Photography by J.A. Ackley
The traffic light turns yellow. Gun it or hit the brakes? I listened to that angel on my shoulder. Given the recent rain, that was probably the right way to go. Sigh.
As I restlessly await the green, I turn my head left. It’s a Wendy’s. Stomach growls. And a race car? Ooh, race car!
Sure, it’s not a supercar. Nor is it anything remotely close to a Michelin-starred restaurant. But put the Wendy’s and the Ford Focus race car together and somehow it becomes a magical scene.
I did not grow up in this sport. I always loved cars, of course, but the nearest I came to a race track as a young kid was slingin’ shells in Super Mario Kart. Racing wasn’t even on my radar until my early teens, when I had that “Ooh, race car” moment. It came at a personal crossroads.
Days before that epiphany, I had visited one of the most sacred places in all of baseball: Cooperstown. While in awe at being in the presence of various balls, bats, gloves and uniforms that some of the larger-than-life legends touched, word came in: The ballplayers went on strike. For a kid who’d played baseball around the clock, for free, for life, it dumbfounded me. I just wanted my heroes to play.
Dejected. Disappointed. Disenchanted. I went back to my grandparents’ home.
My grandfather and father took me out to get some groceries. As we drove through downtown Elmira, New York, a car caught my eye: Ooh, race car!
It was another Ford, the black-and-gold No. 2 NASCAR stock car of Rusty Wallace. It was just sitting there along a street full of race cars. It looked evil. Sinister. And badass. I told my dad and grandpa, “We gotta stop.” Surprisingly, they did. This was that moment when I became hooked on the sport.
In the week preceding the NASCAR race at Watkins Glen, local small towns used to hold racing fairs. In fact, one year I remember this tall dude with a goatee and a bushy ’fro walking around in Corning, New York.
Later at the Glen, that guy appeared on the Jumbotron. Some guy named Boris Said? Who knew? The fairs served as a great conduit to connect outsiders to the insiders of the sport. It’s where racers such as Ron Fellows, Randy LaJoie and Ken Schrader made an impression on this teenager trying to figure out what he’s going to make of his life.
Fast-forward a few years. Senior year in high school. I wanted desperately to get involved in racing. Somehow. Some way. My one escape–besides racing and comics–was music. I played the trombone, and it was my ticket out of real classes at school–and, unknowingly, my ticket into racing.
One of my fellow bandmates at school invited a bunch of us to play big-band music for her father’s car at a car show at the Nassau Coliseum. At that event, there was this bright-orange No. 2x truck that competed at Riverhead Raceway. Ooh, race car!
Eventually, I connected with the builder of that truck, who in turn got me in touch with a driver who needed crew help. From there, I’ve spent now 25 years in the sport, on the other side of the fence, all because a race car captured my attention. It’s why seeing that Ford Focus–driven by Nick Aegarter and stickered up for a Gridlife event at Road Atlanta–at Wendy’s meant so much to me.
Honnnnkkkk!
Okay, okay, the light’s green. I get it.
To finish my thought, that Ford race car in public may not seem extraordinary to many people. However, for those with a flickering ember of interest in cars and racing, who knows what it may ignite. It could be a passion that lasts a lifetime.
Reminds me of something a professor told me when I got cast in a main stage production in college:
It doesn't matter if it's the opening show or the final one, you need to give it your all because there could be some young kid in the audience seeing their very first stage play.
Every time I see a car with numbers in public I know its going to be an interesting conversation at least.
In reply to theruleslawyer :
Corollary: every time I drive my numbered car, I end up having a conversation with someone every time I stop somewhere, and sometimes just sitting in traffic
I first declared I wanted to go racing in 1967; all these years later I still get jazzed when I see a race car of any kind.
This is great, Nick is good people.
I saw this in today's email blast and I was like.... I know that car.
This will make him smile.
Pete. (l33t FS) said:In reply to theruleslawyer :
Corollary: every time I drive my numbered car, I end up having a conversation with someone every time I stop somewhere, and sometimes just sitting in traffic
He really does. Pete bringing delight to random strangers has warmed this cantankerous old heart many times
Pete. (l33t FS) said:In reply to theruleslawyer :
Corollary: every time I drive my numbered car, I end up having a conversation with someone every time I stop somewhere, and sometimes just sitting in traffic
I'm going to apologize in advance as that'll be probably me talking with you in traffic. 
This is exactly why I like driving unique cars. They don't have to be 'race' cars necessarily, though I have autocrossed everything I own (including the ramp truck, hehe) at this point.
I still remember my "ah-ha!" moment, it was in 1996, at the Metrocenter mall in Phoenix, AZ. There, parked under a tree, was a brand new 1997 Corvette, if I recall, it was pewter colored of some sort. That was my awakening, and I still have a soft spot for C5's, at least the outside. Getting in them lets me down just a bit, but only because of GM interior materials of that era.
Currently working on getting my Exocet ready for road use. Is it comfortable? Nope. Practical? Not very. At all in its element on the street? Not a bit. However, the handful of times I have taken it to the gas station, it creates smiles, and for at least one kid out there, I made someone's day once. Makes it all worth it. =)
I drove to work this morning with my meatball still in place from last weekend's event. Sporty car, but not an expensive car, and it isn't much modified beyond wheels/tires, coilovers, and a livery. Even so, a group of middle-school-aged boys walking to school spotted me, pointed and reacted with arms waving, and then rubbernecked as I drove past. Totally made my day! I flashed back to being that age waiting at the school bus stop one morning and staring in awe as some awesome dude in a hopped-up Datsun 510 "racecar" did a sequence of rev-matched downshifts up to intersection, did a couple throttle blips, then took off, revving a bit above what was strictly necessary in each gear, but not at illegal speeds, and I just thought it was the coolest thing ever. 😁
I don't know if I ever shared this story here, but not before/after (I can't recall) the latest Supra came out, we had it as a press car, and I got to drive it for a little bit.
Yeah, it was fun to drive, but the best moment was driving it back to the office, when a guy in a newer WRX was driving the opposite way spotted the Supra, mouth wide open. I'm certain he told everyone he saw a Supra.
That's probably the coolest I've ever felt (or ever will feel).
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