was against the rev limiter more on the bottom end. There's potential there, I just gotta get it out.
Definitely, the Driver has a lot to learn! Chris fried his clutch, but you'll have to get that story from him. Overall we had a great time and ain't that what it's all about?
Sunday we did some cruising in The Killer.
We ended up at Dave's garage.
He're we are, comin' at ya!
I love this shot.
This one too, it looks like a Shark on the prowl.
Maybe you saw the post Chris made about Dave Bachel and his GT racer kicking butt last weekend. Well I got a chance to at least sit in it.
Sadly, it was all too soon to leave Dave and Susan's wonderful hospitality. Not to mention the heart-stopping sound of that GT car!
I left Jacksonville Monday morning, just as Isadore was getting close to shore. It had by then been relegated to Tropical Storm status so the winds weren't going to be a concern but the rain still was.
Oh, I almost forgot. Sunday, when we got back to Chris' house, Nikki was kind enough to allow me to drive the C5. Man what a difference between that and my old hot rod; not only is it easier to get in and out of, you get to cruise in almost luxurious comfort, all the while having the Oomph! to take you well beyond the posted speed limits.
For comparison purposes to the '90, I allowed Chris to hammer mine and feel the ride.
Sorry to say but there are no more pictures to add to this rambling story. It had come down to the only thought on my mind in that final leg was just getting home again; six weeks and one day on the road is enough for anyone at one sitting. Maybe after a little rest the road will beckon again.
I arrived in Pensacola late in the afternoon Monday and hooked up with Steve (P-Cola Vette) at his father's truck shop. Big rigs everywhere! To top it off, Steve was camouflaged, so it was a little hard for me to find him initially. (Steve is in the Army Reserves and was recalled to active duty last October, so I got to see him in his work clothes. He sure is an imposing authority figure in them too!)
Steve took me and my rig to his Plantation where I left the truck and trailer for the night. I call it a plantation because it never ceases to amaze me how much land you people down South have; I'm not used to that here in the land of the crammed-together He showed me his 96 Collectors Edition and his Firebird, his motorcycle (It's a beauty but I forget its manufacturer, although I do know it was Japanese.) and he attempted for the longest time to try and find the key to the shed that contained his hot rod Cougar, but the key was nowhere to be found.
I just have to joke with Steve about his Collectors Edition Corvette. Yeah Steve, it collects a lot of dust if you don't clean it, eh? Sorry, I just HAD to do that.
We visited his father's garage at home where he showed me an incredible collection of project vehicles, as well as some that had been completed. There was everything from big-block Cyclones and Cougars to an old Doctor's coupe from the early twenties. There were Mustangs of all vintages, from the newest Cobra to a nice mid-sixties car; there were Thunderbirds of all model years, from the classic tri-five years to the Square Birds to the Bullit Birds. There was even a 4-Wheel Drive 55 with a 351 Cleveland in it. I think his father has a thing for Fords don't you?
We cruised by a used (previously-owned?) Corvette lot that I guess is pretty well known for that area, but I forget the name now. Hey Steve, remember that white ZR-1 we saw there and I commented that I had not seen a white ZR-1 before? Well, one of the members of my local club just traded a 63 he had for a white ZR-1 he got from Corvette Mike. What a coincidence, eh?
We met up with a few friends of Steve's at TGIF's for dinner that night and I spent the night in Steve's palatial estate.
On the way to Steve's place when I got into Pensacola my Service Engine Soon light came on in the truck. It wouldn't clear when I turned it off and restarted it either. We took it to a local Autozone the next morning and hooked up their scan tool where I found an EGR code for high flow. The truck was running fine so we reset the computer and the code has yet to reappear. It must have simply been a piece of carbon or something that temporarily caused the EGR valve to stick. Or it could be a sign that my valve is starting to go south. I really should tune it now anyway.
After a cup of coffee and some toast at the local Waffle House, I left Steve in Pensacola and headed once again west on the final leg on the journey home. Good thing too, because Isadore was starting to sprinkle on that area and the sprinkling stayed with me for the next few hundred miles. When I got to Houston the evening I discovered that Isadore had made landfall and the whole area that I had just left behind me was getting a LOT of rain. Houston was warm and dry. Weather which would stay with me for the rest of the trip.
As I've already stated, the weather gods were kind to me this trip; when I was in Utah, I saw on the Weather Channel that ahead of me was pretty bad, and when I talked to Bud, he told me that he had bad weather behind me, all the while I was having good weather. I've been on the road before where I thought it was straight from the Wizard of Oz or something; wild weather in other words. This time it was simply a joy the entire road trip. It was hot though coming back through the deserts of Texas and Arizona; by the time I hit the California border it was dark, and the breezes were wonderfully warm and aromatic.
Every time I come into California at Blythe at night, I fall in love with the state all over again. It's always warm and dry with gentle night breezes blowing; sorta like Midnight at the Oasis. The breeze carries with it the wonderful aroma of all the produce grown in the area, along with the aroma only a gearhead could love; the smell of the diesel fuel being used by the trucks carrying that same produce to market. I LOVE IT!
Are we in Goshen yet?
Oh yeah, I almost forgot; some of you may like to see what something like this could set you back.
