My clothes no longer reek of nitro, the SPF 90 sunblock has finally left my pores, and another memorable weekend in Bowling Green, Kentucky has drawn to a close. The 2010 Holley NHRA National Hot Rod Reunion was a great event and did lots to reaffirm my love for the sport of drag racing. In a lot of ways it is a mechanical Star Trek Convention, but trades fake phasers for header flames and weird costumes for breather cans and fireproof underwear.
In no particular order, here are some stories and observations from my weekend:
It’s incredible to think about how many Chrysler Hemi engines were on the grounds at the NHRR. Not aluminum race Hemi engines, but freaking iron-block, factory built Hemi engines. They were in lots of mild stuff in the car show, some slightly less mild stuff in some of the sportsman classes, in the lunatic SS/AH challenge guys, in tons of the Cacklefest cars, and bunches of Jr. fuel dragsters. It is a testament to the mystique that surrounds the vaunted Hemi when after seeing dozens of them, it’s still a pleasant surprise and nearly instant badge of cool when you get to say (with interest), “Woah, it has a Hemi in it.” Seeing an iron 392 belching flames is mechanically religious.
The weather in Bowling Green during the month of June can be replicated by climbing into a steam room for 10-12 hours while fully clothed. Even the shade is looking for shade.
Just a little variety goes a hell of a long way. Take the sling shot type Top Fuel dragsters in competiton at the race. There were cars powered by Donovan 392 style Hemis, 426 style Hemis, big block Chevy engines, and a real freaking small block Chevy engine–not some weirdo collection of one off parts, but an honest to God mouse motor on a full load of nitro. That’s the poop, no matter how you look at it. They look different, sound different, and work differently on the race track. It makes watching dragsters thousands of times more interesting when brand honor is on the line.
I have a friend who loves drag racing but does not get the whole nostalgia deal. He calls them “Civil War Re-enactments.” He thinks that these races consist of a bunch of old jalopies running 12s and 13s all weekend long with old music playing in the background. Couldn’t be farther off base. It’s the variety of iron, the fact that so many of the men and women who built the sport are there walking around like everyone else, and being among the most knowledgeable fan base in drag racing that sets these events apart. The fan walking in the gate at Bowling Green knows about drag racing, he didn’t just think he’d “give it a try” that weekend. That raises the bar for racers as well who want to put on a show for people who know what they should be seeing. At Civil War Re-enactments the bullets aren’t real. At the digs, there isn’t anything BUT a live fire exercise.
Beech Bend Raceway IS the Fenway Park of drag racing. Coolest track in the country, bar none (except for George Ray’s which is other-worldly).
These events have real emotional meaning to people. During the Cacklefest there’s always people crying, and not from the fumes. Let me rephrase that, not from the physical reaction to the fumes, but make no mistake, the smell of nitro triggers every old memory these racers have and they flood back at once. The late nights in poorly lit garages, sleeping in the tow station wagon, winning and losing final rounds, walking away from the sport and coming back, losing friends, etc. One whiff of pop will bring these aging warriors right back into the thick of things like nothing else can or will. Time may advance, old bones may begin to fail, but that smell will always be the same. The great cackling constant.
Beating the shit out of rental cars is irresponsible and wrong, but damn it’s fun. (To see other people do it, I mean)
Jack Daniels never tasted so good as it did with the Cherry Bomb dudes after the Cacklefest. I skipped the Coke in mine.
Lastly, my love for these events stems from one of the first realizations I had during the first one I attended. This is America. It’s a celebration of history, a glorification of our past, a nod to the evolution of a sport that’s long been about “mechanics driving fast” to steal a quote from the book High Performance by Robert Post. There’s a grit, a lack of polish, and an attitude that pervades this type of racing that we love. Crews riding down the track in pickup trucks to tow their race car back to the pits from the top end, serious dragsters coming in on open trailers, guys sleeping on the ground next to the car after working through the night for the hope of a big finish. The NHRA Heritage Series seems to personify the “cars as stars” motto. Yes, there are luminaries on the grounds all weekend, but the cars, the iron, the machines in competition are the true stars of the event.
And the Winged Express is the greatest vehicle to ever traverse the 1320.
