Once inside the room, Dad headed for the shower. I decided to call Boone, "Where are you guys"?
"Putting on tires, getting ready to roll"
"Geez, are you ever gonna make it"?
"Yeah, hope so".
"When you get to 54, just go over to 75 and head on up here, that 31 is a pain, lot's of switchbacks, probably cost you 20 or 30 minutes, I'd just skip it".
"Ok, we'll look at it. Where are you"?
"Just landed in the motel, we'll probably sleep about 4 hours, then get around".
"Ok, what time do they start running"?
"3 or so, get up here"!
I set the alarm for 11:30, dropped my clothes in a pile and bear hugged a pillow..I think Dad asked if I was showering, but maybe that was just a dream...


The alarm was superceded about 15 minutes early by the sound of a raspy, barely mufflered engine coming to life somewhere just outside our door. I sat up in bed immediately, years of racing NHRA Divisionals and Nationals had conditioned that reaction. My class Super Street, were usually 2nd out to start the morning. Stock is always first, and Stock racers are notorious and fastidious about getting thier cars to operating temp before they run. You could curl up in your trailer or truck and fall fast asleep without a care in the world, because you knew the next sound you were going to hear was 4 or 5 stockers firing to life within 50 yards of your pit spot, an hour before your call to the lanes!
Dad didn't budge, years of sleeping in crowded truckstops with semi's pulling in and out constantly meant he wasn't waking up until someone stuck him in the ribs. I turned off the alarm and took a shower.
We walked out of the motel into an overcast, cold day, the moisture just seemed to hang in the air. I thumbed toward the Denny's sign a block away, "Breakfast"?
"You Bet"!