Tunachuckers Can-O'-Blog

Now that we've all had a chance to recuperate from the debacle that was the February 24 Hours of LeMons race at CMP, I thought I'd start amassing the photos that were taken at the race and do a few entries on them.  The other Saturday while at work, Anthony (crazy Peruvian driver) handed me a memory stick full of the pictures he'd managed to snap while not busy working on the car or taunting drivers who came in for black flags.  So I'll start off with some of his pictures.

There were 61 cars (or so someone told me- I have trouble couning past 10 with my shoes on) at this race, and here's a sampling of...the competition.  You know, the 60 other cars all vying for that covetted spot in the winner's circle and those 30,000 nickels.

These guys in a feather-covered Porsche 944 camped next to us.  In fact, I think they've camped next to us for the past 3 or 4 races.  Their car always seems to break something, much like ours, and we've found ourselves swapping tools on more than one occassion.  Good neighbors.

I have only a vague idea of what this car is.  I feel like I've seen it at some races before, and something tells me its some sort of 1970's Opel.  But the first time I saw it I thought it was a Maverick (no, not this kind of Maverick, the crappy 1970's Ford product).  But, let's face it, it could be about any crappy 1970's car.  (Is crappy being redundant?  I think so.)

Ze Germans always come out en masse for these races.  Not because German cars are particularly well suited for LeMons.  Actually, kindof the opposite.  In a weird sort of way, there's usually a lot of German cars at LeMons races because German cars are so bad at LeMons.  They are complicated, expensive to fix, and depreciate fiercely.  So while its very possible to pick up a $500 beater German car, its quite probably not a terribly smart thing to do.  And yet, here we are:

This car actually tried to disguise itself as a Mercedes, but apart from the grille, there was a decidedly Shintoist vibe about this particular vehicle:

Japanese cars have mixed results at LeMons.  Hondas like to blow head gaskets and bearings, but Toyotas do fairly well and Mazdas are nigh unstoppable.  A few Datsuns show up from time to time, and usually don't last.  But they are fun to watch, especially when powered by American V8s and shod with giant plywood spoilers:

This Mitsubishi looked nearly showroom-fresh.  I can't imaging what kind of paperwork they conconcted to slide this ringer through BS inspection.  Surprisingly, it didn't get The People's Curse, but it didn't seem to win anything, either.  And who knows- it could have been a flood car, or had a blown engine that got replaced with a duesenberg straight 8.  I didn't get that much of a chance to inspect it, but apparently the Judges thought well enough of it to let it race.

Gotta go take the puppy to the vet, but stay tuned for Part ][ of The Cars of LeMons...coming up whenever I next feel a smidgen rancateourish.

Some of you may have noticed this creepy character who calls himself "Waterwolf" and lurks among us. I have no idea who this nutcase is, but today he (she?) sent me a recommendation for a book that the team should read:

From Waterwolf:

The book is called: The Checklist Manifesto: How to get things right by Atul Gawande

The author examines many disparate tasks, from flying airplanes to building a sky scraper, to show how checklists can improve outcomes. Read this book and you might find yourself making checklists for the most mundane tasks----and be better for it. The author writes that: "The volume and complexity of what we know has exceeded our individual ability to deliver its benefits correctly, safely or reliably. Unless, of course, we use checklists". There is also a Checklist for the Perfect Checklist----to make complex operations routine, keep these guidelines in mind (with examples in Tuna-talk):

· Include all "stupid but critical" tasks so that they're not overlooked. (Would a true Tunachucker ever forget to include beer on an overnight camping trip?)

· Make it mandatory for team members to let others know when they complete one of those tasks. (Hey, Anthony, I packed the beer.)

·Empower subordinates to question their superiors about the checklist. (Don't be afraid to ask Rob if he packed beer.)

·Allow for improvisation in unusual circumstances. (Hey, Mike, they ran out of premium beer so I brought Genny Cream Ale.)

·Thoroughly test-drive your checklist before putting it into place. (Who drank all the beer?)

/end Waterwolf email

 Waterwolf says he would have bought the team this book, but that s/he is too cheap. Oh well. Personally, I think we should cross-drill the oil drain plug and safety wire it. But that's just me.

On Friday afternoon, I was (finally) flying back home from Chicago.  Apart from the ill-fated 24 Hours of LeMons race the prior weekend, it was the first time I'd been back in the Southeast in 2 weeks.  I was tired.  I was cold.  I had had my fill of sausage.  And I was ready to spend a night or two in my own bed, eat dinner at my own house, and see my girlfriend (who would hopefully still be) and my puppy.

But first I had to deal with a 2 hour flight, luggage carousels, rental cars, and an impending South Carlolina February winter storm.  To pass the first 1/4 of the time, I had a book I was intent on finishing.  (Airplanes are excellent for that.)  The book was Barry Lloyd's "You Can't Get There From Here", a humorous retrospective on the salad days of rally racing in Austrailia.  I'd recommend the book with high praise, except I'm not sure where the heck you can buy it stateside.  I happen to belong to an Australian car club for Mitsubishi Colts (one of the cars Lloyd writes about driving) thanks to my somewhat impromptu purchase of a JDM 1967 Mitsubishi Colt Wagon about a year ago.  And the head of said club somehow managed to get his hands on a few dozen of these books, and had them autographed by the author.  One of which made their way into my mailbox.  I'll say it straight out: it wasn't cheap.  In fact, for this 150 page paperback novela I paid more than I've paid for any hardback tome.  But, exclusivity has its costs.  And the book was worth every Austrailian penny I paid for it.

So I was finishing up Llyod's work on the flight from O'Hare to Charlotte, and near the end he relays an experience he had rallying Colts in the Outback in the late 60's.  Sometime after starting the race, the drain plug on the Colt's differential unwound itself from its threaded home, dropped out onto the rally course, and proceeded to allow a gusher of diff oil out onto the course.  As the engine was turning somewhere north of 7000 RPM, and the car was bounding over gravel and hard-pack, the loss of the plug and the resulting rear end noise went unnoticed until the spider gears themselves locked up and the car skidded to a stop.  It was night time, and when the driver and co-pilot got out to look, the diff housing was glowing red.

Luckily for them, their teammates' car (a similar Colt) had just thrown a rod bearing, so they simply swapped the axle out of that car and into the one they had been driving, and went on to finish the race- a feat that the fledgling Mitsubishi Motors company thought mighty impressive.  A feat that led to Mitsubishi becoming the dominant force in rallying that it has been since the 1970's.

Knowing we weren't the first morons to lose an oil plug in the heat of competition eased the pain of last weekend's debacle a little.

One person can screw things up to a limited extent.  It takes a group to thouroughly f--k up.  Like a plane crash, there are usually a series of cascading events that lead up to the disaster.

Here's the painful sequence of events as I recall them:

Saturday before the race, Mike, Anthony, Gary and I (Rob) are working on the car.

The oil needs to be changed, so I take the drain plug out to let last year's 15W50 drain for a while, in the 40*F garage.

Sometime later that day, Mike changes the filter and reinstalls the drain plug.

Sometime after that, I refill the crankcase with 4 quarts of oil (Mobil I 15W50 full synthetic).  I check the dipstick and it is over the MAX.  We decide the filter has no oil in it, so let's run the car and we will recheck it later.

We start the car, and take it for a 'spin' in the icy cul-de-sac (see Anthony's video on Facebook).

After the car is back in the garage (no one was hurt, no one was arrested), we recheck the oil and, since it's still over full, decide to drain some out, look for a drain pan, look for a cleanish rag, drain, check,  drain some more, recheck, consult about how much above full we should run, redrain and recheck the oil.

Sunday before the race.

Gary and I push the racecar out of the garage into Marilyn's spot on the driveway so we can change the oil in Gary's car.  Note that her car is 16 years old and leaks some oil.

Monday before the race.

It is going to be well below freezing Monday night, so I decide I should drain the water (no antifreeze allowed on racetracks) from the car.  With a flashlight and screwdriver, I pull the lower lower radiator hose.  It seems oily on the driveway but I dismiss it as coming from Marilyn's car.

Thursday evening before the race.

Most of the team is at the race track.  I am home with: the race car, a trailer full of spare parts and a truck full of tools.  I reconnect the lower radiator hose (still oily under there), fill it with water, start the car and turn it around.  At 11:30 PM, Mike and Katie come with the real truck and car hauler.  We try to start the car, but it won't fire due to a weak battery.  We push the car onto the tailer, and Mike and Katie head off to CMP at midnight.

Friday at CMP.

We push the car from the pits, through the tech inspection and BS inspection, and back to the pits.

Saturday 9:00 am

We go to the driver's meeting.  The valve cover is off, clearance on 2 of 8 valves has been checked, there is about 5 gallons of (last year's) gas in the car, no one is suited-up to drive because we have not decided who is driving first.

Saturday 9:30 am

Driver's meeting is over.  Cars are to start lining up/lapping (transponder check) at 9:45.  Also, we cannot fill-up the gas tank in the pits - refueling is only allowed at the gas pumps or in the 'hot pits'.

Saturday 9:45 am

I have suited-up, the valve cover is back on, the car starts (after some carb tickling and with some help from the charger) and I drive it to the gas pumps where we fill up with gas from our gas cans.

Saturday 9:55 am

I enter the track behing the Nemo BMW.  After about 3 slippery laps (still drizzling) under Yellow (transponder checking) I run over something (from another car?) on the front straight.

Saturday about 10:00 am

The race goes Green as I enter the front straight on the next lap.  OK We're Racing.  Successfully through the first series of right handers.  Through the only left turn on the course.  Some stuttering on the exit.  The stuttering is worse on the exit from the next right turn.  And then, after the next right turn, nothing.

Saturday about 10:20 am

In the pits, hood up.  Mike checks the dipstick.  Nothing.  WTF.  Someone checks the drainplug.  Gone.

Saturday around 10:30 am

Much confusion and disbelief in the Tunachuckers pits.  Sabotage?  The drain plug was knocked loose during the loading/unloading process?  Someone didn't tighten the drain plug?  Everyone didn't tighten the drain plug? (we need brian back?)

We will never know for sure.

Some things are for sure.  We have entered 4 races.  We are on the WOB ("This can't not be fun").  We have the best SO's.  We have a s--t load of Lemon's trophies.  We are a successful race team.

We will be back.

3/4"-16.

This is now officially my least-favorite bolt size.

This was the size of the oil drain plug on the oil pan on the engine in our Volvo.

The plug that now decorates a grassy field near the apex of a turn somewhere at Carolina Motorsports Park.

The plug that we were unable to find a replacement for.

This plug didn't just hold 4 and a half liters of Mobil1 15W-50 in the crankcase. It held the entire outcome of the weekend. Its hard to put into vowels and consonants the feeling that I had when I pulled out that dipstick and found it bone dry. When I looked under the car and saw the hole where the drain plug once lived now unoccupied. A tiny drop of oil clung to the lip of the hole for a second, and then fell to the ground. We were done.

Sure, there was a brief period of jubilation, after we'd jury-rigged the engine back together, fired it up, and sent the brave Robster back out on the track to try to get some laps before the end of the day. But 5 minutes later, when the yellow flag fell and there sat the Amazon, smoking and stalled on the front straight, we knew we were done, for real.

The sense of despair and gloom that hung over our camp was palpable that Sunday morning, as we awoke to the sound of 60 other race cars all firing up their engines. And ours sitting there silently. Never before have I been so jealous of another car simply running. The racous cacophony of internal combustion going on all around us was almost unbearable. I didn't want to leave. But I didn't want to stay.

In past races, I've talked to teams that were packing up and heading out before the end of the race, their hopes for the weekend dashed by some insurmountable mechanical failure or another. And I've always wondered what it would take to get to that point, mentally. To give up. To surrender. Now I know. I would have liked to have been there for the awards ceremony, to see the pride of accomplishment and the cheers and laughter. It might have cheered me up. But, in the end, we decided to go.

I'm back in Chicago now...I was here the week before the race, for my job, and I'll be here for the rest of this week too, its looking like. Friday I'll set foot back on terra firma in Greenville, SC and come home to the Volvo sitting there on my car hauler in my yard. I don't know what it will feel like, seeing that reminder of our failure again.

I know our entire team was despondent in the aftermath of the engine taking a great steaming dump on the track on Saturday. Twice. We all had so much time, money, and effort riding on this. And right now, even a week later, it just seems like so much of a waste. Last year, I rebuilt that engine. I took hundreds and hundreds of disparate metal and rubber pieces, cleaned them, polished them, greased and oiled them, put them all together and torqued them, and made an engine. I harnessed gasoline and oxygen, swirled them together perfectly, and transferred their power into fire, and that fire into motion. There's a feeling you get when you build an engine, put that engine into a car, push the button, hear the starter, and see your creation come to life. There's a feeling of pride you have in that same engine running for nearly 14 hours straight, as this one did in last fall's race. And, apparently, there's a third feeling- the feeling you have when that engine, through either a careless mistake or a deliberate act of sabotage, is no more. Birth. Life. Death. A metaphor for our own existence.

Now the only question left is, where do we go from here?