They seemed to be wrapping up the work on the Duster, and I started to actually think we wouldn't be the last ones out of the gate. Boone pulled out 5 feet of steel braided hose that I had seen him affix a fitting to earlier in the evening.

"What's that for?" I asked as he headed towards the engine.
"Going to drain the race fuel so I can put the pump fuel back in", he explained.
"Why not unhook the line at the pump?"
"I don't want to spill fuel in the trunk, we're just going to pull it off the return".

I was standing in the front of the car, while little Billy was inside to turn on the pump. Dale was holding a five gallon jug on the ground next to the passenger's front tire with a flashlight shining in it as Boone held the hose from the return side of the regulator in the jug.
"Ok Billy, hit it", Dale instructed.
As soon as the pump engaged, I heard a weird sound that reminded me of a cow pissing on a piece of tin. I looked immediately to see if gas was pouring onto the intake or the firewall, but couldn't spot any obvious leaks.
"Hey, something doesn't sound right", I stammered trying to get their attention.
Both Boone and Dale were staring into the jug.
"It doesn't seem to be flowing very much", I heard Boone mumble to Dale and realized they hadn't heard me or the sound.
"Billy! Shut it off!" I yelled, and waved my hands at the windshield.
Boone and Dale looked up as the pump clicked off, and asked what the problem was.
"You just filled the engine full of gas, that's the problem", I exclaimed.
"The sound I heard was fuel shooting out of the vent tubes and hitting the lid on the breather!"
"How could that happen?" Boone asked looking shell shocked, "It's a return style regulator, it should work whether it's going to the tank or a jug!"
Dale had the breather off and confirmed my diagnosis.
"What now?" little Billy asked.
"Now you pull every single plug out of the engine, disconnect the ignition and roll it over to get all the gas out!" I explained while chewing the side of my tongue off to remain civil, another freaking hour wasted because Boone is so tight he's trying to save fifteen dollars worth of race fuel instead of just dumping the pump fuel on top of it and heading down the road, which is what I do on both of my cars.

I walked a ways into the darkness trying to calm down, we've been through this routine before, when you get this far behind before drive #1 it is difficult to recover. Every minute we spent at this track was a minute less sleep we were going to get before racing tomorrow. I heard the Silverado ladder truck fire up, and everyone in that group was hollering and sharing high fives.
"Good grief, they can rebuild an entire ls engine in the length of time it takes us to wire up gauges in a Duster", I moaned as Dad walked up behind me.
"T Toad Hurley seemed pretty happy when he left here with his hood!" Dad expertly changed the subject.

When I showed off my new fiberglass hood for the '62 on Moparts, Aaron had pm'ed me about the possibility of getting my fiberglass guy to pop him one as well. I had explained that wouldn't be a problem, but asked how we were going to get it from Arizona to Michigan. He agreed to meet me in Columbus for DW day one, and as George Peppard used to say on the A-Team, "I love it when a plan comes together".

A truck drove up to the Silverado camp and a guy got out and started talking with them. I couldn't hear the words, but I noticed the truck had a National Trail logo on the door.
"That's the guy who's in charge of closing this place up", I explained to Dad, "We need to get this buttoned up and get moving!"