The Initial Run

I released my captive breath in the depths of my lungs as my wheels touched the white painted line of the quarter mile track. A lot of time was put into this moment, just as any gear-headed guru experienced. All the money, all the work, all the months it took just to reach this point. My head pounded with every negative outcome of this race. It wasn’t so much the losing that worried me, but chasing a passion that was a bit beyond my means, I would hate to see it go up in smoke with a loud, heart-wrenching bang.

What made this even more unsettling, for me at least, was that I was a girl who just tried to make her first race car out of something unorthodox in the racing world. I was dabbling in the world of the American muscle and the JDM imports with a lowly Grand Am I called “Kiwi”. Not only was it just a Grand Am, but it was a totaled Grand Am brought back to life despite all the negative and faithless comments thrown at it. While most people believed it should have been living the rest of its life in a junkyard, I was out to prove them wrong. I was not yet ready to join the lemming world of the Camaro and the Mustang, I decided to be one of those who has a unique race car.

The potential was there, with the whining of the L67’s blower. I wasn’t expecting to beat the growling ’94 Camaro itching to start next to me. It would be a miracle if I did, and a blow to the Camaro owner’s ego, being beat by a slightly modified ’98 Grand Am. It would add to Kiwi’s not-so-serious undefeated record of 2. One can dream, though. The real challenge was time. So bad I wanted this little green underdog to touch 12 seconds, or more realistically, 13’s. I think I put enough work into it to achieve that, with the modified cam and ported air passages throughout. It is even running a smaller blower pulley, about 3.2’, to feed its oxygen hungry mechanical lungs more than it naturally would have before.

The tree started glowing.

First red.

The Camaro started roaring, it’s nose slightly raising in anticipation. With my heart beating in my throat, I, also, started pushing the gas pedal of Kiwi, the whining becoming louder as the RPMs rose. I glanced down the track, which seemed to grow in length. Horror stories of others’ ‘first engine builds’ failing started flooding my mind, and the length threatened that possibility easily. Those who doubted Kiwi had their eyes glued on me, and the last thing I wanted was to prove them right, that the only place for my car was the bone yard. That was what this race was about, to show them that any vehicle can be a star.

Second red.

I gripped the steering wheel and twisted my white-knuckled hands around the leather. I was so nervous. My reaction times were never good, so I had to concentrate on my take off. I had to be as precise as possible to reach that desired 12-something.

Third red.

The world around me began to move slow and silently. My mind had automatically shut everything else out except for Kiwi. Kiwi, for as long as he has been in the family, has always been a comfort. It was almost as if he really came to life, and his calming presence embraced me. I promised him of this opportunity, and I kept my word, and now, he was ready to shine. I released my anxiety. No matter the outcome, this moment was about me and Kiwi, and we were about to have fun showing the world, or at least the spectators in the vicinity, especially those nay-sayers, that anything is possible when you put your mind to it.

“Let’s do this, Buddy!”

Green light!

The Camaro took off like a rocket, chirping the tires as he launched. Kiwi stuttered a bit, but he was quickly gaining speed, along with my adrenaline. It felt like I was barely moving, yet at the same time, the finish line came racing towards me with blinding speed. To my surprise, the Camaro wasn’t as far ahead as I expected. Kiwi, with every horse he could wrangle up, managed to keep a decent pace. I just kept my foot grounded on the gas pedal and trusted Kiwi and his automatic transmission to do the rest. The engine was holding up better than my doubts, though, in the back of my mind, I was still anticipating the terrible sound of failure. I could only imagine the embarrassment of those who broke down in the middle of the track, and I still had plenty of time for that to become a reality for me. But I was always hard on myself.

Just a couple more feet and it would be over.

“You are doing great, babe!” I encouraged the car. “Just keep it up; we are almost there!”

The Camaro started pulling away, but I wasn’t disappointed, really. Kiwi kept on his tail for a while, and the finish line was a couple seconds away. That was more than satisfying to me. For Kiwi’s first run, I felt it was more of a success than a loss anyway, and I think Kiwi felt the same.

Finish line.

Camaro: 12.3

Grand Am: 12.9

I did it! Kiwi survived! First run was a success! I couldn’t contain my excitement! I loudly cheered in the car as I slowed down to make the turn around the bend to head back. I couldn’t wait to see my friends and gloat. As I approached the bleachers on the return lane, I rolled down my window, and made a thumbs up at my cheering friends, not caring what everyone else thought. It wasn’t very often they see a totaled, supercharged Grand Am break 12’s in the quarter mile. There is nothing like the underdog showing that the improbable is very possible, and I believe Kiwi and I showed just that.