With this year’s U.S. Nationals recently completed, I’m choosing to start this column with another edition of OLD FART’S REDUX. Yes, this memoir is about an Indy of the past —1983 to be exact. I had yet to visit the hallowed grounds, being busy learning my craft at other less sought after locales.

But I had a plan, and more importantly, I had met John Force! At tracks far and wide on the old American Hot Rod Association tour, I had developed a working/speaking relationship with John. At each event’s end, we would ask the other which race was next and exchange "see ya’s." After that year’s Kansas City event, Force asked if I was going to Indy. No, I said; I didn’t have to ask if he was going. In the ensuing conversation, the idea of covering Force’s participation in the Big Bud Shootout was hatched. I agreed to pitch the idea to my editor the next morning.

Much to my surprise, ye old ed went for it, and my first trip to Indy was a reality. As I recall it, I called Force at home and firmed up the details. Yes, you could call him at home in those days and get the man himself! He even offered to come by and pick me up on the way! Showing my characteristic lack of foresight, I turned him down, opting to spend an extra day at my real job and drive myself to Indy.

Once at the track, I walked into an environment much different from Force’s current scene. No ropes did I find, nor crowds, no performance center, no battalions of wrench wielders. Just one car, one crew chief (Larry Frazier), Force and family, and me. Oh, he had a crew on hand but not so many that you’d trip over them. Indeed, the relative solitude of the Force scene is what I remember best from that weekend. Sure, there was a potload of nitro cars on hand, more than I had ever seen at one place at one time, and Force himself ran well. He went a round in the Shootout, and did OK on Labor Day too. One photo that ran with the story showed Force and Frazier leaning over the motor, presumably hashing out the details of the tune-up, with not another soul in the picture frame. Try getting that shot these days!

In many ways, our 1320 sport is better because it’s bigger, but I’d lay 1 to 10 odds there’s many a day Force himself would trade a ‘lil tin man or two for a few moments of time-out at the zoo, so to speak. Oh well, that’s the price of fame, or so they tell me.

THE RAZOR’S EDGE

Without question, Indy is THE race of races. It must be so, ‘cause everybody says so when you ask them. But it is also the ultimate double edged sword for those who seek the grail. High roller or low buckster, entire campaigns and entire operations can rise or fall depending on what happens at Indy. The Bud Shootout has its rewards, but how many Labor Day efforts have been fatally weakened by the strain of competing in the "race within a race?" Something to think about, eh?

And how about the plight of the Creasy family car, for instance? When it’s crunch time and you’re still on the outside looking in, do you lift just because everything’s not kosher in the cylinder heads? NO, you leg it and as often as not get carbon fibre confetti for your efforts. And you still got a season to get through.

So next time you think it’s a no brainer for racers to deal themselves into the Indy mix, know ye there’s a hard road to be traveled in search of that particular prize. And appreciate ye all the more their efforts, come ‘lil tin men or aluminum recyclables.

See Ya  Down The Road!

photos by Jeff Burk

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