The fact is, I don't remember my first time at the races. I was going while I was in my mom's womb, and have been going ever since. I have some old photos, and stories that I have seen and heard for so long that I feel like I remember it happening. I guess the very first time I remember actually being at an event I was around three or four years old. We were in Delaware at Dover. I got to ride in my dads race car to go weigh it. I remember holding on very tightly to the roll bar because it rumbled so loudly that I was afraid I might fall out. I do not recall how my dad did that day, but I still have a lot of old record-setting certificates from back then and I imagine he must have done well.

Well years went by, and I went to quite a few different drag races. It wasn't until I was about twenty that I decided that drag racing was something that I wanted to do rather than just watch. We rebuilt my dad's 1961 Corvette that I was riding in around sixteen years ago. After about eight months of work we had it ready to go to the track. It had a 600 hp supercharged small block in it.

My dad wanted me to go to Frank Hawley's school before I drove his car on my own. I did not have a problem with that. I wanted to take the alcohol funny car class, but Frank recommended that I learn in the altered since it had a four link like my car did. After seeing some of the students trying to learn the funny car I was glad that I was learning in the altered.

I remember the first time I put all the firesuit and helmet on and got buckled down into the car with a little bit of anxiety. Let me tell you, it was gone after the first burn out. All I wanted to do was make a pass. How fast could I go? I was dying to find out! I did relatively well in the next two days. I ended up running an 8.65 at around 160. The third day rained out, and since we were on our way to West Palm for the Five Day Bracket Race, I figured we would get going so I could drive our car a little before the races started.

We got to West Palm and got ready to make some passes. Since it was a new car that a few punks built, we decided to drive it down the track a few times, gradually building speed, to make sure nothing fell off. So far, so good. It was time for a full throttle launch, and then I was going to lift. Well, the launch went well. Lifting did not go so well. We had never checked wide open throttle.

When I put my foot to the floor, the linkage jumped over a valve cover wing nut and held the throttle wide open. In a fraction of a second I decided to panic and put the car in neutral. After the engine hit 12,500 rpm I decided to turn the ignition off. I came to a stop around the 660 clocks. We were the only car running at the track that day. My friends Greg and George said that in the silence after the car came to a stop that all they could hear was an extended "F" word coming from the car.

Believe it or not, we did not hurt the engine. We fixed the throttle and went out for another launch. This launch was ok and we decided to make a full pass. I went through the traps at 10.24 at 131. When I came to a stop and jumped out on the return road, the car was on fire. Like before, I decided to panic. The tranny leaked a little and got fluid on the exhaust. I took off my jacket and tried to beat the flames out under the car. I still have the scar on my arm where I touched the header. Of course the fluid burned up and the fire went out by itself.

We ended up competing in the Five Day and the Citrus Nationals and we actually went one round on one of the days. We got the car to run 9.90s by the end of the week. Other than learning how to remove, repair and replace our trans about three times, we had no further mishaps.

Ever since then I have had the bug to drive. The smell of my helmet … the feel of being buckled in so hard I can't move … the feel of the acceleration and speed …the competition … the friends I have made. All of these make me glad that I got in Frank's car that first time.

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