Rick and Greg's Excellent One Lap of America Adventure, 1997

(Editorial note: this was written for my fellow State Chapter Coordinators and Activists of the National Motorists Association, immediately after concluding the One Lap of America in 1997. As you may recall, 1997 was very shortly after the repeal of the National Mandatory Highway Speed Limit, a milestone for that organization. - GregA)

"...5559 miles of America in eight days.  And somehow we have fun." - Tony Swan

Well, having just returned from running the One Lap of America (and finally recovering) I can speak to the attitudes towards speed limits in at least 15 states: most are pretty cool!

The One Lap is a cross-country event designed to (ostensibly) be run at legal highway speeds; the only timed events are those at each milestone on racings tracks. We were each given a route book that had specific directions and times. Even though this was not a scored rally between the race venues, we were given an "out" time and "no later than" in time. Funny thing: although the route was designed for average speeds that stayed within the prevailing speed limits (averages ranging from 58 mph to as low as 35 mph) there were no provisions in that "average" speed for essentials. Things such as food. Potty breaks. Fuel stops. Sleep.

The majority of the highway drives were scheduled at night. This gave us the necessary track time at each venue during the day, plus it gave us lighter traffic and less constabulary to deal with at night. Kudos to the Route Master. Further, the organizers of the event told us they had informed all states through which we were traveling the route and times that we would be going through. The reasoning for this was that "cops hate surprises"; I think I agree with that. Strangely enough the states of Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, and Illinois had each requested more detailed information... of course, each of the cars was splashed with the required contingent of numbers, event logos, and sponsor decals. You know, high-performance street cars cleverly disguised as race cars. Our chariot for the event was Rick Carr's beautiful 1995.5 Audi S6.

Day One

We started the One Lap in upstate New York, at Watkins Glen (the event was rained out) with the next goal being Michigan International Speedway (MIS). Our major route out of New York to Michigan was Rt. 17, and even though there's rumors of making it part of the Interstate system (I-89?) the speed limit is still 55 mph. Sad, because this is a nice stretch of highway. I guess New York is still not trusting its unwashed masses.

Didn't slow us down.

We followed 17 all the way to I-90 across Pennsylvania to Ohio which, according to Brock Yates, is "the only state still supporting the death penalty for speeding". As we moved farther west the speed limits started to open up; 60, then 65 as we hit the Interstates. For the most part there were no problems, and since we went through at night (we had to be at MIS at 5:45am the next day) the traffic was light and so was the trooper population. Armed with radar detectors and CB radios (bless you, FCC!) we were able to negotiate the drive with enough time to spare for a 3-hour nap in a local motel.

The MIS event went well and we were soon off for St. Louis' Gateway International that afternoon. Southward down I-69 to Indy, then westward on I-70 (which would become like a second home.) The (Sunday) afternoon traffic was light, and the speed limits were typical (65, maybe 70?). The St Louis event came and went without a hitch and were now off for our longest leg so far: to Denver, Colorado.

As I noted, I-70 became our second home. We left St Louis in the late afternoon with the requirement to be at Denver's Second Creek Raceway (about 850 miles away) by first thing the next morning. As we drove across Missouri the landscape started to get much bleaker, but (fortunately!) so did the light. By the time we hit the middle of the state the sky was pitch-black. The roads began to straighten out, and the traffic got lighter. We got braver.

Missouri was kind to us, and as we hit the plains of Kansas we swapped drivers and dropped the pedal. The highways in KS were long, straight, flat, and with no traffic. By 2:AM a fellow One Lapper in a Mercedes and I (Rick was sleeping) were hauling tail down the pike there, listening intently to the CB radio reports and watching the LEDs on the detector like a hawk. I had just returned from Germany where where I drove comfortably at 125 MPH, but there in Kansas I really felt reckless at "only" 100 mph. I didn't feel tha way  because of the speed; we were both in very capable cars, and were both very capable and skilled drivers. NO, the reason I felt reckless was because I was not concentrating fully on operating my vehicle at 100 mph; I was dividing my attention between driving, playing with the CB, and watching the radar detector. Ironic.

Well, Kansas was ready for us. I was getting reports of troopers ahead, but those blessed truckers spotted almost every one of them. Almost. The Mercedes and I were running about a 1/4-mile apart near Salina when we crested a slight rise both got hit with a miniscule Ka-band bleep. Oops. We both creamed the brake pedal at the same time and I felt the ABS start to kick in. I looked over in the eastbound lanes and saw a car with brake lights on; it crossed the median. Busted.

We slowed to the required 70 mph speed limit and crossed our fingers; no such luck. The Kansas State Trooper pulled up behind me, slid by then slotted his cruiser between the two of us blocking both lanes, turned on the blues and reds, and signaled us to pull over. After I confirmed that I was going to pull over, he stopped us on the shoulder. We all pulled well off to the side and awaited our fate. He requested our "license and registration, please" and I had to get mine from the trunk (by that time Rick had awoken and was totally confused! <grin>)

The trooper told me he was going to have to write us up for 84 mph in a 70mph zone (which was completely OK with me given our actual speed; thank you, Mr. Sine Error!) After I stepped out of the car to grab my license from the trunk I noticed he had this big grin on his face. I asked him what was up and he told me that we were the 6th and 7th One Lappers that he had gotten within the last couple of hours. I started to loosen up and chat with him. Come to find out he and his buddies are always bored out of their minds out there in the middle of the night, running license plates looking for stolen cars. They were grateful for us, and asked if we would  pass through on the return! He was a nice guy, nothing near the arrogant, condenscending law enforcement personalities that I've met in CT. He didn't act like a drill sergeant and treat me like I was a child-molester. In fact, he seemed very interested in what we were doing and even asked if the SUV that was adorned like a Police Truck were really cops (they were). I actually congratulated him on his "catches" that night; truth be told we were breaking the rules, despite my disagreement with them. He had a couple of good kills with his instant-on radar and deserved the praise. 

As we departed, I asked him how much this ticket was going to cost me. The damage? Try $43 ticket + $18 "court cost" = $63!!! Way too cool. This ticket in CT would have cost somewhere north of $250 and I would have been treated very rudely to boot. (I paid that ticket via mail right away. I usually fight tickets, but it wasn't worth the hassle. IT was a fair fight and the ticket didn't even show up on my CT driver's license.) In the end, this same trooper and his buddies ended up bagging 14 One Lap cars, and " made the roads safer for Society". I do hope they got a steak dinner from their boss that night (honestly!)

So anyway, armed with a new respect for Kansas radar equipment and operators, and an adrenaline rush to last for the next hour, we continued on to Denver. The adrenaline quickly wore off and I turned the reigns over to my co-driver about an hour later.

Day Two

As I woke up to a rising sun a few hours later we were approaching the Rocky Mountains and Denver Colorado; an awesome sight. Even better, I noted to my delight that the interstate speed limit was 75 mph! I couldn't wait to take a picture of THAT! We stopped outside Denver at a little roadside cafe and treated ourselves to an excellent home cooked breakfast, the best in a long time. I do like those off-the-beaten-path places.

Our two events in Denver, at Second Creek Raceway (Second Creek Event 1 and Second Creek Event 2) and Mountain View, went without any problems, and now it was time to do the drive I had been looking forward to: Las Vegas via I-70 west towards Utah through the Rocky Mountains.

The drive through Colorado. Rocky Mountains. Slow twisty roads. Well, twisty at least. Once we had negotiated Denver's rush hour that Monday evening, we were on beautiful I-70 westbound towards these really big hills. I knew it was going to be a fun drive from the start, and I took the reigns in anticipation. I wasn't disappointed.

If you haven't seen the Rocky Mountains from I-70, there's no point in my trying to describe it. Words truly fail to adequately describe the view. And, the driving there is a blast. Colorado basically leaves all the interstate at 75 mph, even through a lot of areas within the city of Denver. Once we left the corporate boundaries we were actually able to go that fast. Driving through the passes and watching my handheld GPS tell me we're approaching 12,000 feet above sea level was something else. I was driving a turbocharged car so the power wasn't a problem at all (you pilots will understand when I say that the critical altitude of this car appears to be well above this level); however I could tell that the trucks and normally-aspirated cars were having a hard time, especially around the top. Let them eat cake. Oddly enough, even though the speed limit was 75 mph, I couldn't find a lot of people that were going "10 over that". Maybe I wasn't looking very hard or maybe the safety zealots were wrong? Nah, I just musta not been looking hard enough....

As we crossed over the top of the Rockies, it started getting dark outside, and we soon ourselves in some type of canyon or valley on the interstate, negotiating a lot of twisty roads going downhill. I could tell it was still incredible view, but the part that got the most of my attention was that the speed limit stayed at 75mph! I'll tell you, there were some areas that were NOT safe at 75mph, but guess what? Contrary to IIHS, Jill, and Ralph, people actually slowed down to a safe speed to negotiate these corners. Imagine that! The sheeples showing restraint and a self-preservation instinct? I'm guessing that the thought of a long fall with lots of screaming had more impact on folks (and me) than any reflective metal sign with a number.

Another eye-opening experience is what I found when I *did* come across a lower speed limit. I'm from the East, so I tend to ignore speed limit signs as a matter of course; 'they're not for safety, they're for money'. Uh, wrong answer. Let me tell ya: when Colorado puts up a 50mph speed limit sign on I-70, it really means something. After the first couple of labeled-at-50 corners, I acquired a healthy respect anytime I saw a reduced speed limit. And, true to form, as soon as the danger was past the speed limits were immediately posted back to 75 mph. I applaud Colorado for this (of course, I'm greedy: I'd like to see Montana-posting on some stretches out there...)

Soon, though, we found our way out of the Rockies and on the flat plains west, heading for Utah. About the time we through the foothills, I passed the reigns of our trusty stead over to my co-driver and got some shut-eye. He reported flat, straight roads posted at 75mph all the way pointed west.

Day Three

Interstate 70 west took us all the way out to Interstate 15 in Utah, where we headed south for Lost Wages. I-15 was more of the same straight out stuff (did they lay out these roads with LASARs?) except for a quick beautiful stretch above St. George. 75 mph highways, wide-open, light enforcement. Good friendly drivers that moved over for you and waved as you went by.

Of course, then the sun started to come up and it started to get Real Hot outside.

We arrived in Las Vegas at about 4:AM Tuesday; just about dawn. Las Vegas Motor Speedway is on the north side of town, so we went straight there, crashed for a couple hours in the car, then ran our events (Las Vegas #1 and Las Vegas #2). The event went without fanfare, but we did get to see Derek Daly's driving school (and we got to say hello and shake his hand!) The One Lap organizers had planned an intentional (mandatory) overnight stop in Las Vegas to give us some rest, so we overnighted on the Strip, lost some money, gained some money, had a fulfilling steak dinner, and generally enjoyed ourselves for a few hours before we crashed hard in the hotel (which is more than I can say for the Mosler boys. Last I saw of them as I was headed for the hotel was  them pulling apart the engine in the car...)

Day Four

Wednesday morning dawned early for us; the "killer drive" was approaching. 1300 miles, 22 hours, all the way out to Hallett Motor Speedway in central Oklahoma in only one day. Rumor had it that the Texas Department of Public Safety had warned the event organizers that any car seen in their state would be pulled over and "detained", so Brock and the Route Master came up with an inventive scheme to keep us out of Texas. He put in a mandatory Control Point at Teec Nos Pos New Mexico, up in the extreme northeast corner of the state right up by Four Corners. The quickest way to Hallett from there would be along back roads north of the Texas panhandle and through the panhandle of Oklahoma, thereby avoiding Texas entirely. Too bad; being an expatriot North Texan I'd have preferred a foray through there, but oh well.

The route they planned took us north again on I-15 to St. George, then eastward across the top of Arizona and New Mexico. Absolutely spectacular drive. We got to see the best of the Desert Southwest on this route, and if anyone else is interested in it, I'll send to you the route we took. We saw mesas, Indian reservation land, the Vermilion Cliffs, Lake Powell and the Glen Canyon Dam (unfortunately, there wasn't enough time for The Big Canyon, but it was only about 2 hours away), and Monument Valley. Speed limits were typically set at 55 or 60 mph, but the roads were open and light traffic; 70-75 was not uncommon or unsafe (really a breathtaking drive; I still have the route book and some day I will take this drive on a personal vacation). Since enforcement was light was well, we opened it up a bit and made some time.

Once we picked up our control decals at Teec Nos Pos, we made a quick side trip to Four Corners (I had to get a photo of me with my butt in four states), and we were off to New Mexico. As we headed farther east, the desert scrub began to be slowly replaced by evergreens and green brush. In on time we found ourselves deep in the San Juan Mountains and another stupendous mountain drive. We negotiated a lot of fun mountain roads and switchbacks, and the speeds were set accordingly. We dodged a few deer and other small animals that didn't seem to care who was on their road. Fortunately, we worked our way through with no damage to wildlife. After a really good Mexican dinner in Taos and another super drive through the De Cristo Range, I gave the car back to my co-driver for the drive I knew was coming: Oklahoma. Ever been through northern Oklahoma? Well, how about Kansas? Same thing. I ain't no dummy; I let Rick take over the driving duties for a while.

As expected, as we approached Oklahoma the roads became straight as an arrow. Take a peek at the map sometime at highways 56, 64, 3, 270, and 412 (et al) heading towards Tulsa through the Panhandle. First off, there's not too many curves in there. Secondly, this highway has FAR TOO MANY DESIGNATIONS!!! Yes, our route book was filled with items such as "follow 64/3/412/xx/xx/xx, leaving xx, adding xxx". What a mess.

Anyway, it was pitch dark by now.  And when I say pitch dark, I mean PITCH DARK. It was so dark ("How dark was it?") that when we stopped off to the side to "relieve ourselves" (there are distinct advantages to being male), the 'activity' had to be done via Braille. However, after a few seconds of this darkness, I could not help but catch by breath when I looked up and saw the clear open sky. Oh my God, the stars are incredible out there! Montana may claim the moniker, but the sky is truly big.

There was one distinct advantage to these straight two-lane back roads. We could really fly on them. Despite the fact that they were marked 55 mph, they were straight and long and we could see virtually forever on them. For the most part the only traffic we saw were other One Lappers (some of these guys flew by us!) These roads went in and around farmlands, and it was entertaining to see on the farms the occasional picnic table moved up near the road with families watching the cars go by. I sincerely hope they don't do this every night...

We passed several teams along the way, and got passed by one driver that preferred to go just slightly faster than us. So, we let him string out and followed him, sometimes at speeds approaching 90 mph (still didn't feel unsafe). The roads were in good shape and there was zero traffic. We slowed down to pass through a gorgeous lightning and thunderstorm (nature's fireworks, just for us!) and we slowed for the towns, but then we were back on the pedal and on our way. During this whole drive through Oklahoma, I don't remember any speed enforcement problems. The highway we were on is apparently a main thoroughfare ( there were many trucks on it) and the police were identified easily. I did notice that the regular chit-chat of the CB was pretty light; either I had the squelch way too high or everyone was very tired...

We'd been having a wheel problem for a large portion of the trip; one of our trick 3-piece wheels was leaking at the seam. We'd been keeping our eyes on it every fuel stop; the leak was slow enough to not bother us too much as long as we topped it off each stop. My only concern was what would happen if we got a flat in the middle of God's country out here...

We stopped for fuel in Guymon, and were quite surprised to find someone open at that ungodly hour of the night. Lucky for us, otherwise we were on the edge of having to stay  until someone opened up the next morning. Believe me, when I say that there is nothing but farmland between these little towns, I am not kidding. You run out of gas out there, and you're parked for a while. Since we were tracking this Mitsubishi (who also happened to stop and was in a hurry too), we filled up the car quickly I jumped in the driver's seat, and were on our way.

I had (voluntarily) driven the whole day before while Rick tried to sleep; I was scheduled to drive the track event at Hallet the first thing that next morning. Unfortunately, our plan for Rick to sleep during the day was for naught, as the drive through the Desert Southwest was absolutely beautiful and Rick had difficulty dozing off. So, he never really got any sleep to speak of and he was beat. Of course, I was beat, too. As we got near Fort Supply, it was just too much for me, I had to pull over. We bit adieu to the Mitsubishi and I pulled over to the side of the road to try and catch some sleep. It turns out we burned about an hour there, I guess, but it sure felt like 10 minutes. Fortunately, at that point we were still about an hour ahead of schedule to get us into Hallet at 5:45. Rick woke up and decided that he could take over for the remainder of the trip. I moved over to the co-pilot's seat and grabbed some zzzzz...

Suddenly, I was awaken to the car abruptly pulling over to the side of the road, a lot of cussing, and an acrid burning smell. OK, this got my attention. As I become somewhat coherent I saw Rick bailing out of the driver's seat and I smelled and saw lots of smoke. Thinking I was being left to suffer in a fiery tomb, I bailed out of the starboard side into the midst of the smoke and rolled down into a ditch. Looking back up I saw the cause of all this commotion: the right rear tire was smoking badly, as if it were on fire. Guess what? We had gotten in a hurry forgot to check the tire pressure at our fuel stop back in Guymon. The tire was flat. Real flat.

By now Rick had the portable electric air compressor out and was trying to pump up the tire. I got brave (and coherent) enough to approach the car; I could just barely breathe through the fumes. Noticing that the tire pressure was getting us nowhere, Rick commented that he thought it might have broken the bead to the tire. I dug out the flashlight and took a peek. Well, not only had it come off the bead, but the tire was horribly shredded; we must have been driving on a flat tire for QUITE a while. Funny thing, Rick was STILL trying to pump up that damned tire...Note to all you kids out there: regular sleep is a good thing before operating heavy machinery.

Well, we had screwed up. We got in a hurry and didn't check the tire at the last gas stop, and when fatigue took over we drove it flat, and ruined a $250 tire. It was obvious that even I had driven it while it was low.

Remember what I said about being in God's country out there? Man, was it dark! We started to unload a completely packed trunk in order to get to the tools and to put on a spare wheel and tire. I'm still amazed at the amount of stuff we could pack into the trunk of an Audi S6 (we got several "applause awards" from competitors when they looked at our pile at each event). Of course, out in the middle of nowhere, we were not so concerned about awards as we were about getting that spare tire on the car. At least we were thoughtful enough to pack a full-size wheel and tire instead of the temporary one.

The next problem that was removing the wheel from the car. It was burning hot, still kicking out smoke, so we had to be careful ('ve never been a real fan of the smell of burning tires). It went unspoken the significance of the situation; we very nearly caught that tire on fire. This would have been Not Good.

Well, we eventually did get it done, and 30 minutes later we were back on the road, heading for Hallet, lesson learned.

Day Five

Rick continued to drive (I was still awake from the adrenaline shot), and we had worked our way to the Cimarron Turnpike, with Hallet less than 30 minutes away from there. The track event at Hallet was mine as I had driven that track countless times before as an SCCA competitor (I used to live in Texas, and I had a Showroom Stock A track record there), but now we had to do it on the stock Audi spare wheel and tire. This didn't seem to create any particular handling quirks, and the event would have gone well except for the fact that I (allegedly) accidentally hit the ignition switch and killed the car during our run...twice...

After Hallet we were on our way to Memphis Motorsports Park to try our hand at drag racing. Speed limits on Oklahoma's turnpikes were 65 mph, I think, and we grabbed the Muskogee Turnpike down to I-40 across Arkansas to Memphis. I can't talk much about this drive, as I was totally zonked out by the time we got through Tulsa. I don't remember smelling anything funny, so I assume all went well. The drag event at Memphis was fun, and Rick did well in the bracket eliminations that afternoon. We managed to borrow a tire from a competitor (same size, same brand, what a break!) and we had it mounted on the way out of town. Their tire-balance machine was not working properly (beggars can't be choosers) so we just used it as the spare.

After Memphis, I took over the driving duties, driving I-55 to I-57 to I-70 enroute to Putnam Park, Indiana, just west of Indy. I remember the highways were in nice shape, and I don't recall any particular enforcement problem. Keep in mind that by this time on the trip I wasn't paying too much attention to details; we're pretty lucky I remember even where (or that) I drove...

Day Six

Putnam was our goal for 5:45 the next morning, and it was obvious the folks running this event expected us to be tired; they had scheduled in enough time for us to grab a hotel for a few hours. Boy did it feel good to grab 4 hours sleep and a shower. We were refreshed and ready to take on Putnam Park Road Course...

...in the driving rain. Cats and Dogs. We stopped to fill up the Audi with gas for the event, and to pump up the tire pressures for the competition (we usually added 10 psi all around at each event). Rick noted that our factory-Audi-wheel on the right rear corner seemed a bit low, but we never really checked it when we put it on. We pumped it up just like all the rest, paid the fuel bill, and went searching for the track.

Putnam looks like a nice track, at least through the cyclical passes of the windshield wipers. We were really psyched up for this event, because this car had Audi's Quattro All Wheel Drive system and ABS, and combination that had proven itself useful to us in other events (I was simply amazed at what this car could do. Best handling car I'd driven to date). This expectation was proving itself to be true, as during the event I was flying around the track during the first lap of our run there. Midway through the second lap, feeling good as I passed one of the new C5 Corvettes, I turned into a left sweeper and the back end of the car suddenly stepped out big time. No amount of anything allowed me to regain control and I slid Rick's $45,000 car off the track into a shallow muddy. depression (OK, "ditch".) After using the wipers to wipe the mud off the windshield to see where I ended up -- and doing quick inventory to verify that A) I was OK, and 2) I didn't hit anything solid with the car --I tried to drive the car out. Nothing doin', even that Unfair Advantage wasn't going to get me out. Stuck.

I had to wait for the rest of the cars in this group to finish before the wrecker came. Not knowing this car well, I was hesitant to hook his tow cable onto anything; on top of that the rear end of the car was facing towards the track and there was no way I could get a cable under the bumper, which was right even with Mother Earth (the nose was pointing up the hill). The guy told me to sit tight and he'd go get his tractor to come across the depression and pull me forwards. At that point I got out of the car and looked around. Only then did I realize I had done my dainty pirouette across a field in front of the pits and the front straight, right there in front of God and Everybody. And they were all looking on. It was still raining cats and dogs, so I reached inside and put on my raincoat and hood. Not that I wanted to hide my face or anything...

Well,  seemingly 5 hours later (actually, 5 minutes) a tractor showed up with a tow cable, and Rick showed up in the ambulance. Rick directed the exhumation of his Audi, and I got in the passenger side while he drove silently to a garden hose in the paddock. We (I) silently cleaned all the mud off his car. Rick had this grin on his face, but somehow I don't think it was a very joyous occasion. But then, we looked over and noticed that the Audi wheel/tire on the right-rear (the original spare) was flat. Seems that sometime during the last highway run we had picked up some road debris which damaged that tire, and it apparently deflated during my run. This was confirmed by the local tire store where we had that tire patched. Vindicated? Well, I don't know, I just wish it hadn't happened.

After a provided breakfast stop in nearby Greencastle (where I had to endure the abuse of competitors --  least God spared me), we were off for our home run back to upstate New York. The next stop was Lancaster, NY a suburb of Buffalo. We followed I-70 through Indy and on towards Ohio. The Audi tire that was patched was vibrating badly (the guy didn't balance it, saying that he put it on the "same way") but we endured it.

Ohio. What can I say? Remember Brock's comment (" the only state left that mandates the death penalty for speeding"?) Well, the enforcement brigade was out in droves in Ohio. Speed limits dropped, and between Indiana and Columbus we saw numerous troopers and one report of a "bear in the air". Rounding the corner northward on I-71 things didn't change. We had troopers all the way up to Cleveland with another CB report of flying enforcement. Speeds were kept in check. Uncle, Ohio wins.

We had lots of time to get to Lancaster (another easy drive, comparatively speaking) so after a hearty sit-down steak dinner at an Outback in Cleveland we jumped on I-90 and followed it across PA and into Buffalo. In Lancaster, we enjoyed the luxury of 6 hours of sleep in a real hotel!

Day Seven

On Saturday morning (has it only been a week??) we joined our fellow competitors at the Lancaster Speedway for another round of drag races and a run on the adjacent 1/2-mile oval.

Since our teeth were becoming loose from the unbalanced Audi wheel/tire, we put the aftermarket one back on (with the borrowed tire) and promised ourselves that we would check the tire pressure religiously (turns out the unbalanced aftermarket wheel/tire combo felt better than the "balanced" OEM one...) Unfortunately, the rain dogged us again and forced cancellation of the drag races, but we were able to watch Rick do an impressive run on the oval before heading off for Wyoming New York, home of Brock Yates and the Cannonball Run Pub.

At Wyoming, the whole town came out to meet us. They shut down the center of town in front of the Pub and treated us to a free lunch and a lot of happy faces (and we were even asked to sign autographs!) I strongly encourage anyone finding themselves in the area to drop by. The Cannonball Pub is covered in mementos from Brock Yates' interesting career and passion with automobiles; it's apparent they are proud of him. Plus, you may be able to even find him there once in a while. It was here at Wyoming that I tallied up enough courage to introduce myself to Brock. He was polite enough, but it was obvious that I was not the first to do so. However, when I told him I was associated with the National Motorists Association as an Activist, his eyes lit up and I had his attention! He even offered to sign his autobiography of Enzo Ferrari I had (I mailed it to him, and got it back within a week with a nice note!)

After spending a wonderful two hours there, we were off (in 30 seconds intervals) to an untimed drive through the Letchworth State Park (the "Grand Canyon of the East"); a delightful drive. I would have never thought that there was a canyon as pretty as that one in upstate New York! Another must-visit place. We had our official photographs taken there in front of the car (why couldn't they have done this on the FIRST day before we looked like that??) and then we were released to continue to Watkins Glen, our last event.

We arrived at the Glen to more gloomy skies (at least it wasn't raining like at Lancaster) but as we were unpacking the Audi I noticed a distinct change in atmosphere among the competitors. Instead of quiet, fatigue-induced thought, everyone was smiling and talking, music was playing, and everyone looked chipper. Was it because we had sleep the night before or because we had a good meal a few hours ago? Maybe because it was the last event? Maybe because we were going to drive The Glen? Hmmmm...

Well, Rick drove the last event, and ran a very respectable time. With that, we were finally finished with the Car and Drive One Lap of America, 1997. As we drove the 20 minutes back to the Lodge on the Green to enjoy our competitors' company at the barbecue that night, we suddenly realized that this was the first time in a week that we were driving where we didn't have to hurry or meet a time goal. It felt kind of good. In fact, once Rick voiced that thought and he noticeably slowed down and relaxed a bit.

We checked into the hotel, showered, changed, and went to party at the Lodge. After a couple of pitchers of the best beer I've ever had and a lot of barbecue, we were enjoying our first full night's sleep in a week. The next morning we met all of our new friends for the last time at the Awards Banquet breakfast. After bidding so long to everyone (and swapping phone numbers, addresses, and email addresses) Rick and I were headed back for Connecticut.

At somewhere close to legal speeds.

Considering running the One Lap? Take to heed Greg's Words of Wisdom...

1997 Results

Dancing Bears Racing, 1997 Entry. We hung on these guys like flies on stink so we wouldn't get lost. Unless, of course, they got lost, too (they didn't).

Bond/Wigert Racing - the guys in the Pinto...