I
first met Roy Hopkins this summer at the Vintage races at Pittsburgh
International Race Complex… the Western Pennsylvania road course formerly known
as Beaverun. For folks that don’t know his name, I’ll give you a brief summary:
Roy
has been around BMWs for pretty much forever. He’s a calm and polite fellow
with a quiet sense of humor. He takes his driving seriously and he along with highly
accomplished co-driver Adrienne Hughes have won the infamous Targa Newfoundland
week-long rally 3 times… in a row. In a 1969 BMW. A BMW named “Woodstock”…A
little car painted like a clown…on some "yet to be outlawed" home-made drugs. This rally is run through
neighborhoods. Woods. Towns. and seemingly ALWAYS in the worst weather
imaginable. Horizontal rain. Mud. Trees. Buildings. You get it all. They didn’t
win this rally in the 70s, when that car was fresh and young, they won it after
the car had sufficiently aged about 35 or 40 years, against cars costing 10
times as much and still under warranty from the dealer.
Pure.
Crazy.
And Brilliant.
I wandered up to where Roy and his crew
were paddocked during the Pittsburgh race and introduced myself.
They had a problem.
One of their 2002s had shattered a
water pump pulley, and the remaining day and following week of racing depended
on it’s replacement. We made some calls, and then I suddenly realized I
probably HAD the essential round thingy in my old BMW parts stash. I’m not a
hoarder of such things, but the small stuff I try to hang on to. Pulleys tend
to congregate among the aforementioned “small stuff”. Roy cruised the 11 miles
up to my house and picked up the beastie, along with an extra fan belt. Karma
was restored. 2002s got driven. And it was good.
Months later, I received an e mail from
Roy, asking me if I’d be interested in some racing crew duties in Newfoundland
or elsewhere. He and Adrienne were given the task of driving a new Fiat 500
Abarth for the event. Gawd that sounded like pure ass-kicking hilarity.
Scorpion decals adorned their helmets, which whispered a statement of miniature
Italian menace and intent to their already proven abilities. Don’t know the name Carlo Abarth?
Before you coo and gush over the new Fiat 500, you SHOULD. Abarth tuned Italia
is the stuff of legend, during the 1950s- 1960s golden era of European racing and
rallying. I couldn’t afford to take a week off work for the Canadian madness,
but the Chump Car Racing series later in the season held some potential.
Yes, it’s really called the “Chump Car”
series. A bunch of races held across the US at various road racing tracks
involving cheap vehicles prepped for competition. It’s an attempt at making
automobile racing affordable and accessible for those lacking limitless
budgets…and for those saddled with shit box cars that still run. I’ve never
liked the name “Chump Car”. I always thought there were other, far more
descriptive and hilarious terms used for the vehicles and drivers involved.
After a quick review of the term “chump” in my handy Random House dictionary (a
2000 page 14 lb tome of the English language, that’s been in my family’s
possession since the 1970s) I stand corrected. Here, printed without express
permission, is the definition of said “chump”:
chump: n. 1. informal: a blockhead or dolt. 2. a short
thick piece of wood. 3. The thick or blunt end of anything. 4. slang: the head.
5. “off one’s chump” slang: crazy; mentally deranged
Now… this isn’t just any race of crazy people in rolling,
overflowing toilets of grease and rust, mind you. This one qualifies as the
longest endurance race in the US. It’s 25 hours, 25 minutes, and 25 seconds
long. The goal is to complete the most laps in that given timeframe, without
catching on fire, crashing, vomiting, or getting anybody pregnant. The cars
must be valued at $500 and no more, however the money spent on safety equipment
is unlimited. This means roll cages, quality helmets, fire-proof driving suits
and gloves, and whatever improvements you can make to the car, generally based
upon rusty crap you steal from other cars is allowed. If the car is too pretty
however, you get laughed off the track. Oh, about the pregnant thing? I made
that part up. I think.
Our car was to be a 1996-ish BMW 318i. A solid but
wimpy-engined car with many podium finishes in previous races, and piloted by a
group of 4 accomplished and highly skilled drivers to share the duties of
driving it around and around for 25 hours in rain, dark, sun, mud, and spilled
oil. This car is sort of red and a little green, and covered with the paint
marker scrawlings of various children.
It’s affectionately known as “The Possum”. Because I have
a few screws loose and a box of metric tools, I said yes.
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