Less than halfway through the SME session, Jeff Gallagher's 66 Mustang began a burn out in the lane nearest the bleachers. The 363 cubic inch Windsor was screaming as Jeff released the line lock button and rolled out of the water. We heard an audible pop from the drive line as the tires bit, and a trail of transmission fluid began as he idled forward towards the beams. The starter quickly ran out to stop him, and gave him the cutoff sign, but a large puddle had already formed under the little coupe before they pushed it back from the line.
"All the way from Seattle, and it's over in the first thirty feet", Boone shook his head.
"I tell everyone it's like walking a tightrope...all the best laid plans end with one misstep. He's still got the lovely Ms. Martin as his co-pilot though, and a mid-ten second classic Mustang!

We were contemplating whether to sit out a lengthy cleanup or head back to the lanes when Rachael called to tell us she had lunch waiting for us at my car.
"Sounds great", Boone looked down at his phone, "the breakfast at the motel was light this morning and that was five hours ago, so I'm ready for something!"
We made our way through the lanes to the Valiant, and I realized that all of our group had their cars in staging except for Darren and the Charger.
Rachael was dealing cheeseburgers and brats out of a Powerade cardboard flat, and she had the condiments and cold drinks in a back pack.
"Someone's been slaving over the little grille for a while to make this much food", Boone commented.
"What made you decide to bring it to the lanes", I laughed, "I'm surprised some of these guys didn't tackle you!"
"I fed Pops, Darren and Dale in the pits", she explained, "but decided I'd chase the rest of you down in the lanes rather than let it get cold waiting for everyone to get their runs in."
"We appreciate it!" Boone mumbled after inhaling the first two bites of his brat, "with all that's been going on, I didn't realize how hungry I was!"
"What's going on with the Charger?"
"Not sure", she wrinkled her forehead in thought, "they called Dale over after his first run to mess with the carb, something to do with a needle and gas leaking."

It took sixteen minutes to clean up the mess from the Mustang, and start sending cars again. I noticed the Shelby Dodge Auto Club (or the Mopar Turbo Mafia as they like to call themselves) were out in force again, with five machines lined up nose to tail in the same lane. This year, James Reeves' Omni was absent, but they had brought a Mini Van in his place which made for a great vehicle for their command center and hang out spot in the lanes, but it would end up going through more half shafts than any of their other cars combined!