I hopped in my friend Kirk's 2018 Charger Daytona and we hit a deserted two lane blacktop in the middle of southwest Texas. We were a few miles out of town. A C8 Corvette had just rocketed down the road and we took off after him. There was no traffic around, just the two of us and that Corvette ripping down the road. 100 mph blew by in a heartbeat. After climbing to 110 mph, we coasted around a bend in the road before ripping up to 120. That Corvette was just a glint in the distance. Refusing to be one-upped, we kept the hammer down in pursuit.
The little two lane blacktop started to twist and turn. Kirk was driving like a man possessed. Knowing that I am more experienced in high speed, I started calling out the curves and when it was okay for him to cross the double yellow line. With only that Vette in sight, we had the road to ourselves.
The 5.7 hemi was howling as we started to get into some hills. I was looking far down the road, watching as the Vette maintained his lead. The big Charger hunkered down and blasted over the blind crests, giving us a roller coaster ride. Then, as Kirk was fixated on bagging that car, I spotted it. The chopper. It was coming at us several hundred feet up and off to one side of the road. With nothing but rocks, scrub, and an open road, there was only one thing to do. Hammer down!
We rocketed down the road with the chopper in pursuit. Looking up, I saw the Vette shooting around a corner at the top of a rise. Within seconds we, too, were racing up that cut hillside with the road disappearing to the left. Topping that rise showed the road swerving through a series of curves that left the Continentals clawing for grip as the big green hulk of a Charger smashed it's way through. The side loads grew pretty heavy as Kirk fought through it. Suddenly, a straight appeared. Way on down the road I spotted the Vette again.That guy wasn't letting the grass grow under him. Determined to show that he couldn't get away, we poured on the coals.
I checked the sky. The chopper had turned away. Thinking we were good to go, I told Kirk we were in the clear. That's when I saw it. The chopper had been replaced with a small airplane. Apparently, after chasing us for more than 20 miles the helicopter had enough and the plane took over.
More dips, hills, and blind corners flew by. We blew by a radar sign that showed 110 mph. I hit the button on the dash for the Performance Pages and the oil temp was a solid 233 degrees. I told Kirk the car was good and we kept going.
Blowing around a tight blind bend, the cops were there head of us. One of the Sheriff's boys was sitting across a gravel road with his lights on. We blasted by him at 97 mph and disappeared around the next bend, the plane in hot pursuit.
We had run more than 50 miles. The plane was still overhead. The Vette was holding his distance but unable to pull away. We rounded a bend and that's when it happened.
Less than a mile down the road the cops had put up a road block. The Vette was on the brakes. We shut it down, too. Party over, it was time to face the consequences.
We had just completed the southbound run of the Big Bend Open Road Race. It was time to pull off the helmets, ditch the gloves, pop the 5 point belts, and have some barbecue. We had an hour to kill before turning around and doing it all over again.
We were a couple rookies giving it a shot. A driver in his first real motorsports event and me having to navigate for the first time.
The course is a total of 118 miles with 58 curves and countless elevation changes. It's a timed event and we entered the 110 mph class. We finished with an average speed of 109.974 mph. That put us 0.919 seconds under the specified time and was good enough for 11th place in our field of 37. The winner? A solo driver in a Mini Cooper averaged 110.002 mph for a time deviation of 0.005 seconds. That's right. Solo. 118 miles. 5 thousandths of a second off. Tip of the hat to that man.
A tip of the hat goes out to Wade, too. He lent us his top secret notes and hard earned knowledge that got us so close to victory.
Looking at the results, out of 124 entries 33 were closer to their target times than we were. That means 90 cars either failed to finish, got disqualified, or missed their marks by a larger margin. I'll take that for a first time effort.
As for the Vette we were chasing, he averaged 110.026 mph with 0.915 error. A loss by 0.059 in a 118 mile bracket race ain't too bad.
About that partying with the cops? Yeah, we partied with the EMS, city officials from Ft Stockton and Sanderson, as well as all the other drivers and navigators, too.
