You had me believing that for a moment.

After the first eighty cars in thirty-five minutes of the SME session, I began to see guys coming back for a second run. That meant there were at least twenty-five cars in that class that weren't ready to enter the lanes when the group was initially called, with Rachael and the Shelby Dodge Auto Club guys among them.

Like his Uncle, Dillon Ogle had to return for another attempt after smoking the tires and getting his dad's Yellow Cuda completely out of shape in the first sixty feet. His second attempt was a 12.05 at only 98 mph, but he elected to take it and move on towards Martin. Susan Slater's Scat Pack 2015 Challenger ran a 12.35-111 to match the 12.36 she had turned in at National Trail, and Craig Douglas' 2015 Hellcat Charger went 10.40-132 in a heads-up race against Jay Williams' 2013 Nickey ZL-1 Camaro which lost with a 10.71-132.

Rachael ran an 11.97-113 on her first attempt in the Belvedere, and she was ready to go turn in her slip, but I told her to run again.
"Dad, I have no shot at the quick 32, and nothing to prove, so why do I need a better run? We took an 11.95 yesterday", she explained, as she waved the time slip at me.
"The best five day average for the Belvedere is 11.96, on the first year you drove it. You know the brothers and I are probably going to still be making runs when they cut off the back of the lanes, so you might as well take another crack at it, because I want a better average this year!"

I had the quick latch repaired and the grille almost screwed back in place when Darren finally arrived at the track and offered to help me.
"I thought you would be out here before us since you actually got some sleep last night!"
"Would've been", Darren explained, "But Dale called and asked us to drive over to your motel and pick up little Billy's phone and charger."
"That was a good little drive, I'd have just left it there and asked them to mail it to him".
Darren laughed, "Good idea, but he was the one who took the checkpoint pictures, so Boone and Dale needed that phone to turn in their time slips".
"Wow, that could have been interesting", I shook my head.
We looked up as all six of the angry little Mopar four cylinder cars headed toward the lanes nose to tail.

Only three of the SDAC group made it down before a third gen Camaro in the other lane dropped trans fluid on the first 120 feet of the track. Ordinarily you would expect that to upset guys who hadn't made it to the lanes yet, but we were hoping it meant Lonnie Grimm would extend the amount of track time available because of the clean-up.

In the relative quiet while they worked on the track I heard Boone yell at Billy to shut off the fuel. I looked up to see him once again standing next to the passenger's fender with his fuel jug, and the drain line once again attached to the return on the log style regulator.
"Did you fill the engine with fuel again?" I asked as I walked over, and noticed that the breather was off the carb.
"No", Boone shook his head, "I had my eye on the vents, and told him to shut it down when fuel shot out."
"Find another way, Boone", I growled through clenched teeth.
"I just don't understand why it won't work that way, it shouldn't be a problem."
"I don't know why, and I don't care why", I threw my hands in the air, "It's not working, so do something different!"

Rachael came back with a 12.36-111, so I told her to go back up for a third run, but she said she would follow me up, when I had the Valiant ready to go. It was only about twenty minutes after the call for the third all-run session went out that Rachael and I headed to the lanes, but it had already thinned out dramatically when we drove up.

I was a Molotov cocktail of nerves, sleepiness, sugar and caffeine when I rolled into the burnout box. As I staged, I decided to foot-brake the Valiant so I could have my hand on the shifter and my thumb poised on the nitrous button. The track was getting warmer and a little greasy at this point in the day and the Hoosiers weren't completely stuck at the launch. The Valiant body-rolled hard toward the passenger's side, and when I touched the button, it lifted the front tires and set them down well out of the groove. Suddenly I was headed for the center line, so I lifted off the nitrous and shifted to second as I cranked the wheel hard left to get it back straight in the groove. I grabbed the bottle again, but it popped and cracked all the the way through the top of second and the bottom of third, even when I lifted off the nitrous at eleven hundred feet, the engine never cleaned up to the finish line.
"What a pathetic, pathetic pass that was", I thought to myself as I drove up to the time-slip booth. 10.137-127.59 was not what I was looking for, but I didn't have time for major changes, so it might have to do.

Rachael walked up with a glum look on her face and handed me a 12.58-109.8, and a mumbled explanation that it just wasn't pulling hard.
"Let's see", I scratched my head as I looked at all the assembled numbers, "You went 11.93-115 yesterday, then 11.97-113, 12.36-111 then 12.58-109 today..."
"Yeah...and I wasn't like, lifting or anything, because it just doesn't feel real strong!"
My tuning abilities are questionable at best, I was far from being as cognitive as I needed to be, and my driver's input was vague, but even I could figure this one out.
"You need a fresh bottle in that pig!" I explained to her as I handed back the slips.

Fifteen minutes later, Boone pulled up in the Duster, and did a burnout across the starting line. He backed up to stage, then backed through the water box, parked next to the fence, and shut the engine off.
"What was that all about", Dad asked me as we were leaning against the fence to watch from our pit area.
"Not sure, but he never got out of the car, so it must be a problem with something inside."

My run had been a single, and Boone was staged by himself as well, but Dale pulled the Gremlin around beside Jeff Floyd and his 66 post Chevelle. We've known Jeff and his Dad, Gerald, for the better part of twenty years, since Gerald had ran his own machine shop and raced a 55 Chevy out of the same area we grew up in. They had been in constant contact with Dale, throughout the entire process of preparing for their own father/son adventure on Hot Rod Drag Week.
Dad and I hadn't expected a close race until half track, and we hadn't expected a smooth, non-violent leave for the Gremlin either, but that's what we watched. The board lit up 11.18-117 for the BB/NA Chevelle, and 10.13-140 for Dale in the Gremlin.
"What the heck was that?" Dad tossed his hands in the air.
"No nitrous, for some reason", I shook my head.
"That's all that 572 has?"
"That's all it has when it's running on 118 octane fuel, and the timing backed down! It left like a pig, and was rolling black smoke out from the eighth on, so it wasn't happy."

Boone pulled back into the water, and did a terrible burnout which barely rolled any smoke from the Hoosiers.

"Monte Smith relayed the story to us that this Duster was an old race car that the Gebharts sold off years ago, then it sat in a field for a long time until they had a chance to buy it back. They threw it together and here it is, with the field-borne nature of the car showing in those thin quarter-panels", Brian Lohnes announced.
"Yeah...those rusty quarters look like she has her skirt lifted up a bit, exposing some chassis!" David Freiburger added. These two make a bunch of street cars doing time runs way more entertaining than it would be otherwise.

The Duster pulled the driver's front tire, and made a small move towards the center line. Boone over-corrected to the point that he was out of the groove on the wall side before man-handling it back to the middle, he was late shifting to second, and early shifting to third. Yesterday it had popped and cracked from the moment he was on the bottle, this time it made it to eight hundred feet before it started mixing up cylinders, 10.13-130.
"So all three of you ran 10.13! Are we done?" Dad asked as we walked back over to our spot where Dale had just parked the Gremlin.
"Not by a long shot, Dad, the next twenty-five minutes of track time are about to get real interesting!"

Dale had only removed his helmet, and flagged me over to help him with the hood.
"What happened", I asked him as I lifted the hood up far enough that he could dive into the carb area with a small wrench.
"This stupid linkage isn't really long enough", he explained as he loosened it to make an adjustment. "So if I adjust it for comfortable idle position on the drive, it won't quite reach full throttle. I forgot to put it back when we arrived, and it wouldn't engage the micro-switch, so no N20!"
I started on the hood fasteners, as he jumped back in, and started putting on his belts.
"You going straight back up?"
"Yeah, I want to see if it works, at least!" He stuck his head out of the open door as he backed up, "Are you going to get another run?"
"I'm going to add some fuel jet on the N20 plate and see if that cleans it up any, then I'll try another one", I explained.
"Better hurry, not many cars up there, they may call it at straight up two o'clock!"

Rachael fired up the 440, let it idle then tagged the button on the shifter. The 440 snapped to four grand almost instantly.
"Oh, yeah...that's much better! I'm going to run up there and kick Uncle Dale's tail now", she added with a giggle as she headed towards the lane in pursuit of the white Gremlin.

Dale and Rachael pulled up to stage at 1:39 pm, exactly four minutes after Dale had staged for his first run. The nitrous applied at .01 after WOT on the Gremlin, and it blew the tires off and turned towards the tree. He lifted, gathered it up and directed it back to the groove, but when he jumped on the pedal again, it didn't engage the nitrous. Rachael had him at sixty foot 1.79-1.93, he was even with her at the 330 clocks when he lifted slightly and slammed the pedal once more, the nitrous hit and the engine changed pitch significantly as the Gremlin lurched ahead of the Belvedere. Dale's 330-1/8th interval was 2.11 to Rachael's 2.51, so he put four tenths on her in that section of the track.

The Gremlin tossed a 10.127 on the board with a booming 154.07 mph, and apparently Rachael was watching the Gremlin instead of paying attention to her own run.
"Lift Rachael, lift...it's on a good run", I implored her from the fence to no avail.
"11.41-114", Boone shook his head, I don't think she got off the bottle until she was in the traps!"
"You going to try another one?"
"I doubt it", Boone shook his head, "I wanted Dale to re-jet the carb on the Duster, but he's too busy trying to figure out the Gremlin, and I don't see a point to running again with it popping like that".
I don't understand why Boone always defers to Dale on the tune-up, he can build a 727 trans blindfolded so he should know his way around a Holley.
"I upped the fuel jet in my plate from 61 to 63...we'll see if that helps, and I think I'll try the trans-brake this time", I explained.
"My .13 covers yours right?" He asked with a wry smile as I walked back towards the Valiant.
"Yeah, your five to my seven, but that's about to change!"

Since it appears that all the G clan action starts after most of the other competitors are already on the road........ Without Billy's blow-by-blow account....... We wouldn't know just how much fun they're really having

stick around with them some time. it's a blast

Even though Brian Lohnes announced that we were "Down to all Gebharts, all the time" in the waning moments of track time, we weren't alone in making multiple passes in the final session.

Andre Miller has brought his baby blue 92 CK1500 Chevy short bed to Drag Week four years in a row. Running in the 11.60-11.80 range, he had no problem making the quick 32 in SME the first two years, but like most of us with no-bar cars it wasn't an option in 2016 as the number to make the field dropped into the 11.30 range. Andre didn't allow that to deter him from setting out to have the lowest possible average he could. He ran about nine passes in forty minutes until he recorded a perfect 11.500-119.2.

Dustin Gardner was absolutely abusing the transmission and converter in his 3rd gen back halved Camaro. It was driving through the converter so bad that it prompted David Freiburger to sarcastically ask after a poor launch, "Does that thing have a CVT trans in it?"
Dustin's answer was to make five runs in an hour, all mid 10.40 range at a tick over 130 mph, and somehow the trans fluid stayed in it!

Danny Roberts' rescue green 80 Malibu was the 2015 Street Race Small Block Champ. It averaged 9.52-141.8 to hold off Jason Tabscott's 75 Camaro which had a close 9.54-141.6 average. For 2016 Tabscott had returned with a new 70 Camaro, and the battle was on again. The Malibu left Columbus with 19 hundredths in the bank, but struggled mightily at Summit Motorsports Park, making quite a few half track runs before finally settling with a 9.55-137 that gave 9 hundredths back to the Camaro. Danny would leave Norwalk with his lead intact, but we were left to wonder if the effort to do so might come back to haunt him later in the week.

Finally we have Randy Franklin and his teal 64 4 speed Buick Skylark. My speculation is that he was in the stands with his buddies and one of them mentioned how many passes Andre had ran in a short time. Randy must've said something like, "Hold my beer and watch this", then proceeded to pound on the Buick for the last twenty minutes of available track time. He turned in a best of 11.68-116.8

Rachael drove right past our pits and straight back to the lanes. Seven minutes after she ran a too quick 11.41-114, she followed it up with a too quick 11.44 at only 97, completely off the gas for the last 300 feet! Now she was just abusing that poor 440, and we still didn't have a good number.

I staged the Valiant for my second run at 1:53 pm, and matted the throttle to put the small block against the 4K rev limiter. My right hand was inverted, palm out, with my thumb extended and pushing on the trans-brake button. When I released the button, my arm jerked up at the elbow as my hand rotated at the wrist, the end result of all this motion is that my hand ended up at side glass level, and it looked like I was giving the starter a thumbs up as I cleared the tree. The upward motion of my hand is mimicked by the front end of the Valiant, so I'm caught with my hand equal distance in the air from the shifter and the steering wheel. One side of my brain really wants both hands on the wheel while the other side knows we need to be on the shifter, and applying the nitrous. I located the shifter right before re-entry and grabbed the nitrous, then shifted to second. It pulled well through second, then started popping again in drive, but I ran it to the stripe anyway.
"It didn't feel like a nine", I thought to myself, " but it had to be better than the first run."
The time-slip read 10.22-130, which was a major disappointment, but I would have to sit down and dissect the intervals to figure out what was going on.

I sent Rachael back up when I arrived at our pit spot, but it was an anti-climactic finish to her day as she forgot to turn on the bottle and sputtered to a 13.06-93.

Dale and the Gremlin made their third attempt with just three minutes of track time remaining. He took my advice and rolled the timer for the the nitrous out a full second. The car left nice and straight and the transition to the bottle was smooth, even though it seemed to take forever. It was a nice, clean, straight run that lit up the board with a 9.18-155.

"Best MPH ever, for the Gremlin?" I asked Dad, and Boone as we stood at the fence.
"Pretty sure it was", Boone shrugged. "Did you ever put those sub-frame connectors in the Belvedere", Boone asked changing the subject.
"No", I smiled, "I had that set of Global West tubular ones forever, then I decided I wanted the laser cut US Car Tool ones that form fit along the floor board, so I ordered those, but haven't installed them yet."
"It's too late now...", Dad started laughing before he even finished his sentence.
"What do you mean?"
"You saw that 11.44 at only 97 Rachael ran", Boone questioned
"Yeah, but I just saw the score board, not the pass", I explained.
"She had that driver's side front tire just pawing at the air when she left!" Dad had his left hand a foot higher than his right to illustrate.
"Yeah", Boone agreed, nodding his head, "She had the old Plymouth twisted up like a pretzel!"
"How did that happen...it doesn't leave that hard."
"It does when she mashes that nitrous button at the hit", Boone laughed, "it was brutal!"
I hollered at Rachael to bring me her time slips, then thumbed through them until I found the run in question.
"1.549 sixty foot, good grief, she tried to kill it!"
"What is normal?" Dad asked, as he peered over my shoulder.
"Low 1.70's, occasionally a high 1.60 if she's on it quick, but this is ridiculous!"
"You should've drove it out the back Rach!" Boone laughed, "career best numbers right there!"
"It felt really good, I never get that many passes in a row, so I was just getting comfortable at the tree", she shrugged.
At my request, she brought me the log books from my satchel so I could crunch the numbers.
"OK, 7.029 at the eighth on that run. Her first run on DW15 she was late on the nitrous, but ran out the back door to an 11.41 at 122. That back half was 4.006, and the mph at the eighth was nearly identical. So it's perfectly reasonable to say the old girl could go 11.03-122 on a great pass!"
"But instead, you're turning in the first pass of the day that she made two hours ago", Boone shook his head.
Rachael shrugged, "I wanted to turn that one in and load up, but I guess Dad just wanted me to show him what the Belvedere was capable of!"

We decided to head to the tower and turn in our pictures and time slips, so as not to keep the Drag Week staff waiting any longer, since they had to make the trip to Michigan as well. I noticed people coming towards us with ice cream, and immediately looked over at my brothers.
"I haven't got my world famous Summit Motorsports Park pound of ice cream for a buck yet, perhaps we should do that first..."
"Naw! We'll get that after we turn in our slips", Boone and Dale answered in unison, so I followed their lead.

We walked out of the time slip room about ten minutes later with our official Drag Week time slips, and route sheets in hand. I looked at the back: 259 miles, ouch. Then I looked at the front and realized it was only 64 miles to the first checkpoint.
"OK, that's doable" I thought to myself, "once we get there, we can regroup and figure out if we can make it all the way tonight."
We walked around to the ice cream booth, with a couple in front of us, but as we approached a smiling young lady was standing in front and proclaiming they were closed for the day. I was about to protest, but took one look at the three elderly ladies removing their smocks and stowing their dippers. I realized they looked as exhausted and worn out as we did! Rachael sprinted to the nearest concession stand and bought four of their premade frozen waffle cone treats (at substantially more than a buck a piece) and we made do, but I felt like I can't really cross Summit Motorports Park off my list without another visit at a later date.

I tossed the trusty Harbor Freight moving blanket on the asphalt next to the drivers side of the car, and got down on it to install the side pipe. The Valiant was providing shade, and I decided to rest my eyes for a few minutes. The adrenaline of racing the car was long gone, as was the two hours of sleep from this morning. I jerked awake as Rachael kicked my feet.
"Dang it Dad! Wake up!" She stood over me with hands on hips as I rolled on my back to look up at her.
"You've been installing that one pipe for twenty minutes so Boone told me to check on you!"
"No...I just closed my eyes for a second..."
"Get moving, I want to get to the motel in time to actually sleep tonight", she spun on her heels and continued to pack the Belvedere.
"Hey", I yelled at her, suddenly remembering a question I had for her that had slipped my mind, "Did you give that empty nitrous bottle to Monte for a re-fill?"
"Yeah", she answered, "but he was packing everything away, so he said I could get it back in Martin."
"Good, one less thing we have to load up!"

We pulled into the 7/11 BP gas station in Monroeville, nine miles from the track, and everyone fueled up on pump gas, sodas, and ice for our coolers. It was 4:15pm, and for a change, we weren't the only Drag Weekers on the road. It felt like we might actually catch up to the timeline of the event if we could drag ourselves another two hundred and fifty miles without falling asleep at the wheel or breaking anything.

Our late night/early morning opening drive on nearly deserted roads from Columbus to Norwalk had left me fairly confident that my overheating issues were going to be held in check. The eight mile drive on US-20 to Bellevue OH at 4:30 on a warm, muggy afternoon, dispelled such notions in short order. Traffic on the divided four lane was heavy, so it was difficult to get the space I needed to keep air flowing through the radiator. To make matters worse US-20 necked down and became Main Street in Bellevue, and we arrived in this town of just under 10,000 as everyone was finishing their day, and in their cars. The stop light to stop light grind was pushing my water temp past 230, so I started looking for a place to pull over. I was behind everyone else, but I decided to let them go, figuring Dale and Boone would have their own issues with the heat at some point as well.

Like the proverbial oasis in the desert I spotted Cold Rush Dairy Bar ahead on my right. It was old style drive up/walk up place that had no inside dining. Instead it had ample parking and a pristine cut grass lawn with picnic tables. I pulled into one of the angled parking spaces and shut off the Valiant, but left the electric fans running. I grabbed one of the pillows from my seat, and the Harbor Freight blanket, tossed them on the cool grass and took a little nap while I waited for the car to cool down.

Rachael called ten minutes later to ask if they needed to come back, but I told her it was only fifty miles to the first checkpoint, and I would catch up then.

"I think the guys want to find a place to eat somewhere around that first checkpoint", Rachael informed me.
"Are you sure that's a good idea, then everyone will want to go to sleep", I reasoned.
"You're overruled, so Pops and I will scout out the area when we get there."

Checkpoint #1 was the basketball arena on the campus of Bowling Green University. Apparently we arrived about two hours before an event of some type, so they gave us a back parking lot to stage our cars, work on them, cool them off, or just hang out. When we were ready to pull up and take our picture in front of the Falcon statue, they would allow one car at a time.
It sounds like a hassle, but it really worked out well and went very smooth. When I arrived, there were about ten cars in the back lot, and only one had the front end on jack stands, so everyone seemed to be doing well.

Rachael had chosen the Buffalo Wild Wings across the street as our destination for lunch/dinner/supper. Wouldn't have been my choice, but when you are the caboose you consider yourself lucky if they wait to order until you arrive!

"Finally", I declared, "Our first sit down meal of Drag Week 2016!"
Rachael shook her head, "No...we ate at Applebee's after registration Sunday night".
"We did? I can't remember that at all!"
"Your story is really going to suck this year if you've already forgot Sunday", Boone admonished me.
"No", Darren shook his head, "He'll just make up some funny lie about me as filler to make himself look great and everyone will believe him!"
"You should remember Applebee's", Dad interjected, "You were the one who paid!"
I pulled my wallet out and located the receipt in question, "Well...you're right, Pops! So I'm getting a double order of wings tonight because the big guy is eating free!"
"Thanks Dad!" Dale gave him a shot in the shoulder, "If you'd have kept your mouth shut we could have got him to pay again!"
The waitress came around to get our order, but little Billy had his head on his menu and was half asleep, so Dale ordered for him.
"What is wrong with that boy?" I asked after our orders were placed.
"He's a wimp", Boone explained, "I gave him the route instructions when we left the track, and he read the first line, then was snoring five miles later!"
Dale showed me a picture on his phone, "This is what he looked like when we pulled into The Stroh Center parking lot a while ago!"

Almost as soon as our orders were placed, Rachael, Dale and Boone started looking up the results for the first two days on their phones.
"Where are Dale and I in Modified Power Adder?"
"Um, Dale is 10th, and you are 13th", Rachael stated while she scrolled up and down the list, "out of 19 cars in the class".
"Wow...that's a kick in the teeth! What about Boone, in SSBBPA", I inquired.
"He's 7th out of 9 cars right now", Dale jumped in, "and he's 3rd out of the four Mopars in the class".
"David Meyer in Northern Bel went 10.50 to Boone's 10.68 yesterday, so what did it run today?"
"Well, Boone improved to a 10.13 and the TT 528 Hemi improved to a 10.10, so you still haven't caught that 4900lb beast", Dale answered.
"Is that what it weighs?" Boone shook his head, "the Ruster Duster scaled 3250 after my pass today".
"Not bad. The Valiant was 3090 today!"
Dale looked over at me, "You got rid of the steel hood, the latch mechanism, the hood hinges, drilled holes in the radiator support, and only lost fifty-five pounds?"
"Yeah, 3145 last year, but I ran NA, so now there is a bottle in the car, and the driver is probably ten pounds heavier...hopefully twenty if those wings ever get here!"
"So, which Mopar is ahead of those two in that class?" Dad asked, clearly not interested in our discussion about car weights.
"Not just our class, the quickest Mopar period right now is Rick Trunkett in that green 72 Duster, 8.87 and 8.83 so far", Boone explained.
"Why is he in Big Block", Darren shrugged, "I thought it was a small block with a single turbo?"
"He's over the cubic inch limit, I'm pretty sure it's an R-3 block, 440 inches", Dale answered.
"But...what about Faraone in Unlimited...with the Aussie Charger?" Dad asked with a shrug, "pretty sure he's quicker than eight-eighties".
"He's really struggled so far", Boone explained, "8.76-182 on Monday, but only 9.59 at 87 today!"
"Wow, how does one just misplace 95 mph from one day to the next?" Darren started laughing at his own joke before he could get out anything else.

Dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings was throwing away an hour and forty-five minutes of drive time, but we felt better, and it was definitely cooler when we made it out to our cars with the day's sun a fading memory. Eleven miles up the road we stopped for fuel, the Belvedere and the Valiant took fifteen and a half gallons between them, and my receipt read 8:43pm. I reminded myself that we hadn't left the track by this point Monday night, so this was progress.

We scooted around the western edge of Toledo on I-475 until we headed due west on US-20. It was a four lane surface street with multiple stop lights though four miles of dense suburbanite shops and restaurants until it devolved into a wonderful little dead straight country two-lane through lush Ohio farmland. The remaining forty miles to Checkpoint #2 seemed to reel off effortlessly for Rachael and I. When we pulled into the crowded and busy parking lot of Phantom Fireworks however, Boone and Dale weren't behind us. There must've been around twenty Drag Week cars on the premises and apparently it was encouraged and possibly even expected that you did a burnout through the intersection upon your departure. I just assumed that the large amount of people with red solo cups were trunk monkeys, or with the Swedes in the rented Cruise America motorhome.

The green 90 Mazda RX7 that was leading Dale and I's class had the front end off and parts scattered everywhere. He had made multiple passes at the end of the day just like us, trying to keep pace with the 7.53 he had ran on Monday, but his best for Tuesday was 7.76, and now they seemed to be battling other issues.

Rachael and I took our required photos and moved out of the way. Dale and Boone limped in about ten minutes later, and needed to borrow the generator and charger for the Duster battery again. It was a little warmer tonight and he had ran the fans almost constantly, so with the addition of the headlights the 50 amp alternator just wasn't keeping up. I was feeling restless, and didn't want to sit there and wait while they charged the battery, so I agreed to run ahead of the pack again. I fired up the Valiant, studied the route map, then did my burnout through the intersection of US-20 and US-127 to appease the Gods of Failed Drag Weekers Past.

I'm not sure what the route planner's aversion was to driving in Michigan, but we continued to head due west on US-20, through the remainder of northern Ohio, all the way into Indiana. I pulled into a BP at the outskirts of LaGrange, a town of about 2500, more for a big 24 ounce coffee than for fuel.
From the text Boone had sent me, they were only about ten miles behind me and doing fine. I was enjoying the fact that I could clip along at a leisurely pace without trying to catch Rachael, or strain my eyes in the rear view to see if the brothers were keeping up, and was pretty sure they would catch me before I had to guide them to our motel.

Ten miles later I turned right onto US-131 and headed north into Michigan. It was a beautiful night, the Valiant was purring along, and the cool moist air rushing into the car via the window wings was just what I needed to stay focused on the road.

The group caught me about twenty miles south of Kalamazoo, and our motel was just south of Kalamazoo, about three miles east on I-94, and fifteen or so miles south of the track. As motel choices go that was about as good it gets with me.

There had been lightning in our windshields nearly the whole time we had been driving north and we unexpectedly caught up with that storm front we had been chasing just three miles south of our turn off for I-94.

I was following Dale when he suddenly reduced speed, so I shot around him to pass, and noticed he was pointing at the road when I went by. It wasn't until the back of the Valiant gave me a little wiggle that I realized the roads were wet. By the time we made it to the I-94 it was truly raining hard on us and we had to navigate the three miles of busy interstate without getting ran over by 75 mph traffic. I managed to muster about fifty out of the Valiant, but the last time I looked back, Boone and Dale were crawling down the shoulder.

I had the rooms checked out and our luggage retrieved from the Valiant before the brothers rolled into the parking lot. It was after midnight, but still a darn sight better than watching the sunrise through our windshields. We settled in quickly and agreed to sleep in to around eight or nine, figuring rest was more important than an early start at the track.

"Did Darren find his motel OK", I asked Dale before he started snoring.
"Yeah, they took the interstate after we left Buffalo Wild Wings, he's probably been in bed for hours by now!"

Day 3, US131 Motorsports Park, Martin Michigan.

I jerked wide awake at 5:30AM, and made my way over to the motel window. It was raining outside, which is usually not a welcome sight for a drag racer on the morning of a race, but I desperately wanted to sleep in, and anything that would push the race back an hour or two was OK by me.
My alarm seemed to go off fifteen minutes later, but when I went to shut it off it was clearly 8:30AM. This gave me just enough time to shower, pack my stuff and make it down for the last fifteen minutes of the free continental breakfast, and missing that was not negotiable!

Dale had asked me to bring my logbook down to the breakfast table and we looked at my limited amount of nitrous run data together. I only had six runs, three with the trans-brake, three foot-braking.
"The sixty foots are nearly identical, but the 330' E.T.s are better on the footbrake runs", I pointed out.
"I think it's wrong to assume the sixties are the same. The car clearly leaves harder on the brake, but it takes you so long to find the nitrous button that your trans-brake 60ft. times are identical whether you run N20 or not. Not the case on the footbrake, where the nitrous runs are quicker...so you are getting on the nitrous around 30 feet out and exiting the 60' at a higher speed, which is worth almost two tenths by the 330, and that's two tenths that we seriously need!"
"Yeah, I suppose, it's more fun on the brake though", I mumbled.
"Then put a darn full throttle switch and timer on it," he shook his head while still studying the numbers. "It's really not running well in the back half though...what do the plugs look like?"
"Umm, don't have a clue".
"What?"
"I haven't pulled one yet, but it's the same set I ran last year".
"I'm going to take you out back and shoot you! You want to complain about it popping, but you can't take the time to pull one plug? When we get to the track, I want you to screw a brand new set in it before you do anything else! Understand?"
"Yeah, I get you, new plugs, more nitrous...blah, blah blah!"

The first two days had went pretty well for Ray Meyers and the Black Pearl 67 Barracuda in SSSBNA. The only two competitors in the class that had ran faster than him Monday were out, and he had thirteen hundredths in the bank over his nearest competitor. Ray once again opened the session at US131, but he spun and only went 10.03. Fifteen minutes later second place in the class, Jeff Sias' 90 Mustang coupe with a stick, laid down a moonshot 9.79-136.70. Stuff just got real, and Ray wasn't going to get out the gate so quick on hump day, he still had some work to do!
Despite a nice opening pass Dave McKenna(OUTLAWD), decided to stick around for another run at US131 as well. His 66 was printing out effortless 11.60's.

Maybe it was an act of mercy from the suspension Gods...You see how far Lutz made it through MI...

As OUTLAWD alluded, Lutz, and a few of the other big hitters as well, were struggling to make a pass, any pass within the constraints of Wednesday's track session.

David Freiburger and Brian Lohnes open each Drag Week live feed with a "state of the race" address which, due to the rain, was a little longer than normal. They chronicled that 38 cars were out, but many of the quickest cars up to this point were dealing with serious issues, or hadn't even made it to Martin yet. Leader Jeff Lutz and his "Mad Max" 69 Camaro Pro-Mod had lost a wheel bearing that had resulted in the wheel snapping off the threaded portion of the strut spindle when it departed. 2nd place Bryant Goldstone, with his 6 second Javelin, was actively searching the pits for emery cloth to use on his BBC's crankshaft. Rick Prospero, whom we had seen working on his 3rd fastest 90 RX7 at checkpoint #2, had still not made it to the facility. The whereabouts of John Faraone and his 7 second Aussie Charger were unknown as well. Pictures of Michael Wenzler's nitrous huffing, Willie Rells chassied, 87 Camaro were being sent in with it sitting at checkpoint #1 as the sun rose. Clark Rosenstengal's 7 second 2010 Camaro was on the premises, without it's hood or trailer. Clearly, the next six hours of time runs at US131 Motorports Park were going to define what Hot Rod Drag Week 2016 would become.

Another thing revealed in their adress: The day 2 bump for the Street Machine Eliminator Quick 32 was sitting at 11.27!

Early in the first session for class cars US131 was showing off some teeth, as Shane McClelland's Crusty Nova and Brad Dyer's 72 Nova both did huge wheel stands, and a couple of other competitors tossed driveline parts out. Corey Pant's green Duster and Ross' yellow Road Runner were probably the first Mopars ready to hit the road for Indy, as they made good runs within the first thirty minutes of track time, and turned in those slips.

Many racers either start suffering on Wednesday, and see their average begin to fall apart, or they figure stuff out. It was as if Rick Trunkett looked around and decided to step up and take the "Quickest Mopar" plaque for his own at Martin. The Duster already had a pair of 8.80's, but upped the ante with a little more power down low and the R-3 small block responded with a great 8.56-162.8. David Meyer and the TT528 Hemi in his 66 Belvedere continued to trend in the right direction also, following up his 4 tenths improvement on Tuesday, with another two tenths on Wednesday, and his first nine second run. He turned in the 9.90-146.2 that he carded on his only attempt. Randy Heinselmann seemed to be happy with his wedge to hemi switch, as the 70 Cuda continued to lay down good numbers, leaving Martin with a 9.73-139.

Ray made it back around for a second hit in his Barracuda just an hour and five minutes after opening the proceedings, that's a stark contrast to the two previous days which saw the lanes stacked full early on. His 9.851-134.87 would ultimately prove to be the Gen-3 Hemi's best run of the week, but it still meant he would give up 6 hundredths of his lead in SSSBNA to Jeff Sias' Mustang, which had won the class over Ray in 2015!

Last year, I relayed the story of Pro Street Power Adder, and explained how a battle of seven second machines for the top three spots in that class turned into Tina Pierce taking second in her eight second Colorado, and third falling to 9.60s. In the first session on Wednesday at US131 Motorsports Park, the PSPA hitters decided to prove they had the toughest class in Drag Week 2016, and put their stamp on the top ten overall as well.

It started with Mike Roy and his famous maroon 71 Monte Carlo, which, after owning the class for years, suffered a rare DNF in 2015. The big Chevy had already started the week with runs of 7.69, and 7.66, but improved at Martin with a stout 7.60-187.2! Next up was Les Smith and his tangerine 67 Nova; like Roy, he had a DNF for 2015, but was solidly in the sevens to start the week, and took a huge step up at US131 with a 7.68-184.05. The class leader was Glenn Hunter, who was bent on avenging his DQ on the last day of 2015. His stunning red and white 56 Bel-Air turned in a 7.66 and 7.55 to grab a tenuous advantage, but that could all slip away if he couldn't match the numbers his rivals were throwing down. He answered the challenge with a best ever 7.51-185.57. Jon Wischmann was a previous Drag Week class winner who also suffered a DNF in 2015 and was looking for redemption. He was trying to keep pace in Pro Street Power Adder, and his 7.70-185 was also a best for his 67 Camaro, and meant he would leave Martin in a virtual tie for third with Smith.

The good numbers weren't just limited to the PSPA class, Devin Yankey's 67 Nova Ultimate Iron entry improved by two tenths to an 8.02-172 and was poised to take the class lead if Goldstone couldn't get the crank right in the Javelin. The Swedes in their tiny Unlimited class Opal Ascona put down a perfect front-wheels-a-foot-off-the-ground-for-the-first-sixty-foot launch, and ran 8.03-167.91, achingly close to their stated 7.99 goal, and were left to wonder if Lutz and Wenzler's misfortunes would leave them in the class lead. Wenzler would answer the call before the end of the first session and lay down an impressive 7.61-178, after driving straight through with no sleep.

The hits just kept coming in that first two hours, while four of the quickest cars of the event were either thrashing in the pits or hadn't arrived, and it had to be killing them to know a perfect opportunity was passing them by. You would think that sense of urgency would have extended to the Gebhart family, but strangely, it did not. We rolled in at 10:45 AM and parked all five of our cars evenly spaced on the absolutely beautifully manicured pit grass. The perfect weather, and the picturesque surroundings, combined with a decent night's sleep and a hearty breakfast had us in a laid back, enjoyable mood bordering on euphoria. We unloaded the stuff from our cars and began working on them with the silent understanding that all of us would most likely be making hits in the final thirty minutes of available track time.