Captain Thunder Racing.com  

August 26, 2008

BACK FROM BRISTOL!

As usual, my trip started out a little rough. I don't know what the deal is this year, but it seems like everywhere I have gone, whether it has been for work or pleasure, there has been issues along the way.

It all started at the Bud Shootout with 'Brad The Jackass' impounding my riding cooler, then the turn one brawl at the Daytona 500, the lost car keys in the Daytona infield, then Talladega's police chase on the same riding cooler, next it was my Harley catching on fire at Daytona Bike Week, then the Russian pervert at the campground in the Keys...and now this...Tropical Storm Fay!

Most race weekends are nothing more than that, just another race weekend. Then there is Bristol. Bristol is right up there with Daytona, Talladega, and Charlotte...a very special place. When you roll in to Bristol, you immediately know you are at a magical racetrack. Bristol isn't just a racetrack, it's an institution.

When I begin packing for Bristol, it isn't just another weekend away from my family, it isn't a chore, and I don't dread the flight or the RV ride, I don't complain about being away or all of the work I have to do. Instead, I can't wait to get going. I can't wait to hear the roar of 'Thunder Valley'. I can't wait...for Bristol. Unless of course I have to drive through a tropical storm to get there.

Tropical Storm Fay wreaked havoc on the east coast of Florida last week, and unfortunately, for my crew and me, we had to drive right through the middle of it to get to Bristol. Right from the get-go, it was ugly. Between Daytona Beach and northern Georgia, we dealt with driving rain and 50 mph winds...in a 40' motor home. Its one thing to drive a F250 through crappy weather, but it's another to drive an RV.

As Fay blew us all over the highway and rain leaked in the motor home from every possible orifice, our driver Steve, or as we like to call him, 'Baywatch', did an amazing job of keeping his head in the game and the rubber on the road. At times, the storm blew our rig on to the shoulder or in to the other lane, there were trees down all over the place and most of them were lying in the middle of the highway, but 'Baywatch' kept us rolling. Until the lights went out.

You see, I usually roll to these races with Grandpa Thunder and he usually drives most of the way. Grandpa Thunder is a legend behind the wheel, and lets face it, when I drive I have 'Rage Against the Machine' wailing over the stereo system and I'm text messaging while swerving all over the highway at more than 80 mph. So, they usually don't let me drive. 'Baywatch' is no different...he had zero thoughts of letting me drive..."No way Thunder, you just sit there and enjoy the ride, you ain't driving!"

So that's what I did...I sat there. And even after sitting with my feet in a puddle from the rain that came in through the floor vents, and enduring the winds and downed trees, I was still enjoying the ride. I watched '3:10 to Yuma' on my Apple I-Touch, I listened to some tunes, I played solitaire, and I worked some e-mails. All while 'Baywatch' wheeled us from Florida to Tennessee...in the dark...in the VERY dark. As a matter of fact, in the black of night...and I do mean black!

After driving in the dark from about 8:30 pm through South and North Carolina, 'Baywatch' pulled us in to a rest area unexpectedly and stopped the rig around midnight.

I said, "What’s the matter Baywatch, why are we stopping?"

With a puzzled look on his face, he turned to me and said, "I couldn't figure out why all of these 18-wheeler's kept flashing their lights at us as they passed us, but now I know why...we're running dark...we don't have any tail lights or running lights."

For almost four hours, our rig was dark. We had no running lights or taillights and didn't even know it. Anyone that came up behind us on the highway couldn't see us. It's a miracle we weren’t run over by a tractor-trailer or some drunk ass moron on his way home from the bar.

So, we proceeded to rip out every fuse in the motor home. The fuse box in the passenger compartment, the fuse box in the engine compartment, and the fuse box in the storage area. We pulled them all and we changed anything that looked even remotely burnt. Our buddy Chris even called the 800# in the motor home manual and spoke to their help desk...or should I say no help desk. Nothing worked...we were dark and we still had three hours to go.

So what do you do when you have tried every possible solution and the no help desk has no answers for you? You call Grandpa Thunder and ask for advice. Isn't it amazing how dads always have the answer? No matter what the situation or problem, my dad always has an answer for me. My question...how can we fix our lights? We have already checked all of the fuses and all of the wires and we have no idea what to do. We want to get to Bristol tonight...not tomorrow afternoon!

Grandpa Thunder says, "Do your hazards work? You know, your four-way flashers, do they work"

I run to the front of the motor home, turn them on, and they go blink blink blink...blink blink blink...blink blink blink...blink blink blink.

I say, "Yeah they work fine, what the hell is that gonna do for our running lights and tail lights."

This is where I can almost hear him thinking...can this dumb ass really come from my genes?

Then he says, "You don't need running lights or tail lights if your four-way flashers work. Just leave those on and get your ass to Bristol. The other vehicles on the road will be able to see you and you'll be safe. Fix the lights tomorrow when you wake up and its daylight and you can see what you are working on. Goodnight and don't call me this late again! I'm going back to bed... love you son."

So, that's what we did. We drove the next three hours listening to...blink blink blink...blink blink blink...blink blink blink...blink blink blink. We even tried turning the stereo up so loud that we couldn't hear it, but it was like Chinese water torture, it was friggin' relentless...blink blink blink...blink blink blink...blink blink blink...blink blink blink. Metallica, Rage, Ozzy, Judas Priest, Korn, nothing was heavy enough or loud enough to drown out those flashers. At the two-hour mark, I was looking for a handgun or a razor knife to take my own life. But then I remembered...we were on our way to BRISTOL...THUNDER VALLEY baby!

We finally arrived at 3:30 am...and it was all good! Our RV spot was right in front of turn three, and it was a huge end-spot with plenty of room. We set up our camp and drank beer until 5:00 am. We had made it. Through a tropical storm, and with no lights. We were at Bristol.

We spent Friday watching practice, qualifying, and the Nationwide race. We saw Kyle Busch's pit crew lose him another race at Bristol and we saw Brad Keselowski snag his second win of the year. And, we saw one of the coolest burnouts ever! How awesome was Keselowski's burnout on the ramp to victory lane? I thought that was awesome!

Saturday morning started with four Advil, a Stoli screwdriver, and an omelette. We decided not to even attempt to mess with the lights because the ride home Sunday would be during daytime hours and we wouldn't need running lights or taillights. The brake lights worked so we didn't really care about the taillights. Instead, we partied all day and waited for the Cup race to start. I did some work for the website and drafted my fantasy football team on my computer, and that was about it.

I thought the Cup race was great. I know Kyle led all night long and there were many green flag runs, but the passing was fantastic throughout the field, we had the drama of Dale Jr.'s boneheaded move of the week, and we had the big wreck in turn one that ended the night for Chase contender Kasey Kahne. Not to mention, the end of the race was typical Bristol.

I have no problem with the way Carl passed Kyle. That's the way you race at Bristol and if the roles were reversed, Kyle would have done it to him. Heck, we have seen Kyle do that all year long to plenty of other drivers. He was just on the wrong end of it this time. Kyle's antics after the race were crap though...you should never use your racecar as a weapon. He slammed Carl's car twice after the checkers had waved and that’s a no-no. I don't condone what Carl did either, but I understand. At least he spun him instead of slamming him. It could have been worse.

Sunday was an easy ride home, even with the brake pedal coming off. I'm not even kidding. About halfway home, 'Baywatch' looks over at me and says, "Your not gonna believe this, but the brake pedal is lying on the floor...it fell off dude."

So, we pulled it over again and went back to work on the motor home. It's one thing to run during the day without running lights or taillights...but it's another to run without a brake pedal.

Overall, it was an awesome weekend and I had a blast chilling at Bristol with 'Baywatch', Chris, and Mike. Mike didn't say much all weekend, so I won't say much about him here. I think he said hello when I got in the motor home, and said see you later when I got out and that was about it. Oh yeah, he told me to come visit him if I ever wanted to buy a Corvette...he was a car salesman for his dad's Chevy dealership. Quietest car salesman I've ever met. Can't imagine he's going to have a successful career selling cars if he doesn't start speaking. But, you never know...Forest Gump started out as a quiet guy and he ended up with a shrimp company and a big ass boat!

All kidding aside, I want to thank 'Baywatch', Chris, and Mike for an awesome weekend. They are all tremendous guys and huge race fans, and it was a pleasure chilling with them all weekend in Thunder Valley. You guys ROCK!

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See You At The Track,

John "Captain Thunder" Nevins