Dawn of Saturday (one week ago, the night after University Avenue) arrived, fresh and rosy-fingered. I hooked up with my buddy Eric for the ride to Rock Falls, Wisconsin. We planned on meeting one of Eric’s friends, Lyle, in Hudson, WI. Eric has a Grand Prix GTP and Lyle has a Fiero with a GTP (3800 SC) motor. They were eager to see how their cars would do on the drag strip. Only one thing stood between them and quarter-mile bliss: helmets.

To race at Rock Falls, one must wear a helmet. Eric planned on wearing Lyle’s helmet. Unfortunately, when all three of us were in the East Metro, Lyle phoned to say that he forgot his helmet. He suggested that new helmets be purchased accross the river in Hudson. Hmmm… where does one purchase a helmet in Hudson at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning? For that matter, what store is open at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday in Hudson? Ah-ha! Fleet Farm! Sure enough, the Hudson Fleet Farm was open (filled with throngs of people, no less) and sold helmets. DOT-certified helmets, that is. Why would this be of concern? For Rock Falls, as with almost all sanctioned amateur motorsports, a helmet must be Snell approved. If a helmet does not bear a Snell sticker, it cannot be used for racing. For a variety of reasons, mere DOT certification is insufficient. This presented a problem: where else can one procure helmets at (now) 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday in Hudson? Time to whip out the ‘ol cell phone to consult the wireless web. After a quick visit to the yellow pages, we ascertained that St. Croix Outpost was open, in Hudson, and carried Snell-rated helmets. After a quick stop there, we continued on our way.

Rock Falls was filled with cars. Nowhere near capacity, mind you, but a healthy showing nonetheless. Almost all of the cars racing were trailered in, tuned as dedicated drag vehicles. The GTP and Fiero felt decidedly out of place. Eric and Lyle did some runs, came back, iced down the superchargers, and watched the big guns go by. Among others, we saw a 9.2 second modified snowmobile, a 9.4 second Hayabusa, many 10-second muscle cars, and an 8.8 second top-fuel-esque dragster. V-8 power dominated the day, which, as an aside, was warm, humid, and sunny. The Fiero ran a best of 12.92s, and Eric would rather I not mention his E/T :-). I took several photos of the event (sorry about the low quality!).

It was a fun time, and I’m glad I went.

Friday night in Minnesota. The sky is clear, temperature about 80 degrees. Absolutely beautiful weather. Even better, the mosquitoes haven’t hatched yet, giving an evening free of buzzing, biting, and welts.

A group of my friends and I got together, destination unknown, time unheeded. Eventually we ended up on University Avenue in St. Paul. We were not alone: thousands of people young and old converged on the street. Porky’s Drive In was the central gathering spot, but the throngs extended several blocks in either direction. Resonating through the hearts and souls of all present was a love of cars. Cars everywhere, mingling with the masses. Old cars, new cars – show cars, go cars. The marques – Ferrari, Porsche, DeLoarian, Chevy, Ford – became one with the buzzwords – big block, supercharger, nitrous oxide. The sweet smell of exhaust wafted by, periodically garnished by the odor of burnt rubber. Hot Rods, ‘Stangs, and imports cruised up and down the street, which led to the occasional stoplight skirmish. Not to be outdone, the motorcycle comminity made a strong showing, arriving with speed and style on their cruisers and crotch rockets. We were lost in the crowd yet accepted like family. Everyone was happy to be there, happy to be living life. There was a youthful exuberance in the air — an innocence, a reminder of simpler times, days of yore. This was perfection, the acme of existence. This was America.

Eventually we departed, but not before making plans to reconvene the following morning. Destination: the quarter-mile track in Rock Falls, Wisconsin.

Summer is upon us.

I returned to Minnesota last weekend on the tail of a grueling finals week. I convinced myself to go home with less than half of my possessions in tow. At about 4:30 p.m., after a brief segue to the Indianapolis airport, I began the journey. Things went very smoothly, a lack of CD changer notwithstanding, until halfway through Wisconsin. More than a land of cheese and beer, Wisconsin is home to a notoriously watchful state patrol.

I was cruising along in the Bonneville at a brisk 80 m.p.h. clip, enjoying the night and singing along to Counting Crows. As I entered a wooded stretch of freeway, I found my path occupied by a lethargic pack of cars. Not wanting to disengage cruise control, I swiftly changed to the high-speed lane. The moon shone brightly above, casting a soft glow over the pavement. My mind was wandering, off in places unknown yet still conscious of my driving. I recall thinking about how well my recently repaired fog lights lit the unknown ahead.

What’s that? Amber parking lights in the forested high-speed median? That could only mean… BRAKES! BRAKES! Maybe he didn’t see me. Maybe he’s holding out for a ‘bigger fish.’ Maybe… On flash the headlights. Red sparkles the cherry top. I’m going down; it’s obvious he caught me. I’d better move over in preparation for the inevitable. He’s gaining speed — I drop well below the limit. Closer and closer the red and blue fury becomes, until — no, it can’t be. The vehicle previously astern me is on the shoulder, and there behind it is the stopped cruiser. I guess it wasn’t my time.

Skip ahead in time one week to last Friday night.

After nearly a month long hiatus, I’ve returned. What’s new? Well…

• My car, along with seven others, got totaled by a guy in a Chevy Avalanche.
• As my old car was inoperable, I got a new car, very similar in apperance to the old one.
• I was voted into my Fraternity’s executive committee, as the secretary
• I will turn 20 in less than half an hour. Strange to think that I will no longer be a teenager. Where does the time go?
• I am still without a job for the summer.

Overall, things are going well. Last Friday I flew back to Minnesota to pick up my new car. The next morning, I left Minnesota and drove back to Indiana. After about an hour, I boarded a charter bus along with the rest of my Brothers to go to St. Louis for a banquet. The banquet was held on a riverboat on the Mississippi. Although the boat was nice, the banquet seemed short given the distance traveled. Overall, I’m glad I went.

My car is no more. Rest in peace, Bonneville.

The story thus far