In this chapter, Johnny introduces a character we have not met before, along with a bit of romance. Now, I'm not positive yet, because I haven't asked, but I strongly suspect we'll find out at some point in time that the pretty young lady's name is Winnie. That is just a hunch for the moment.
In our last episode, if you recall, Johnny had a bit of an on-track incident at McRae with another driver and left him spinning upside down. Today, we're visiting yet another new track... still in that 100-mile circle around Warner Robins, and I believe we'll be meeting that driver again, perhaps with slightly different results. Climb aboard as Johnny takes us to Swainsboro Speedway, another place where Middle Georgia racers have spent a lot of Southern Nights.
OK, for all of you that remember, I've just gotta do it one time!
HEEEERRRRRRRRE'S JOHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNYYYYYY!!!!!
OK, we sneaked out of confrontation in McRae Georgia and took our little convoy back to Warner Robins, where we were among our own. We unloaded the car and put all the tools that went to the track with the new car. The back of the '37 was unloaded and a one-ton flatbed, which was the company's service truck, was unloaded too... now the shop is back in business, working on the equipment that was postponed to go racing. Really, there was nothing broken for a change and I guess that's the reason Dad took everyone down to the track.
I spent a couple of days with this great girl I met in Florida, and to tell you the truth I kinda like her. She does have a sweet car too, a '66 Chevelle with a 396 and it ain't stock by any means. Anyway, we went to the show and stayed out late so I was late getting to the shop... not a good thing to do with my Dad.
We pulled the car in Thursday and started checking out everything, getting ready for Swainsboro, and no bugs were detected. I worked late Friday and waited 'til Saturday morning to load the car. N O W what in the heck is wrong? It won't crank; turns over but no fire. I dive in and the distributor it seems, is the culprit. Bob pulls the distributor out and for some unknown reason it has shucked all the teeth off the distributor shaft. Oh, did he have a look on his face. I tell you, when he looks that way, steer clear!
Come to find out, the cam lost a tooth and that's where the teeth shucking started. This car is going nowhere soon, or at least this weekend, so what to do? What to do? My little cute girlfriend stepped up and asked Dad, "Why don't you take the old car? It's still running and I like that car. Huh?? I say I've never heard this from her before, but you know... it ain't a bad idea.
We've got the afternoon and night to get it ready, so no sweat.
Sunday morning it's all loaded and Mama fixes an early lunch or late breakfast, whichever you want to call it, and my little lady on the trailer and the one beside me head out toward the track. Dad and a couple others load up in his wagon and follow.
We get there and a few ask where the new car is and were told it's in sick bay. They just walk away and scratch their head. Harold's bunch park next to us and ask the same question; must be something in the wind with all the curiosity.
Out we go, and we qualify decent but it's not like that one sitting at the shop. The heat race is won by none other, so I feel good and that pretty thing shining the top of the '37 is grinning from ear to ear. The feature lines up, and there must be 40 cars here for this feature. It is a 50- lap feature so the money is bigger too.
Green flag and off we go! Sure feels good to be out in the pack and picking one off every now and then. We must have gotten pretty close to the front, because I can see Harold up in front of me and he isn't letting any grass grow under his feet.
I see the flag man hold up both hands so ten laps to go. Then, out of the blue, I get pushed up high by none other than ol' hot shoe who I left spinning on his top in McRae. I couldn't believe that he came through beating and banging like that.
As I gathered myself up and went after my lost positions, a car went sailing off the back stretch and way down in the pines. I kinda thought it might have been a logging car but it wasn't. It was that great running Plymouth out of Soperton, I think, that ran off the track. Race is stopped while they go check on the driver. He is OK and car and pines will weather the storm, so the race is lined up and turned loose next lap.
Old hot shoe gets tagged by another car and he goes way high... almost over the turn three bank. He gathers it up as I go by and here we go. A couple of laps later, as we go under the flagman showing the white flag, I get hooked and spun into the wall under the flag stand. It's a rock wall and it does not give, but my li'l Chevy does. I spin and I am sitting in the middle of the track under the flag man, looking at the traffic coming directly at me. Everyone misses me except this one 1961 Ford. He hits me head on and knocks me halfway down to turn one. Yellow flag... the race ain't over yet.
I crawl out of the car and take off my helmet and there, coming by as I stand --here comes ol' hot shoe, the one who just spun me. Well... I dive in his right side window as he is poking by and we go to war; he is tied in his seat and we go toe to toe till he drives off the number one turn banking and hits a tree. There we sit, two dummies in a car, fighting . The officials come down, break us up in the car and drag us out. He looks at me and says, "What'd you hit me for?" I got one more shot in on him before my Dad and the crew grabbed me and hauled me off to the truck.
My car was totaled with the car in one spot and the motor another. I guess I'm lucky, because I wasn't hurt from the wreck and the fight only bruised my hand somehow . We loaded the car and the pieces up and headed home. I asked my Dad where did we finish after that wreck and he said we were disqualified for fighting. This one I did start I guess, but I got the best of him.
Next day I was so sore I could hardly move, but I got pampered real good by my lady friend.
Now we've got only one car to race with this year, so I start looking for another body. Dad and Bob call me over to the office and Dad says to me, "I've got an errand I want you to run Thursday. I said, "Sure!" so he tells me to go to Macon, to the auction where I got my first car, and pick up a Chevelle that had caught fire in the auction parking lot.
I go get it and it's been gutted by the fire. As I pull back in to the shop I am directed to the rear and the guys start to unload it. My mind gets in gear quick as Bob was out looking at it. "We've got a lot of work to do on this one if we're going to do any racing with this junk." Did I just hear this right??? We're building a Chevelle ?? To go racing??? Pardon me folks, but this season has gotten off to a roller-coaster start for sure. Be sure you tune in again next time for a new installment of Southern Nights.
-Johnny
Email: johnny16070@gmail.com
Well, all in all, not too bad a weekend I guess. Our hero totaled a car, wrecked the car of another racer, gave and got some punches... while his opponent was strapped in a seat... and wound up sore and aching for his efforts. As punishment, he received a lot of TLC from a certain young lady and Dad bought him a new toy to rebuild. Nope, not bad at all. In fact, it sounds a whole lot like other stories I've heard about racing back in the '50s, '60s and '70s.
Racing wasn't always the glamorous sport we see today, with palatial suites for the wealthier spectators, and gourmet quality food available on site. It was an after supper pastime, usually on weekend nights, run on dirt more often than asphalt, with "grandstands" reminiscent of the bleacher section of your local AA baseball diamond. "Facilities" were likely either a Port-a John or the nearest woods. Both drivers and fans generally arrived clean and went home filthy... and loving every minute of it.
You haven't lived until you've come home from a dirt track needing multiple showers to find where all of it is hiding. You brush it out of your hair and comb it out of your teeth... or maybe the other way around... and you learn where all of your wrinkles-to-be are beginning to form because the tiny creases are highlighted in dirt lines on face, neck and all other parts your mirror can reveal. Of course, if you were really lucky, you got to stop at the river and shed a few pounds of red clay on the way home. That way, you're at least clean enough to eat one of those big ol' wieners covered with mustard and onions.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wOUFo4Lwf8
Johnny hasn't told me yet where we'll be making our next stop, so it will be a surprise to both you and me. Wherever it turns out to be, one thing is certain... there will be racing and we will have fun. Be sure to watch for us at a track near you, where we'll be sharing and enjoying our Southern Nights.
Be well gentle readers, and remember to keep smiling. It looks so good on you!
~PattyKay
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