When the full weight of the Charger's front end jumped onto the trailer, the hitch jumped off the ball, and the momentum of a 4400lb. car being pushed by 4 guys shoved the trailer forward until the upturned hitch tried to impale the tailgate on Darren's fancy 2013 sport truck. As soon as it made contact with the back of the truck, Dad jumped from behind the back of the Charger, started throwing his hands in the air, and let loose a litany of loud profanity, while Darren simply stepped away with a chuckle and a shrug. I was quite puzzled with the reactions from the two until Darren stepped closer to me and said almost comically, "I gave the old man ONE job! He decided he would hook the trailer to the truck". Now that the silver R/T was reduced to just another work Dodge at that point, we re-centered the hitch on the ball, latched it this time, and pushed the Charger on successfully. Dad then came over to me and animatedly complained about James whipping the wheel back and forth going on the trailer.
Finally, we had our seven vehicle convoy ready to roll, and we made it the 1/8 of a mile across the street to the pilot in order to fuel up and ice up the coolers, hit the bathrooms, get snacks, all that fun stuff. There were at least 10 or more other Drag Week cars in the lot, which is normal for the closest gas station from any departing race facility.
John looked at me after a while, "I'm ready to get rollin', get some miles under our belt!"
Me too, "I agreed, "let's go...the rest will catch up to us soon enough!"
The one thing you learn quick on this deal, is that if you are in a group of three or more cars, it doesn't make sense to always wait around, and try to run nose to tail. All that does is waste time for everybody. It's easier just to leap frog along, stay in phone contact, and only wait for each other at a checkpoint or something.
I had consulted the route sheet, and the first checkpoint was only 40 miles away, so It would be pretty hard to get split up in only that short of a distance!
I fired up the Valiant, pulled out on Il-203, and handed Aaron the route sheet.
"Where are we going?" He asked as he casually looked at the sheet.
"I don't have a clue...you're the navigator, you tell me!"
He sat up a little straighter in his seat grasped the sheet in one hand, and fired up his phone in the other, "Uhh...take a right on this cloverleaf, we want I-70 east!"
I pulled the Valiant into the afternoon traffic, and noticed John was back a couple vehicles behind me, but I didn't see anyone else in my smallish rear view mirror.
"What's normal on this gauge?" Aaron was asking as he pointed at the water temp.
"There is no normal...it's all bad", I explained, raising my voice over the sound of the small block at 2800 rpm.
"All bad?" he repeated.
"Pretty much, but if we can hold it in the 210 range, I'm OK with that!"

We weren't ten miles in when we passed Jim Forbes (squirrel, Moparts) sitting on the shoulder with his 62 AWB Chevy II. He gave a half-hearted wave as we drove by.
"The guys drive that thing all the way from Arizona, and break down ten miles into Drag Week, DANG!"