Ok, ok, ok! Would you get to your point?

Fair enough. As a reader you’ve been patient to accommodate. I’ll expend my best effort to say plainly concerning the point of drag racing.

That is, the entire package: the years of absorption, a type of apprenticeship, the nuances of basic high-performance engine maintenance. That is, how to “read” sparkplugs to tell which cylinders are too rich, or too lean with fuel. Or how to check the crankshaft bearings, to see if any are blackened from overheating. How to remove and replace a cylinder head, the sequence of securing the bolts, to specified levels of torque… That is a mere scratch of the surface, the months of tutoring alongside a friend or family member who “knows”, and then learning-by-doing, in-dwelling the skills, the delicate touch.

Not to be overlooked is the sacrifice, the accumulation of funds necessary to purchase a chassis and body. That’s the beginning, the initial  investment. What follows is the planning of the engine and transmission combination, the engine short-block can be purchased, the parts acquired and carefully assembled yourself. Or you can contract with a professional engine builder to do it for you.

Next the engine and transmission is to be installed in the chassis, and perhaps you must design and build a custom mount for the engine. Race car construction is a step-by-step process of improvisation. Similar to all of life, lessons are learned by trial and error. There’s no short cut to experience. The work demands attention, care, an eye for detail, an appreciation for beauty.

I’ve only played with the edge of the matter. An entire chronicle could be written to describe the heart, the dedication of time and finances  required to finish a pro-modified drag car that is strip-ready.

All of this I have observed, and it is knowledge second hand. What I know from my own experience is the thrill of elation every time I have watched a crew member fire a race engine, often with a spritz of gasoline into the butterfly intake of the blower, while the driver spins the engine over, the magneto adds fire to the plugs – the engine comes alive as if a beast built for a single purpose: to make power from fuel and air instantaneously. With that ear piercing note, your body instinctively steps back but you are curious to move closer.  A crew chief and driver, by careful preparation have tuned the chassis, the rear suspension, to deliver a surge of horsepower and torque to the track surface, accelerating the car and driver toward the timing lights at a speed of over 200 miles per hour.

To tell the truth about all of this: when the start bulb flashes green, there’s almost nothing at all that can be done. The principles of physics determine the outcome of the pass. Exercise of will, “free” choice if you will, is negligible in the thunderous passage from starting line to finish line timing lights. The driver though, is playing with life, his/her life to maintain the center of the lane, for the seconds of wild acceleration and then to deploy the parachutes. A driver needs ice-water in their veins. It’s not, just another job.

Well, – I’ll ask you again. What is the point?

There is no point.

No point other than pure serendipity, “just for fun”, for the “rush,” the awe filled, the awful stakes of being involved. I must not neglect to mention the beauty of a machine engineered for maximum acceleration. The sheet metal body aerodynamically sculpted, then painted to express the race team’s passion, intention and mood.

Not everything in life is instrumental.

Fate and play are not unrelated.