The second I got out of the car at the main gate of Gateway Motorsports Park I knew that I was in trouble. It was nine in the morning and I was already soaked in sweat, sunglasses fogged after stepping out of the icebox that the Chrysler had become, to ask where to go to check in. The security guard, a Vietnam vet, laughed as I wiped my brow and said, “Just wait until this evening! You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” Oh, lord, he wasn’t kidding. For the next three days of the PSCA Street Car Super Nationals, temperatures were pretty much over 100 degrees Fahrenheit with 100% humidity during the day and about 85 degrees with 100% humidity at night. After learning I had to wait an hour to even get in the gate, I filled the cooler I brought with me full of bottled water, Gatorade and ice. With this heat and humidity, it wasn’t St. Louis, it was Satan’s Anus, Missouri.

I usually get grief about being the one guy who doesn’t wear shorts, and I don’t wear flip-flops at the track. But damn if I wasn’t regretting both of those decisions as I met up with Chad, waited for the guy to drop off our scaffolding and studied the area. There were puddles that weren’t evaporating because of the humidity. There were frogs in the grass. My Gold Bond failed. Yeah, buddy…shooting these pictures was going to be a workout of epic proportions. We got our scaffolding and after putting it together, we realized that we were about 300′ short of power cable to run the gear. We drove into a nearby neighborhood, found the oldest True Value in existence, and Chad bought every extension cord they had as I noticed the “decorations”. Since when do gigantic paper wasp nests count as decorations? Between those and the old tools I got a horror-movie vibe from the place. Chad, however, is happy anywhere and after making conversation with the woman at the counter, decided that we were going to eat at a barbecue joint up the street called Big Mama’s.

Here’s what you need to know about Big Mama’s: It’s across the street from the jail and if you go, order the cooter and you won’t be disappointed.

That’s right, folks…me and Chad each ate cooter for lunch. It was messy, delicious and we left satisfied.

For the next three days I proceeded to run on pure adrenaline, sugar, water, granola bars and Steak N’ Shake (the only thing open by the time we all left the track). Brian and Chad aren’t kidding when they say they bust their asses at these events to bring you the coverage, because they do whatever it takes to get what they need. It became obvious that roaming the pits on Thursday was going to put us into heatstroke territory, so instead Chad putted the $200 Hauler Suburban around the pits while I shot pictures out of the passenger side with the A/C blasting. Work smarter, not harder. I couldn’t do much of anything about the track shots, though. I kept praying for an oil down, or even a parts failure, something so I could make a beeline to the cooler, slam down another bottle of water and get back to the action. Over three days I drank almost three gallons of water, half a gallon of Gatorade, and six Mountain Dews to keep hydrated and going. I ended up using one of those plastic zip-up blanket bags to store my clothes in just to make sure they didn’t stink up the room.d

Shredded jeans and a sweat-soaked shirt. Like being back in Iraq. (Photo: Tom Nolen)

By Saturday you could tell that the workload was taking a toll, because I decided that it would be a good idea to hop in front of the camera and act as the host. For those of you who saw it, thank you for tolerating it…that was so off-the-cuff that I have no clue if it was any good at all, and I haven’t seen the replay to see for myself. Most of the night went smoothly, but when that long break in the action hit about 11pm, I almost wanted to curl up and sleep. Instead I was chatting with a PSCA official who was taking pictures and listening to the announcers. Oh, the announcers…who I’m pretty sure were drunk by then and were rambling…who kept thanking Chad (even though he was in Michigan by then) and Brian (who was enjoying a few cold ones and was running things via text) profusely for the live feed. Meanwhile, another PSCA official was threatening to kick me out because he had no idea who I was or why I was taking pictures of the cars. Guess I’m not known quite yet.

Honestly, as much as I can bitch about heat and humidity, the racing was awesome even before the records started to fall. The entire experience was awesome and easy-going and the photographers were helpful in assisting me with shooting locations and styles, which led to tons of pictures I’m happy with. I’m at home now, recovering and rehydrating, and getting ready for the next big adventure coming up in a few days. Long live burnt rubber and race gas!

And if you do decide to stick your head into Big Mama’s, be sure to tell ’em that McTaggart sent ya!