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The dangerous part of racing isn’t limited to the track. Sometimes it’s the drive there and back.
Way back when I rented my VW Cup Golf to my buddy Larry for his SCCA driver’s school at Roebling Road, I was up late several days getting it ready and proved once again that “Nothing Good Happens After 2 a.m.” (It’s a song.)
On the ride to the track, my friend Robin tears some hair off my leg with duct tape every so often to keep me alert.
I say, “You need some sleep.”
“You okay?” he replies.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”
Soon, Larry and Robin are asleep.
’Bout 5 minutes later, so am I.
When I hit the big Buick, I instantly awaken and know exactly what’s happening and why, and the truck and trailer are slewing sideways and we’re all probably going to die. With a little luck and a lot of autocross skills, we get straight right before the bridge and ease off to the side of the road.
I can see their luggage under the Buick’s tweaked trunk lid. Such a kind New Jersey family. No one hurt. Whew. Cold with a few flurries. Wait an hour for the cops, give up and take off. Insurance handled everything.
A few years later, I’m racing a Firehawk series Pontiac Trans Am with Mike Guido, The World’s Fastest Clown. He’s using that same van, repaired, to tow my 24-foot trailer from our home in Florida to Summit Point.
I’m coming a day later, and I get a 3 a.m. call. Again, cue “Nothing Good Happens After 2 a.m.”
First words: “It was an f’ing ride, you shoulda been there!”
It’s my buddy Pete, who was in the van with girlfriend Kim when the axle parted company and took the right-rear brake with it.
Mike is at the wheel at the time and logically brakes a bit ’cause something is obviously terribly wrong. The rig instantly jackknifes on three brakes and hangs a hard right off I-95–right into a rest area! At 2 a.m. Into a line of parallel-parked semitrucks. Certain death.
Well, one semi has pulled out. The van is sideways, being shoved by the big, enclosed 24-footer, four passengers staring out the side windows, screaming. No steering, no brakes.
The juggernaut shears three newly planted trees and shoots the gap perfectly, narrowly missing a TANKER, slamming into and heaving up onto the sidewalk, perfectly aligned in an empty handicap parking spot. No one hurt. Whew. Except the trees.
The race car is unhurt as well and has a tag. So, never give up! Mike and Rhonnie, Pete and Kim somehow squeeze the fuel rig in, climb through roll cage bars and continue to the race, where we run quite well indeed. Top 10!
Two months later, in a nearby storage lot, Hurricane Hugo knocks a big pine on the trailer, finishing it off before I can get it. And thank you, $24-a-year comprehensive insurance.
In the ProSolo days, I’ve got my Rabbit on a trailer far from home, towing with a Datsun 260Z. Yeah, you heard me right, a Z.
Slowing for an exit ramp in Tennessee, there’s an ominous cah-LUNK. While I gingerly ease over, the hitch ball is just a couple threads from dropping the big bolt that holds it from underneath. Very possible death. No one hurt. Whew.
Same Z, same Rabbit, same trailer a year before, another ProSolo. Can’t get the tongue weight right–axles too far forward. It’s twitchy.
I’d driven I-75 all night and can do no more. Linda Pobst takes the wheel. Very capable driver, lead foot.
“Just keep ’er under 70 mph,” I caution, “and it’s fine.”
Ten minutes later, at 78 mph, passing a motor home, I’m joking with her and she playfully swats at me, starting a death wiggle that grows and grows.
“Make it stop!” she cries, and I shout, “Stand on it!” just as the left-side trailer wheels hit the grass median.
’Round she comes with a squalling shriek.
“Ride it out!” I shout, like we have a choice. It’s an almost perfect 180, ending with us pointed upstream on the pavement. Didn’t die.
Motor home driver misses us, stops and says, “Sure got that car tied down!” Chains over the wheels, yep. No one hurt. Whew.
Be safe out there, girls and boys. Today we all know better.
Comments
Tom1200
MegaDork
10/14/26 1:46 p.m.
Aaaaaaaaaand friends wonder why I keep my max towing speed to 65mph.
Plenty of rigs can easily and safely do more but I er on the side of caution.
A few months ago I was driving my Cappuccino home from an autocross. There’s a big highway split an exit before mine. Watched the car in front me dive across two lanes because they were on the wrong side of the split. This was dumb enough except there was a full-size truck in the exact spot they wanted to go and their position would have created a perfect PIT maneuver. Time slowed down as I waited to see which direction both vehicles would take since a collision with either would have major life altering consequences. By some miracle the truck spotted what was happening and was able to take avoiding action. I saw them both pull over where I assume the truck driver gave the Accord driver a major tongue lashing. I continued home thankful I had worn the brown shorts that day.
Moral of the story: stay vigilant out there. People are firetrucking STUPID.
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