Sometime during the summer of 1979 or possibly 1980 several Colorado sprint car regulars, myself included, towed up to Black Hills Speedway in Rapid City South Dakota. I can't recall all of the names of the drivers but one person that I do recall is a fellow driver by the name of Harold Mainard. The picture shown below was taken in the infield of the speedway. Harold's car number 50 is shown in the picture along with my number 4w. As I recall it was a fairly uneventful event except for one thing that happened during the race.
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The race was held during the early afternoon of a very hot summer day and I, to this day, cannot remember seeing a water truck even once. It didn't take very long for the track to get as slick as an ice rink. I don't recall any problems with being able to see because of dust issues; maybe we slicked it off so hard there just wasn't anymore dust to be made or maybe the wind was right and whatever dust there might have been was blown away before it got up into our line of sight I don't know.
I think every driver there spun out at least once me included. One of my spin-outs (assuming I had more than one which is likely) took place coming off of two that's right, I said OFF of two in fact, way off of two about midway down the back stretch to be honest. I don't know how one spins out in the middle of the back stretch but trust me, I managed.
Here's where things got interesting - but first let me explain to those that might be door slammer aficionados, or otherwise might not be knowledgeable of the workings of a Sprint Car or Midget; to wit: they don't have starters, and they don't have clutches folks. You don't just crank them up and drive out of danger. If you are in some part of a banked turn, and you are turned the right way, you might be able to snap the in/out box loose and roll to the infield, but if you are sitting (cross-ways) in the middle of the very flat back stretch at Black Hills Speedway in Rapid City South Dakota, you get to sit right where you are until a push truck comes to your rescue.
Now I've had my share of watching the little missiles (other race cars) coming at me while sitting dead still in the middle of a track and I'm here to tell you, one never gets quite used to it. Now I don't want to come off as overly dramatic about all this because it's usually not all that much of a problem; the yellow is thrown, you hold your breath for a bit while a few cars pass within an inch or two of you at breakneck speed, or at worst (usually) they see you at the last moment, swerve to try and avoid you, and instead slide sideways into you. Sometimes that's not too bad, and at other times, well . . . you get the point. Whatever the outcome, when the push truck can safely get on the track you will be pushed off, go to the back of the pack, and start over when they get everyone lined up and throw the green again.
So there I sat slap dab in the middle of the back stretch and cross-ways on top of it. I naturally sat with my head turned so I could watch the cars coming toward me off of two at, flat out, full tilt, race speed, and they kept coming, and coming, and coming. I don't recall how many times I saw some of the same cars more than once but it was enough to make me realize that something was not exactly right. When this realization came into focus in my somewhat confused state of mind I had cause to turn my head in the direction of the flag stand which was of course clear across the infield and along the front stretch.
What I saw was a sight to behold and one I will never forget. The flagman was vigorously waving the yellow flag with one hand AND the GREEN FLAG with the other. All I could think was what the hell does that mean. I can tell you what my fellow racers thought it meant; go faster! That's what.
Somewhere along the way my friend Harold Mainard who was not racing that particular heat ran from out of the infield and across the front stretch to reach the flag stand. Upon getting within earshot of the flagman he shouted, What are you doing! What does yellow AND green mean! The man replied in a shout it means continue racing, but race with caution - to which Harold replied: Caution hell! We race with reckless abandon! Throw the damn yellow!
He did, and here I sit more than thirty years later writing this little story for you.
The race was held during the early afternoon of a very hot summer day and I, to this day, cannot remember seeing a water truck even once. It didn't take very long for the track to get as slick as an ice rink. I don't recall any problems with being able to see because of dust issues; maybe we slicked it off so hard there just wasn't anymore dust to be made or maybe the wind was right and whatever dust there might have been was blown away before it got up into our line of sight I don't know.
I think every driver there spun out at least once me included. One of my spin-outs (assuming I had more than one which is likely) took place coming off of two that's right, I said OFF of two in fact, way off of two about midway down the back stretch to be honest. I don't know how one spins out in the middle of the back stretch but trust me, I managed.
Here's where things got interesting - but first let me explain to those that might be door slammer aficionados, or otherwise might not be knowledgeable of the workings of a Sprint Car or Midget; to wit: they don't have starters, and they don't have clutches folks. You don't just crank them up and drive out of danger. If you are in some part of a banked turn, and you are turned the right way, you might be able to snap the in/out box loose and roll to the infield, but if you are sitting (cross-ways) in the middle of the very flat back stretch at Black Hills Speedway in Rapid City South Dakota, you get to sit right where you are until a push truck comes to your rescue.
Now I've had my share of watching the little missiles (other race cars) coming at me while sitting dead still in the middle of a track and I'm here to tell you, one never gets quite used to it. Now I don't want to come off as overly dramatic about all this because it's usually not all that much of a problem; the yellow is thrown, you hold your breath for a bit while a few cars pass within an inch or two of you at breakneck speed, or at worst (usually) they see you at the last moment, swerve to try and avoid you, and instead slide sideways into you. Sometimes that's not too bad, and at other times, well . . . you get the point. Whatever the outcome, when the push truck can safely get on the track you will be pushed off, go to the back of the pack, and start over when they get everyone lined up and throw the green again.
So there I sat slap dab in the middle of the back stretch and cross-ways on top of it. I naturally sat with my head turned so I could watch the cars coming toward me off of two at, flat out, full tilt, race speed, and they kept coming, and coming, and coming. I don't recall how many times I saw some of the same cars more than once but it was enough to make me realize that something was not exactly right. When this realization came into focus in my somewhat confused state of mind I had cause to turn my head in the direction of the flag stand which was of course clear across the infield and along the front stretch.
What I saw was a sight to behold and one I will never forget. The flagman was vigorously waving the yellow flag with one hand AND the GREEN FLAG with the other. All I could think was what the hell does that mean. I can tell you what my fellow racers thought it meant; go faster! That's what.
Somewhere along the way my friend Harold Mainard who was not racing that particular heat ran from out of the infield and across the front stretch to reach the flag stand. Upon getting within earshot of the flagman he shouted, What are you doing! What does yellow AND green mean! The man replied in a shout it means continue racing, but race with caution - to which Harold replied: Caution hell! We race with reckless abandon! Throw the damn yellow!
He did, and here I sit more than thirty years later writing this little story for you.