Bonneville. That single word makes anyone who has ever been fast, or dreamed of going fast, envision the mythical great white salt. It’s the unchecked box on more bucket lists than you can imagine, and after 6 years of going I can’t imagine NOT going. It’s not just about the speed either. It’s about the salt, the scenery, the sunrises and sunsets, the people and yes, the cars. For first timers it is the most surreal racing experience you can find. For others, who have been racing for decades, it’s the only place to race. Unlike any other form of motorsports, land speed racing gets harder and harder every year. Never will a record be any easier to break than it was this year. But that doesn’t stop people from coming back year after year. And guys who never thought they would race at Bonneville in their lives, and quite frankly didn’t think they cared about it, go for the first time and are hooked. I grew up a drag racer, and wouldn’t give up drag racing for any other type of motorsport, but as long as I am able I will keep going back to the salt.

Hearing a big V8 screaming across the salt for 5 miles is a sound you will never forget, and is something you can’t experience anywhere else. Don’t even start with the whole, “I go to Nascar races and they run around a 2.5 mile oval at full song all day. I know what you are talking about.” Shut up, you have no clue. Plus, using Nascar for any kind of comparison to cool racing will just get you slapped. It sucks. Out loud.
Bonneville, however, doesn’t. Sure it is hot sometimes, but it is so damn cool that you just don’t care. Oh, and unless you are wearing Magnum P.I.’s shorts from 1980, while freeballing, sunburning your nuts is not an issue. It’s a myth. A funny one, but a myth nonetheless.

This year’s Speed Week was a little different for me because we were not racing. Well, sort of, but not the same as normal. A carburetor vent tube cause major damage to Freiburger and Turks 492 inch big block, but in the spirit of racing we got it back together on two cylinders and ran a blistering 32 miles per hour to take home a record.

Meanwhile, the boys at Spectre were out in the World’s Fastest Cadillac Powered Vehicle, their Spectre Speedliner, trying to get Kenny Hoover into the 400 mph Club. “Issues” caused some failures, including two broken rearends, two broken engines, and a lot of frustration. Let me say, that none of Cad Companies’ engines, or Spectre’s crew were responsible. As usual, they had their shit together and were out for the ultimate bragging right of having the fastest single lap on the salt and taking home the Hot Rod Top Speed Trophy. Unfortunately for them, their “issues” and George Poteet’s 430 mph run put the Speed Demon name onto the Hot Rod Trophy for the third year in a row. Never in history has one team won the Hot Rod Trophy three years in a row.

Other big news, besides Freiburger’s 32 mph record, was our thrash with Gene Winfield. What an amazing man. He doesn’t know much about engines, and doesn’t claim to, but he sure is a hoot to hang out with and one of the pioneers of hot rods and customs. We had such a good time talking to him and working on his car after his 219 mph spin. Scott “DieselGeek” Clark and I, along with Mike Copeland, and gaggle of others tore into the Ford Craftsman Truck series motor with a vengeance and were hoping to get Gene back on the salt for more runs, but it wasn’t meant to be. Bent valves kept him from making it inws no signs of slowing down, and we love him for it.

Mike Copeland, with Lingenfelter Engineering, came out to the salt for the first time this year as well. With so much to look at, I’m not sure whether he was excited or overwhelmed, but look for him to make a possible appearance behind the week of the SoAl Special sometime in the future.

Overall, it was a killer event and one that won’t be forgotten. Thrashing and racing is what it is all about, but the mystique, charm, and amazing surroundings are what keep you coming back. If you haven’t been a part of it, you need to at least come check it out. You will be hooked. Congratulations to all the folks that set records last week, and to those that made their inaugural pilgrimage. If Bonneville is the unchecked box on your bucket list, make sure you are there next August, cause we will be.

To check out all our coverage from the 2011 Bonneville Speed Week, click here…..   and here…..  and here…  and here

and here… and here…  and here.     .

If you didn’t see my first editorial after racing at Bonneville for the first time, you can read it below.

Bonneville Chadmouth

I know it’s been weeks since we raced at Bonneville, and most of you would have expected an account of our escapades and adventures as soon as we got back home. Especially since it was my first time racing on the famed salt. And I went backwards! But no, it’s taken me weeks, and I could give you a ton of different excuses about how busy we’ve been, the stresses of trying to move, family crap, work drama, and general laziness, all of which are true, but I’m not going to. The real reason is that I haven’t been able to really wrap my head around the entire experience. When Keith Turk waxes poetic about Bonneville being magical, you want it to be.

From the time we got out on the salt, it was clear this was going to be fantastic. I’ve been there before, but last years salt sucked, and this year it was amazing. As Turk put it, “The salt hasn’t been this good in the history of ever.” And so with great enthusiasm and a level head, I go about listening and absorbing all the Turk and Freiburger knowledge I can prior to getting into the Camaro for my first runs at Bonneville. Thanks to great salt and a genius move by the SCTA to run a second short course, I was able to make all my license runs in one day. Yes, one day which is unheard of. By mid afternoon I had completed by D through A license runs and was sitting in impound drinking Pacifico with a record qualifying run under my belt. It was only at 216.648 mph, but I knew the car was unhappy about going that fast without a spoiler, despite much bench racing that resulted in a general consensus that it would be “fine” without it. It wasn’t. Which is why, as the first car down the track the next morning, I was able to make a record return run with an average of 220.937 mph in the 4th mile, backwards. That’s going really really fast. I know, I know, 220 isn’t really really fast. Unless you’re backwards! Do I want to do it all again? No. Not the backwards part. And not the failing to get my red hat part. Everything else? Of course, it was absolutely bitchin’!

The rest of our week was no less eventful with Tonya Turk running 244.281 mph on her qualifying run in route to a record return of 249.254 mph with an exit speed of 251.786 mph and her AA license. We were all very proud of her new CBFALT record of 246.768 mph. Tonya drove the car with amazing precision, as she pulled each gear at exactly the correct RPM, kept it aiming the right direction, and never got it hot. I have a new respect for her as a driver, and Keith as a husband after watching him strap her into the car for her runs. While both of them are old hats at this, there is definitely some stage fright and concern floating around the Camaro during the pre run procedure. If there’s one thing I can proclaim, it is that strapping someone into the So-Al Special is serious business. And for good reason, as we saw a few cars and bikes experiencing mishaps during the week.

Then the drama started. Some jack holes protested us, were right, and so, my record didn’t count. Which would have been fine since we readily admitted we were not in compliance once the infraction was pointed out. But once the attitude started, we were on a mission. The thrash was epic. We traveled 185 miles to Idaho for a new nose for the car, fabbed an air dam, added a bunch of weight, and threw Freiburger in the car. He then went out and hit their record to the tune of 225.339 mph on a 209 mph record. (Don’t worry, we know it’s soft. We’ll come back at it with a stock spoiler, a ton of weight, and some real NA horsepower so we can crush our own record and get me a red hat.) We ruled. It was great.

One interesting thing I noticed was that the overwhelming majority of folks hanging out on the salt are family funded and staffed efforts that have been running there for years, and even when a new car comes out, it’s one that they have been building for years in order to run “that much” (imagine I’m holding my thumb and finger real close together) faster. Throughout the week, I was amazed by the varied combos and funny looking contraptions that were present, even though I’ve seen tons of them in Freiburger’s photos for the last 5 years. Then there we the teams with the money. You’d think they would be the ones nobody wants to see or talk about, but the truth was everyone stood and watched each time Blowfish ran. You can’t help it. A car at full song, for multiple miles, with a rooster tail 100 feet long streaming out behind it is bitchin’ no matter how much or little money is behind it. I loved it. All of it. The cars, the people, the speed, the majestic view. All of it. And to get the opportunity to run such a prestigious car, hang out with all the cool people that came out to help us, and experience the magic, was more than I was expecting. I just needed some time to let it soak in. Because Bonneville being awesome and fun, and an experience I’ll never forget, wasn’t enough.

I’ll admit, Turk thinks a lot of things are “truly magical”, and most of those things are at least really bitchin’ to me, but some of them don’t fit in the “truly magical” category. I wanted Bonneville to be one of the truly magical things for me. I’ve wanted that since the day that Freiburger told me that he and Turk had decided I was driving the car. I thought about it while putting the car together for this year. But once I got onto the salt, and into the car, it wasn’t what I was envisioning. It took a long time to get belted in the car, which gives you time to think, ask questions, etc. My first run down the salt at 7:13 am was for a D license at 139.513 mph, on the most beautiful salt, during a gorgeous sunrise. Turk’s words to me were the same ones I would here several times from him while putting me in the car. “Now remember shit head, this run isn’t that important. We have lots more to make.” And while this run was the slowest, and easiest, and arguably nothing more than a formality, this wasn’t Turk calling me a shit head like usual. I was sitting in the World’s Fastest Second Gen Camaro, and what he was really saying was “This is just a car, and just another day, and I love you man! So be smart so we can all do this again.” Then I sat in the car for another moment or two, the starter came up and checked my belts and said we were good. So as he is getting ready to put the window net up and close the door, Turk leaned in one more time, shook my hand, looked me in the eyes, and said “You should envy no man right now. I don’t. Have fun.” I shook his hand longer than I needed too, looking him in the eyes and told him “Thank You.” It was a big thank you, and I meant it, and he knew it. All the while, Freiburger was on the passenger side of the car ready to turn all my switches on, and had been quiet. He was nervous, and I could tell it, even though I couldn’t see him. He flipped the switches, asked me “Are you good?”, I gave him the thumbs up and yelled yes. Then I hit the starter button. This race car sounded good. And then, just before he closed the door, he reached in and gave me the “pat/shake” on my arm. He’s not a people person. It was big.

I drove off the front of the truck, and began the dance with the Camaro. I felt the magic.

It will always be the slowest, unforgettable, truly magical ride, of my life.