It’s not often that I’m at a loss for how to start a story, but that’s where I find myself as I sit down to share this tale. A person wants to jump to the headline, but I’m going to start a bit earlier.
It’s Friday morning, the first session of the 2025 SOVREN Pacific Northwest Historic races at Pacific Raceways. On new tires and running a borrowed engine, all I want to do during the session is get a feel for the car. The first lap is functionally a pace lap; full-course yellow. As we pass start finish I throttle up through turn 1, then slow for the long turn 2, and head down the hill to 3a and 3b. With other cars near me and in no rush, I take it easy into three: Brake early, over-slow, and then suddenly the car is going around and off at 3a.
Confused as to why it happened, I sit for a moment before attempting to refire the car. As often the case, a bit of white smoke emanates from the engine bay, stray oil thrown against the exhaust manifold. The car is often resistant to restarting in these situations, and I decide that since I’m not at all sure why I spun, sitting in the runout of the same turn isn’t ideal. When the track clears I let the car roll across the track and into the safer infield of 3a.
When it comes to a stop, there is more white smoke, not less. Then the smoke turns black and almost immediately after I see the paint on the bonnet bubble. Engine bay fire. I evacuate the car swiftly, then, with no evidence of fire in the cockpit, reach in and grab the fire extinguisher. I have the pin out and am about to release it in the engine bay when e-crew arrives and puts it out.
It’s been a bipolar season to say the least: By this time I’ve blown two engines amid getting my first outright win in a race, racing at Laguna Seca (a bucket-list item for me), and had lopped four full seconds off my best time at Pacific Raceways. Overcome by emotion I chuck the fire extinguisher across the infield and go sit on a berm (in a safe location) and, basically, pout for the rest of the race. It’s not behavior I’m proud of and I’m also trying to cut myself some slack: I had a lot of emotion and serotonin going.
After the session ends I get flat towed back to the paddock. Still feeling foul, I get out of the car and tell folks I need to sit quietly for a while. I retreat to my car and sit with the air conditioning on for fifteen minutes or so, until I feel the edginess fade.
Still in my race suit and shoes, I return to my trailer and change. When I turn around there a six people working on my car; evaluating the damage and scheming. Thankfully, it was about as minor as it could have been: A damaged vent hose let a bit of oil mist get to the manifold. That smoldered and ignited the foam air filter. The filter burned and melted, making a mess and bubbling the paint.
Without any coordination or direction, everyone just leapt into action. The carbs are pulled off. I call my wife to bring the spare air filter from the house, the engine bay is cleaned. And while I dismantle and clean out the carbs in the trailer, a new vent hose materializes from the paddock. By the time I’m done cleaning, everything else is done. We work together to reassemble things, pressure test the fuel lines, and fire the car while someone runs down to tech to request a re-tech of the car (mandatory after a fire). By the time the scrutineer arrives, the engine bay is clean, the carbs are on, and the new air filter is installed.
“I can’t even tell it was on fire”, he says as he signs off the log book.
In the end, I don’t even miss a race session. I started to write that it was miraculous, but at the same time it’s typical of things that happen in our Sprite-Midget paddock.
People might come to the Sprite Midget Challenge to race, but they stay for the camaraderie.
Epilogue: During the next session I notice a vibration in the front end of the car. A paddock inspection reveals that the brass bushing in the upper kingpin trunnion is badly worn, allowing the bolt that holds the lever shock arm to it (forming the upper control arm) to move substantially. I head home to get bushings that might fit, but don’t make it halfway before I get a call: Someone in the paddock has a complete set of race-grade trunnions and has dropped them at my car. By the time I get back they are being installed and once again, typically and miraculously, I don’t miss a session.
