Georgia On My Mind
To the best of my recollection, I can remember running 3 race dates,in Georgia. It is about as far South as we ever got,racing,and a long haul from our home base,in Pennsylvania.
The first trip was to Savannah,in spring of 1970. We didn’t run good,but it was memorable for other reasons. The drive into town,in those days,would get your attention.The bridge,across the river,was about 300 feet in the air,steel girdered,and narrow,especially when towing a trailer.Being such a long trip,I wanted to save money,so I picked a $7.00 motel.Back then,you could stay at the Ramada,or Holiday Inn for $15.It must have been furnished from Navy surplus,because every thing in the room was battleship gray.My crewman,Charlie,was skeptical,but he wasn’t paying the bills.Since there was no TV in the room[that was extra and,probably,battleship gray,rather than color] we decided to go over to a fellow racers room,after dinner.Wallace Knotts was a good ol’boy,from Alabama,was staying at Howard Johnson’s and invited us over.At 7:00,The Porter Wagoner Show came on.Country music was still country,back in those days,and we northerners had never seen this before.Porter Wagoner came on,wearing a white buckskin fringe jacket,with a huge eagle embroidered on the back.Wallace was mesmerized.”Gaw* da**,look at that jacket”,he exclaimed.”I’ll bet that sombi***cost him a thousand dollas”.Charlie and I were comically bemused.
Before retiring to our own humble abode,there were several tornado warnings posted on the TV,for the overnight hours.Charlie remarked about it,and I said that I had heard that a tornado sounds like a locomotive coming.Several times during the night,I thought I heard trains,but rolled over,and went back to sleep.In the morning,we could see what darkness had hidden the night before:the motel backed up to a railroad yard.
Our next foray,into Georgia,was the race at Dallas,Ga.,in September of ’70.We were filling the field for a qualifier show,against most of the circuits top cars.The Dallas track was a 1/5th mile,and very slick,especially the right lane.This would work to my advantage,although we were having traction problems,too. After my second of two qualifying runs,we sat on the bump spot,with about 3 good cars still to make their runs.When all of them failed to negotiate the track,we were in.I drew Jim Wigglesworth,in the “Virginia Twister” Charger,in the first round.We flipped for lane choice,and I lost,and got the right lane.As usual,I was out first,off the tree,but got crossed up,in low gear,and was looking right down the guardrail when I had to lift.The Charger streaked on by,and my day was done.Jim got that lane,the next round,and had the same thing happen.Who knows:if I had won that coin toss,I could have won the race.Lane choice was everything,that day.I don’t know why that days sticks out in my mind;we weren’t all that successful.But I used it for the basis of a short story I wrote,about minor league professional drag racing.
Our third,and most memorable trip,was to Warner Robbins,in the summer of 1971.We arrived at about 3p.m.,for a Saturday night race.We were so early,we almost beat the track owner.Since we had plenty of time to kill,I engaged the owner in conversation,while Charlie wandered up to the starting line,to look at the track.I never spent much time studying tracks.We didn’t have traction gauges, thermometers or weather stations.We just showed up,and ran..I used to tune for the way the air felt on any given day,and learned how to factor in altitude.It was all seat of the pants.Drag racers have always been of the philosophy that you couldn’t possibly make too much power!
I remarked to the owner,that I did not recall hearing of his track.When he started telling me some of the history,I said”Oh,now I know,this used to be called Houston County Dragway”,as in the city,or Sam Houston.”Yes”he said”but around here we call it House-ton county”.Charlie came wandering back,and we set about unloading the car,and setting up our pit area.This just involved parking the trailer,and backing the pick-up truck to the front of the race car.Not the deal it is today,which rivals the circus coming to town.Charlie said to me”I’ve been studying these tracks lately.This place has a lot of that grainy shit in the asphalt.I don’t think it is going to have much bite.I think we ought to raise up the wheelie bars”.”OK” I said”whatever you think”.I had no reason to question his judgement,yet!We continued our work.Come 8 in the evening and time for the first round.It was an 8 car show,with no qualifying.Our first round opponents were the Carlton brothers Camaro,with a big block Chevy on board.John,the driver was a stout man,and his brother even bigger around.Some said they made more power than anybody,to pull the extra weight.Others said they must have been the fastest,because they always took the long way,to get there.The car rarely ran straight,but they were formidable racers.At 127 pounds,two of me would not have made one of John!The Carlton’s were having a problem,with a slow leak in one of their slicks,so they let us know they would need a few seconds,after the burnout,to pump some air in the tire.Sure,no problem!I could sit and idle all day and my little motor would not overheat.To watch John’s brother back up the car was quite a sight,but now ,there he was,frantically flailing away on a hand tire pump!
We staged,and I cut an excellent light,and was well out on the Camaro.There was only one problem:all I could see out the windshield was stars!I had stood that bi***as straight up as it would go.Charlie said he could see the drivshaft turning from his spot on the guardrail,as I went by.What did I do?Well,hell,I knew I was ahead and I sensed the car was straight,so the thought of lifting never entered my mind.I figured if it went straight,it would come down,sometime.We were using a Hurst dual gate shifter in the car,which was a piece of junk.We had a lot of trouble with it,because if you didn’t hold it over hard to the right,it would shift past second into high gear.That is what happened this time.After all,I was kind of busy!Shifting into high,it settled down,as light as a feather.However,the resulting loss of torque slowed the run,and allowed the Camaro to come around,and get there first.It was undoubtedly fortunate,because I had not factored in the air getting under the car,at higher speed.The only way it would have come down,was a backward pirouette.I would have one-upped Garlits,by years,but never would have gotten the publicity.It probably would have destroyed the car,and ended my racing career,so luck comes in all forms.Charlie said the crowd went absolutely bananas.When we towed back to the pits,the promoter came running up hollering”Can you do that again?”.We did come back,after lowering the wheelie bars,and made another run.It still carried the wheels,about 4 feet,on the second pass.This timeI did hit second gear,but it pushed a head gasket before the lights,and I went skating through the traps,in my own water.After that adventure,I preferred to make my own decisions about the track.I don’t think Charlie would have had the nerve to make that suggestion again,except in jest.I wasn’t mad.It was a neat,memorable experience and one of many.
We headed home,planning on stopping for the night along the way.But everywhere we stopped,along I-85,the motels were full.By the time it got light,we just kept going,and drove straight through.By the the time we got home,on Sunday afternoon,we had been going for more than 36 hours.Using a slogan of the day,our Gillette 24 hour protection was long gone.Those were the best times of our lives.We were living lots of peoples dreams,at the best possible time.As the cars got more technical,and the tour more professional,the whole thing spiraled out of control.The cost killed the match racing,and the sport is poorer for it.You reached a whole lot more fans when,on any given summer weekend,in the northeast,there would be one or more 8 car funny car shows.I would not trade my time for any of these modern deals.Those were the best of times,and a lot of it happened in Georgia.
Jeff Foulk
