Here is Tom R’s report from his 24hrs of LeMons race experience last month, enjoy!

To do well at 24 Hours of Lemons racing you need a variety of things: Reliability, decent speed, decent drivers, no severe penalties, strategy, and some degree of luck. On September 15th and 16th, “The Tartan Brigade” took our 1980 280zx to Thunderhill Raceway for a third attempt at glory. To be clear, we recognize that we are all mid-level drivers, and a class win is likely not in the cards for us regardless of the car we are driving. However, our goals are always to finish in a respectable position, in one piece, and with a big smile on our faces. We achieved two of these goals, but failed pretty miserably in terms of position. The escapade went something like this.

The weather at Thunderhill in September is bound to be unforgiving, with daytime temperatures consistently in the mid 90’s, and the only flowing water visible being that leaking from some poor sap’s exploded radiator. So it was with no great surprise that from midday on Friday, during the practice session, we knew we were in for a battle as we had to be towed off the track for the first time (of four times throughout the weekend) as the car lost all power while driving down the back straight. Still plucky and filled with questionable optimism, we tentatively diagnosed the problem as being caused by a failing ignition module. We swapped it out for a spare we brought, but my confidence in it was immediately shaken by the unmistakable Sharpie lettering on it: “Good?” Low and behold, by the time Friday’s practice day was over, we had received our second tow of the weekend, and began to worry that we might be looking down the barrel of a black-flag solely for being on a first name basis with the tow truck driver. With the sobering thought that the race could be an abject failure for us soaking into our minds, I wandered through the pits, practically on my knees, begging any fellow racers to share with us any excess flexible ducting they may have such that we could get some more “cold” 97F air to the ignition module come race day. And, sure enough, the Lemons spirit of camaraderie prevailed as a team running a late 80s RX7 was kind enough to hand over 4’ feet of dryer ducting. As though it were as valuable as gold, we used all the key Lemons-specific tools to mount the ducting in place (tin snips, zip ties and duct tape, only JB Weld going un-used in this case.) Looking like we had somehow run over a silver elephant’s trunk, we now had what we hoped would prove to be our salvation…

At 9am on Saturday morning, the butterflies were working overtime in each of our stomachs, a mixture of boyish enthusiasm and utter dread that our “fixes” may not have done the trick to keep our baby cool and operational. We waited as long as possible to get our car on the starting grid to minimize the chance of overheating the ignition module before even seeing the green flag… and lady luck was on our side as the flag dropped almost as fast as our egos when we realized we were being out-raced by a 1990-ish Dodge Caravan (which ultimately went on to win the C class, proof positive that at a Lemons race a book CANNOT be judged by its cover.) By midday, our giddiness promptly turned to despair as our car crapped out during a driver change pit stop; even the modest heat sink caused by a lack of airflow to the engine bay was enough to cause our kinda-sorta-not-really-trusty Z to cough and sputter in protest prior to shutting down. Seconds passed. Minutes passed. Laps passed. Quarter of an hour passed. Then finally, fire in the hole, get the hell back on track and go racing!!!

As we watched the car coming down the back of the blind crested Turn 5, I gave Rob from Z Car Garage a call in desperation, pleading for his expert advice (one of several calls over the weekend, I’m sorry to admit.) Rob concurred with our thought that the ignition module could be the culprit, but he also gave us a laundry list of other items to check next time the car died, as it most surely would. Perhaps it was the ECU, or the fuel pump, or vapor lock? And sure enough, a short while later the race radio crackled as one of my teammates reported that the car had died on track and was being reacquainted with his old friend Tow-Mater. Once back in the pit, almost all of Rob’s advice became a blur in my mind and any thought of diagnosing the fault in a tactical manner vanished in a puff of oil tainted smoke as we frantically attempted to address every possible symptom simultaneously with water chilled paper towels and WalMart battery-powered fans, doing anything we possibly could to extract heat out of the system. Our engine ended up looking more like one of those beached whales you see on the news, covered in massive water-soaked towels being lovingly doused by hoards of broken-hearted volunteers before being towed back into the ocean, than it did the motor of a finely tuned race car. After several hours of these shenanigans, two positives were to surface: 1. Worst case scenario was that the car would just have to sit and cool for 15 minutes at each pit stop: not great, but at least we were still racing. And, 2. as the checkered flag came out on the first day of racing we got a welcome visit from our good friend Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, dripping wet not with sweat, but with smile-inducing beads of ice cold condensation. Yes, my friends, this is what Lemons racing is all about: shooting the breeze with your buddies after a tumultuous day of racing and roasting in the sun, and raising a toast to doing exactly the same thing the very next day. What could be better?

As the sun and the moon traded paint sparring for position on Saturday evening, the saber saw came out in Team Tartan Brigade’s pit to give us a nice cooling hood scoop, right across the painted chin of our mascot Jackie Stewart. I remember thinking, as I watched the blade cut through the thin steel of the hood like a warm knife through butter, that this felt like a poignant moment in our teams journey. Until now, we had worked hard to keep our car looking nice, at least by Lemons standards, even if in our case “nice” might be defined as intact plaid wallpaper and lovingly hand-roller applied Krylon green paint. However, at this moment, we had fully embraced function over form, and Jackie’s chin now protruded as though he had some massive Neanderthal under-bite in the days before modern orthodontics. Additionally, sparing no expense, we re-purposed an oil catch pan into an ad-hoc chin spoiler in hopes of getting some more cool air into the radiator, as the motor had been running on the warm side the latter part of the day. We also relocated the ignition module off the distributor altogether, opting to mount it on the inner driver’s side fender where it could get a lot of fresh air blown onto it through the hole that formerly housed a headlight.

On Sunday morning, stomachs churning from renewed excitement and 30 ounces of Starbucks darkest roast, as the second and final day of racing commenced, even the prior nights remedies proved insufficient as the motor continued to die during pit stops and once again on-track resulting in a final tow-in. By this time, as much as we were disappointed, we were comfortable enough in this routine and at least had a high degree of confidence that we would at least complete the race. So it was with much surprise and some degree of concern that we got a message over the radio that the brakes had just given out on-track, and our teammate had understandably overshot a corner, and was now on his way to the penalty box to receive his punishment (just a slap on the wrist as this was our first “off” of the weekend.) Wheels off and up on jack stands, it quickly became apparent that the left rear brake caliper was stuck in the “stop” position, and the pad material was identical to our hopes of winning: vaporized. Not only that, one of the springs on the retaining pin had been obliterated as had one of the retaining clips. What to do in such a situation other than slap on some fresh pads and chant the Lemons mechanical mantra: “Good Enough.” So with just two hours of racing left on the clock, that’s exactly what we did.

I was lucky enough to have the last stint of the day. The laps certainly weren’t my fastest as I was tired, hot, and trying to nurse the car home in one piece. I tried simply to do as the team had done all weekend throughout the chaos: driving our own race, staying out of the penalty box, and keeping a smile on our faces despite myriad mechanical challenges. Through the labyrinth turns, several of which are off camber, the car would give a modest lean but seem to find its happy spot somewhere in between mild tire squeal and a wallowing rear end. Reassuringly though, the communication was always good enough that if one pushed just a bit too hard, sufficient notice was given that a slight correction could bring things back in line and we’d continue on our merry way. Foot planted to the floor on the straights, the erroneous speedo needle would stay pegged at the max at anything beyond about 30mph, so gauging top speed and corner entry speed was simply a matter of sizing up ones “attachments” and balancing this with the knowledge that you are driving a 30+ year old car “race-prepared” by four rank amateurs who felt it fit to send out a car lacking functional parts to the left rear brake caliper. Rounding Turn 13 one final time and seeing the checkered flag waving at the Start/Finish line, I traded a few thank you’s with my team over the radio before doing one cool down lap, waving a heartfelt thank you to all of the fantastic volunteers who manned each of the flag stations, the emergency workers, and of course, the tow truck drivers. As I drove back into the hot pit area, there was a long line of folks lining the side of the road with their hands extended for me to give high-fives to. How cool is that? We placed well outside the top 100, but felt like I was driving home a champion just for finishing.

Helmet and Nomex suit all packed up, conversation in our pit inevitably went to the next race, and in particular, would we continue to run the Z or move on to something we felt could be more competitive. We debated both sides that night, and over email the following few days, and have decided to hunker down and give the Z at least one more chance at Sonoma Raceway next spring. We’ve got a boat load of work ahead of us if we are going to get any sort of a respectable finish, but we are game for the challenge, if not skilled enough for it…. Wish us luck, and we’ll try to do the Z name proud.