PHOTO: Team VMM with what they could salvage after 217 laps at Airborne last Sunday. L-R: T.J., Anthony, Justin, Rose, Ricky, Brittni, and Piche. (Bill Fountain/VMM photo)

It seemed like a great idea, and it was: A six-hour endurance race at Airborne Speedway, run in the same fashion as the 24 Hours of Daytona or LeMans with driver changes, a slalom course, and a “less is more” strategy.

I had an old car — a 2001 Oldsmobile Alero, four doors, automatic, 129,000 miles, and totally awesome — sitting in the yard (courtesy of the lovely Rose) and I located a roll cage, some basically-brand-new seat belts, a garage to work in, a truck and tow dolly, and some people to drive the thing. We were going racing.

That’s the simple version of the story, of course. The reality was that it was anything but simple, a true extension of my previous five-year driving career. The race was announced in July, but I, being me, waited until September 12 — six days before the race — to start working on the car.

Chris Burnett, a high school buddy of mine who happens to field a winning Sportsman car at Thunder Road for Jason Corliss and is a long-time member of Brian Hoar’s American-Canadian Tour teams, was the key to all of this. Chris has supported Vermont Motorsports Magazine since the very beginning through his C&S Screenprinting company in Richmond, and was the one who supplied the cage, belts, shop, and vinyl graphics — all at no charge. What’s more, he volunteered three or four long nights’ worth of work away from his wife and kids to put the car together with me.

We also got help along the way from Jason “The Pich’” Piche and his girlfriend/my roommate, Brittni Simmons, and my lady, Rose. Pich’ and Brit were on the driver roster, as were VMM guys T.J. Ingerson and Ricky St. Clair, webmaster and race geek Anthony Sweet, and myself.

John Walker of Rent-A-Wreck over in Plattsburgh, N.Y., and Jamy Begor of Begor’s Supply in Mooers Forks, N.Y., also tacked on a few sponsorship dollars, and Begor loaned his racing suit, helmet, gloves, and shoes to Ricky.

Really, the car came together pretty quickly. We had a couple of space issues getting the cage in the car, but a quick cut here, weld there, hammer in another place, and we had a car built and ready to go. Rose painted it up like the Milk Bowl beauty queen on Saturday morning, and things were looking pretty good.

That’s when my dumbness took over.

The shop and race car were in Hinesburg. The tow dolly was an hour away in Milton. I live in Winooski, somewhere in the middle. Circumstances being what they were — mostly in part to my poor planning but also due to the fact that I was borrowing everything including the truck (okay, it was a Ford Explorer) — I was at the mercy of the time clock.

I decided it’d be a fine idea for me to wait until Sunday morning, the day of the race, to pick up the tow dolly. This meant that after a long night at Bear Ridge on Saturday — and I almost never make it home from Bear Ridge without having to take a nap on the side of the road somewhere, this particular trip included — I was running on empty before the day even began.

At 5:22am, fresh from my roadside slumber at the Waterbury rest area on I-89, I awoke the fair Rose and let her know that race day had arrived and that I was about to pick her up. We got to my house in Winooski, only to find that the Explorer, which belonged to my roommate, Brittni, was missing its keys. Turns out, after calling to wake her up, too, she had them with her at Piche’s house. So up the street we went to get the keys.

We get back to my house and fire up the Explorer, then we head up to Milton for the tow dolly. A stop at Dunkin’ Donuts (sorry, Dave, there wasn’t a Subway open!) was a much needed side trip. We got to the house of The Great Bob Maynard and hooked up the dolly, only for me to run over something that caused Rose’s coffee to take flight and spill itself all over creation. So back to Dunkie’s we went for a replacement, and then on to Richmond, where we planned to meet Chris to pick up the vinyl graphics that C&S made for us.

We made it to the shop in pretty good time — 8:00ish? — and were excited to get loaded up and on our way to Airborne, but we had a plan to meet Ed White at 9:30 in Grand Isle and pick up some tires, so we had to get a move on.

That’s when I realized I left the key to the shop door at my house, 30 minutes away.

Are. You. Kidding me.

Rose and I each grabbed our phones and frantically began dialing the numbers of Brittni, The Pich’, Anthony, T.J., and Ricky (our driver lineup) to break the news to them, and I called Ed to make sure he didn’t sit at the sandbar in Grand Isle for two hours waiting. Luckily, I convinced Anthony to pick the keys up and bring them to us. Problem was, either I gave bad directions or he missed the sign, but he ended up in Starksboro.

Rose and I decided to wait by the side of the road for Anthony to flag him down. That, of course, was when the kitten showed up. Kitten, as in, very small cat.

Tiny, frail, and presumably left for dead by some jerk, this little kitten, maybe six weeks old, came crawling out of the grass by the mailbox we were standing near with the most pitiful meow we’d ever heard. Seriously, the little guy probably couldn’t have survived another 24 hours like he was. We scooped him up and dried him off, and just as Anthony arrived, Rose ran door-to-door trying to find a home for out new friend.

Anthony and I went to work unlocking the shop and loading the car up (which, of course, took all of ten minutes), and Rose came trampling out of the bushes just as we finished. (The people in the fourth house took the kitty in and promised Rose they’d find him a home.)

Off we went back to Winooski, where our team was waiting. We piled into the Explorer and T.J.’s car, and finally at 10:40am (80 minutes before the green flag), we left for Plattsburgh. A quick stop for gas in the race car and the truck, a quick stop in the islands to meet Ed (who donated some brand spanking new tires), and we were at the ferry dock to get across Lake Champlain at about 11:20, 40 minutes from race time.

After a few moments waiting at the dock, we got on the boat. That’s when we realized that the car hadn’t been lettered yet, so six of us (minus Ricky, since he lives in New York and was on time at the track at 10:00am) popped out of our rigs and got to work. Anthony had a door number, Brit had one, I had the roof number, T.J and Rose grabbed sponsor decals, and Pich’ — naturally — documented the whole thing on video. Most of the passengers on the front half of the boat watched in amazement at the beehive of activity swarming around this Oldsmobile Alero painted like a cow, most of them cheering us on. Or swearing at us. I couldn’t tell.

The ferry ride takes 12 minutes. We got the car lettered in 11. Yahtzee.

By the time we got off the boat, though, it was 11:45-ish. It takes just shy of 20 minutes to get to Airborne Speedway from the dock. The race, remember, started at noon. You do the math.

We began contacting Ricky to tell him to reserve a scoring transponder for us and to let the officials know we were on our way, then decided that I’d get in the car for the first 30-minute driving stint. We pulled into the parking lot at 12:01, and sure enough, there were cars circling the race track. We sprang out of our vehicles to sign in at the gate and frantically unload the car… in the parking lot.

I strapped in and fired up the car — stopping at the pit gate, of course, to show the gate guard my pit pass and to get a stamp on hand — and then drove to the tech building for a quick inspection. We passed, and off I went onto a race course I’d never seen, littered with tire barriers and obstacles that created a nine-turn road course.

And, of course, being all jacked up on adrenaline and not knowing anything about the track or how the car would drive, I wrecked on the fourth lap of a six-hour race.

I plowed into a car, spun mine around, tore the nose off, and messed up a tire barrier. Just like it was 2002 all over again.

In the pits, the team had been busy getting everything out of the parking lot and moved into a pit stall, and hadn’t even seen the race track yet. And here I come, driving up to them asking them to fix what I broke. That’s also when I alerted them that my little detour broke the power steering.

Just awesome.

I got back on the track, only to be black flagged a number of times because the transponder wasn’t registering when I crossed the start/finish line, and also because I ran over a couple tires. We pitted probably six times before my turn was over behind the wheel.

I came in — totally exhausted, but loving every single second of my time — and T.J. strapped in. T.J. raced Tigers and Street Stocks back in the day, so he knew what he was doing and did just fine, except for dumping the leader. And running over the tire.

Ricky, who was more nervous than he’d ever been in his life, was next up. Turns out, we found ourselves a racer. The Cadyville Comet was just as smooth as his Twitter handle suggests, and he really was pretty impressive.

Brit was up next and was solid. Anthony was fast, but had a brake problem… meaning he didn’t use them… and spun out our friend Eddy Companion. Pich’ never quite got up to speed, but he also stayed out of trouble and didn’t wreck anything. Rose was our cheerleader, time keeper, and pit-stop-driver-change-waver-inner.

Everything was basically going wonderfully, and we were running fine. Then I got back in the car. Two laps in I was back in the pits, and we were done for the day. I was fast — I really was — but I misjudged one of the chicanes on the frontstretch and bounced off a tire barrier, which bent the right-front tie rod beyond the point of our repair capabilities.

Rather than wreck the car, we decided to pack it in and head to the Ground Round for some dinner, which was actually almost as much fun.

All told, our team turned 217 laps and finished 12th. It wasn’t a bad showing for a team that showed up after the race began, spent half the day in the pits, and retired from the race two-and-a-half hours early.

I’d do the race again tomorrow if there was another one, and I’m proud of my team for not leaving me.

Special thanks to Airborne Speedway, Chris Burnett of C&S Screenprinting, Rent-A-Wreck, Begor’s Supply, and Ground Round for not throwing us out. We’ll be back.

–Justin St. Louis

(P.S.: Thanks to “Wild” Bill Fountain — yup, that Bill Fountain — for taking the team photo for us!)

***

What did I get myself into?

That was the question I was asking myself as I walked outside of the Vermont Motorsports Magazine headquarters, seeing an unnumbered car sitting there that looked like a Holstein.

Should I mention that this was almost two hours after we were scheduled to leave?

I grabbed co-driver Anthony Sweet and we took off following the unnumbered Oldsmobile Alero, aka #VMMOldsmobomber, toward the Grand Isle ferry crossing. And the clock was ticking.

Our team sprang into action as we hit the ferry and started applying the numbers and sponsors. And as I walked to get scissors, I noticed we had an audience. A rather large audience. I don’t think we had to tell them how close in time that we were cutting it; they realized it. And so did I.

Off the ferry, down I-87, onto the race track property. Unload the car? Check. Where? In the parking lot. We sent Justin on his way and made our way with our un-mounted spare tires, jack, and gas to find a parking spot inside the pit area. I thought we had at least a few minutes to try to get organized and changed into our racing attire.

Well, I was wrong. It couldn’t have been five minutes and here comes Justin in with a bumper dragging. Really? You’ve only been out there for a few minutes!

Wait, we’re talking about Justin, who by his own admission has wrecked his fair share of race cars.

Off comes the bumper five minutes after we get there. Oh, and he also ruined the power steering, too. A few more adjustments due to the transponder and we had succeeded in having a successful first run (less the lack of power steering).

I was up. I wedge myself into the car, get strapped in and get going. The first lap was smooth sailing. I even got faster on the second lap. But quickly, thanks to our fearless leader ruining the power steering, my arms were getting tired. I was sitting far away, too, so thinking quickly, I jumped down pit road and made a seating adjustment. The fix? A pillow.

I felt like I was getting quicker and quicker. Then I started tiring, again. Dang I’m a wuss. And here comes the fastest car on the track. I know he’s there, but dang he’s being impatient. And then we go through the first right hander on the frontstretch.

A quick bang, and off my bumper goes the No. 00 car and through the tires I go. Neither of us made that chicane. I get going again, everything seems fine, I pit for my penalty and get the car checked over.

I’m recharged, or so I feel. I’m catching cars and see a few in front of me and I start planning my move. If I can get the car pointed quickly down the backstretch, I can out-brake him! Only if I could make it to the backstretch.

Over the big tractor tire I go. Wreck number three (for those counting at home) for team VMM. This one felt way worse than the first one. But I get the all clear and off I go again.

A few more successful laps and I’m done. And I’m exhausted. I haven’t been in a racecar for four years, and I could feel it. But it felt good to be back in the car again, so as I sat down, it may have been the best exhausted feeling ever.

Mr. Ricky Smooth did an excellent job, and truth be told, he was the BEST driver out of all of us. Brittni did a great job as well, as did Pich’. Oh, and Anthony as well, when he wasn’t dumping the competition, who happened to be our friends.

Justin went back out and I was preparing for stint number two, and he broke it. But, what an excellent day. An extremely fun day. And a day I would do over again in a heartbeat.

–T.J. Ingerson

***

I was asked earlier this week to write up a summary describing my first-time experience behind the wheel of a stock car on Sunday afternoon at Airborne Speedway.
However, the feelings I encountered during my 30 minutes on the half-mile are unexplainable.

Without any practice time or really any preparation, I strapped into the No. 11 automobile with only two things in mind — hammer on the throttle and wheel the car around the track as fast as I possibly could.

After maneuvering around the tricky course littered with large tractor tires and cones, I managed to break into a rhythm after roughly five laps. Yet, little did I know that things were about to get interesting in a hurry.

I managed to catch up to a group of cars that had a significant lead on me during the early stages of my time on the track. With absolutely no experience passing actual race cars on a race track, I began analyzing different lines I could take to help break even with the cars in front of me.

I ventured my way up to the top side of the track on a road course that featured one preferred line — the bottom. I was in complete shock when I not only went side-by-side with the competitor underneath me, but when I successfully made the pass on him too!

Ladies and gentleman, that is what I would have to consider the coolest feeling I came across. Passing a car on the outside lane on a track that had one preferred line. I must have some sort of driving talent, right?

And it didn’t only happen one time, but twice! I elected to try the outside once again and completed the pass as if I was a wily veteran.

The noise, particles of rubber flying around in mid-air, the smell of burning brake pads, and the edge of your seat awareness in the car is something I’ll never forget. It’s something that I’ve never felt in any other sport I’ve ever played.

Although my time was cut short with one 30-minute interval, I still had a blast. I’m also happy that my five respective teammates had just as much fun as I did.

I hope Justin sends an invite my way next year when Airborne Speedway has another edition of their 6-hour endurance race. Without him and Jamy Begor for letting me borrow his fire suit, helmet, and gloves none of this would have been possible.

Until next year, I’ll be waiting for another go around.

–Ricky St. Clair