Dad was seriously dragging tail at this point so we loaded him up with Rachael and Skippy, and sent them to the motel. When the track went dark about an hour later, shutting off all the lights in the pits, I convinced the guys we would be better off returning early in the morning to finish up the Gremlin, as opposed to a bunch of very tired guys fumbling around in the dark.

Ordinarily, I would've used the Belvedere to transport us the eleven miles to the motel, but since Rachael had tossed the driveshaft out it was not an option. I didn't really want to disconnect my 1 ton from the two car trailer, so Boone, James, Dale and I ended up in Dale's 4 door dually for the trip.

Since I had spent most of the evening with Boone, and had fairly ignored Dale's second attempt at patching the Gremlin back together, now I had a chance satiate my curiosity as to how he managed to get the head repaired on a late Friday evening.
"So...did one of the locals give you directions to Duckworth's shop, and how late does he stay open? I asked as Dale nosed the 1 ton out the only gate still open. A Gateway employee waited to lock up behind us.
"No,...no, that's not how it happened at all", Dale chuckled, "It's actually a pretty crazy story! Dumb luck or good karma, I guess".
"Go ahead", I prodded preparing to make mental notes, he was tired, and the words were coming out slow, but perhaps recounting the story would keep him out of a ditch on the way to the motel.
"I dug into it as soon as I returned from that last pass, and I was pulling it apart when this older gentleman walked up to the front of the car and started making conversation. Talking about how much he liked it, and how impressed he was with what it ran. Now, usually people walking through the pits like this exchange a few lines with you, then move on to the next car, but I realized after about 10 minutes that he really wanted to talk, and had no intention of going anywhere!"
"And this guy was Gary Duckworth? What tipped you off that he was a racer or machinist? I interjected to keep him moving along, Dale is not the natural orator that his father is.
"Oh, absolutely nothing! He was playing it close to the vest and never even hinted, he started telling me about his BB Chevy powered Pinto street car that he did quite well with back in the day...not bragging really, just very matter of fact...and nothing he told me set off any BS meters, so I just listened and kept the conversation going. He was standing right in front of the radiator, where someone could have been working to help me, but I didn't say anything, and continued to listen to his stories and answer his questions. Then he stopped mid-sentence at one point and offered to help get it apart if I wanted him to. I handed him some wrenches and he jumped right in!"
"That's crazy", I exclaimed, "maybe he was feeling YOU out, deciding if he wanted to offer assistance!"
"Could have been, I suppose", Dale agreed, "I guess If I had been short with him, or rude, he might have walked away, and I'd still be sitting back there with a bent valve!"
"So, you got the head off...", I prodded again.
"Yeah...him and I are looking at the damage with the head standing up on my tray, and he just casually mentions that he thinks it's an easy fix if I want to follow him to his shop a few miles down the road! That was the first hint of any kind that he gave me that he was a machinist, then when I walked in his shop...wow, I was just blown away!"