The Hoosier Race Report: Sprint Car Bum(s)

By Danny Burton

Danny Burton’s Hoosier Race Report appears courtesy of OpenWheelRacers.com

Chapter One: First Day of Retirement

He stood in line at the pit gate for the first time as a “retired person.” He could not have been more pleased. 28 years he had toiled, sweated, argued, and sometimes pushed himself harder than he should have, but it didn’t matter now. He was retired and had prepared for this day. Life was good. Or so he thought.

Now that he had more time to do what he enjoyed, most especially race chasing, he approached the pit gate with glee. His usual routine was to stroll about the pit area, saying hello to the many people he’d come to know and like over the years in each division of race cars, three at this track. He came in for a good bit of teasing, as many of his comrades knew of his retirement. They were happy for him, but that didn’t stop them from letting him know how much fun he’d be missing.

The schedule and list of entries was already posted and he strolled over to see who was at the track, the world famous Barnes’ Raceway, or just “da Bar” to its many fans. He whistled to himself; 42 sprint cars, 35 modifieds, and 31 street stocks meant for a long night. He caught himself and chuckled. So what? He didn’t need to get up early in the morning, did he?

Next to him, a driver nudged him and asked, “So, retiree, are you talking to yourself already?” It was one his favorite racers, a 30 something personable young man named Karl Benson a/k/a Benny. With his dad Roger, Karl had been a mainstay at da Bar for maybe 15 years or more, always running near the front, with two points’ championships to show for it, among other things.

Karl turned serious for a minute, “And now what are you gonna do, Mikey? You’re gonna have some free time on your hands, aren’t you??

Michael Thomas Newland shrugged and thought for a couple of seconds before speaking, as he often did. “I do have a couple of things in mind, Benny. I’ve toyed with the idea of working part-time, but I’m leaning toward some kind of volunteer work in town. But you can be sure of where I’ll be on most Friday nights.”

Both men laughed at that, and then Karl Benson said, “Now why am I not shocked to hear that? You know, my dad and I were talking about you the other day.”

“Say what?” Mike was plenty friendly with Karl and his dad, but wondered why they’d be talking about him.

“Yeah, man. You see, we’ve been needing someone to help out here on most nights. Nothing too taxing, especially for a retiree, just cleaning mud off the car, stuff like that. Whaddya think, Mike?”

Mike considered this for a second. “Tell ya what, Benny. I’ll think it over. You know things are different now and I do want to keep busy without working. I’ll let you guys know soon, okay?”

“Works for me, my man. See you later?”

Mike chuckled. “You know it, Hoss. Hey, I just saw a job I could do for you.”

Benny asked, “And that would be…?”

“I see where you’re starting eighth in the fourth heat. I think that I could draw you a better spot than that.”

Kark Benson guffawed. “I’ll tell my dad you said that, ha. Take care, bud.”

Mike waved and walked to the pit bleachers just as the first group of sprint cars were shoving off for their hot laps. He sat with his old buddy from the big city, Jumping Jimmy Harlow. Jimmy had earned his nickname by being so jumpy, to be frank. People were forever sneaking up behind Jimmy and playfully doing anything to startle him. To his everlasting credit, Jimmy never seemed to mind his tormentors too bad. This was largely because of his quick wit and ability to verbally smack around anyone and everyone.

After five groups of sprinters had their brief practice, the supporting classes had their turn and Mike moseyed over to the concession stand. There she was, the cute lady who had been working concessions in the pits here for the past three or four years. Mike still didn’t know her name, but that didn’t stop him from teasing and/or flirting with her. Neither of them seemed to care that he was almost old enough (57) to be her dad.

Speaking of the fair sex, Mike had been married for 31 years to the same lady until she left for “greener pastures” as she put it, ignoring the old saw that “the grass is always greener”, etc. He had no problem understanding that being a truck driver’s wife was not an easy one. But he did have a problem with said truck driver’s wife deciding that she was all of a sudden tired of playing that part. And when her immediate supervisor at her job was a single man, things changed, with a couple of lawyers ending up with some of the Newland’s money.

So Mike was single and had been for over a year now as he carried his sumptuous dinner back to his seat and Jimmy. Friends had tried to set him up, but so far he had yet to have a second date with any of their candidates. Besides, none of them were race fans. He was resigned, more or less, to living out the rest of his days as a single man. On reflection he decided that he couldn’t complain. He had two fine kids and two more fine grandchildren, all of whom joined him on occasion at a race or at home. Who could ask for more? All things considered, Mike was very thankful and believed that he was blessed.

All hot laps were done so Mike and Jimmy made their way to the bleachers on the front straight side of the track. Jimmy, Garry, Sam, and Artie had all set out lawn chairs in their usual spot at the top of the hillside. Mike never bothered with a lawn chair, preferring to stand or sit on the ground. His firm belief was that, as a truck driver, he had spent enough time sitting down and needed to move about as much as he could.

After the prayer and the singing of the National Anthem the guys settled down a bit. They exchanged gossip, but mostly they rode Mike pretty good about his retiring. All were Hoosiers, even though Artie was from New Jersey and Mike was born in Kentucky. Mike thought of them as a loose confederation of race fans. They all went where they wanted to go each race weekend when they could go. Seldom did they consult each other about who was going where. But if one didn’t show up, the question was always asked, “Where is —-?” When they went to different tracks in the Midwest, they would call each other with results, rumors, insults, etc. Jimmy was married, and Sam was engaged to get married, to the great amusement of the others. All could be considered girl watchers and there was much teasing among them, as if they were all back in middle school and just now discovering girls.

Sprint car heat races went fairly well, with the fifth and final heat finishing at 8:15 p.m., only 45 minutes after the start of the night’s program. As the checkered flag waved all five rose from their seats and stretched. Mike and Jimmy usually headed back to the pits, while the others either went to the restroom or visited the concession stand as the support classes’ heat races ran. Mike had discussed with the guys what Benny had told him earlier. All were non-committal, only saying that he should do what he wanted now that he was retired.

Benny had come from eighth to finish fourth in his heat, so that meant he had to run the semi-feature in a last attempt to get into the big show. Mike figured that Roger and Karl would both be rather busy so he decided to get a diet cola at the concession stand before moseying over to the pits. And once again, such a seemingly insignificant decision, made on the spur of the moment, would forever alter at least two lives.

(Stay tuned for more of Mike’s adventures, somewhere down the road.)

Wishing that I was retired and not semi-retired, I’m…

Danny Burton

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