One of the reasons that I love my job so much (aside from the fact that I get paid to go 300 mph and nitro smells wonderful) is the people. You guys make a bad day good and a good day fantastic. The feedback I get from those of you who read this blog is really what inspires me to continue writing and open my life up in order to make for some interesting insight into the daily activities of a fuel driver. I appreciate all of you…make that all but one of you. Somebody, pretending to be me, called DSR several days ago wanting money. Your story was interesting, claiming that you lost your wallet (I lose things), there had been some sort of fight in the terminal (I’ve been in fights), your flight was cancelled (been there, done that), and you needed money wired to you to catch the next flight (I could use some money). Believable, just not true. And while your tenacity is admirable, the fact that you are a dishonest, cheating, lying sack-of-…well, let’s just leave it at that. I have Rod Fuller and Doug Herbert out looking for you as we speak, so you better hide!

Okay, glad we got that out of the way. Gainesville…not the way it was supposed to happen, but there actually were some highlights. After a tune-up change following the test session data from our team Funny Cars of NAPA and Shelor.com, we struggled with the different power curve through the first three qualifying runs. When we rolled up to the lanes for our final attempt, we were sitting 15th (only 17 cars showed up), and that was on a run where I pedaled to a not-so-spectacular 4.52 (I’m still having to adjust to the 1,000 foot numbers, as a 4.52 still sounds really stout to me). Hight was on the bump, Head was not in, and both ran in front of us. Johnny and I talked about the fact that if one of them didn’t go around us (thereby guaranteeing we’d be in the show) there wasn’t much point in taking a chance on pedaling again. We had already hurt our best body on the second attempt when the blower backfired on what would have been a 4.21 or 4.22. The blast buckled most of the tinwork around the dash, so we bolted our back-up body (which is 14 pounds heavier) on to finish the weekend. Anyway, Hight ran well enough to move clear into the top half, so we now were on the bump with only Jim Head to watch. As the next car in the water box, I strained to see his run through the plethora of crewmen standing on the starting line in front of me. After he made it to 400 feet without smoking the tires, it was pretty obvious that we were now on the outside, with one shot left. Add to that the fact that track guru Lanny Miglizzi had just informed us on the radio that a massive cleanup just before the Funny Car session had left our lane in questionable shape about 175 feet out. Head’s car had drifted towards the centerline, actually avoiding that area, but that’s not something that you would want to do intentionally, as it could cause more problems with traction. So, I’m thinking that I have to be ready to pedal if anything goes wrong, but I’m staring at the scoreboards and seeing the bump at 4.35, which is easily doable…I hope. Pedaling typically costs 1 to 2 tenths of a second, and this may be really close. Fortunately, John and Johnny (and, if you factor in that my legal name is John, well, there’s lots of John’s in our camp. By the way, Mr. Thief, wonder if you knew that little bit of personal data about me!) had a stout pass in the car, and we made it comfortably.

This photo was taken at Indy in 2003, so you'll have to use age progression to figure out what Big and Fast look like today. Still, how cool is a picture with Don Garlits?

The downside is that we ended up ninth, with a first-round date against Tim Wilkerson. I really like Tim, just not in the other lane. He and I spent quite a bit of time hanging out on Friday at the lab. No, we weren’t there to try to cure him of his recent Ford fetish, nor to use therapy to eliminate my rage from some a-hole pretending to be me at the air…there I go again. We were amongst the many randomly selected to have drug tests at Gainesville. No, we didn’t go into the bathroom together, either, nor did we study together and help each other with the answers. I did manage to slip some paprika sauce and Bud Light into his urine container before he went in, but it didn’t work. He not only beat us by .001 in the first round, but apparently he passed his test and wasn’t disqualified!

Losing first round is always a major bummer, but, like I said earlier, there were some good parts about my trip to the Gators: I got to eat dinner over at Ronnie Swearingen’s house (don’t call him pretending to be me and ask for money — he won’t send any!). Ronnie’s accomplishments in nitro racing will certainly get him into the Hall of Fame one day, and we met when he was working at the Hawley School in Pomona. Ronnie has actually worked for Frank half a dozen times and runs the alcohol class in Florida right now. He has crewed on more nitro cars than Ted Kennedy has DUIs. Friday morning I took part in the Army YES program, which always is huge in Gainesville, and another plus was getting to hang out with Steve Johnson and Tony Schumacher. I also met several cadets who were there in uniform, and I shared some life lessons with them (namely, don’t call my shop pretending to be me!). I did a segment for Full Throttle TV (which can be accessed on this very NHRA.com Web site) with the lovely and talented (someday I want to be referred to as that) Jessie Combs. FTTV is a great addition to our sport, and I really like the way they are highlighting the drivers and personalities in our sport. I think that’s what we’ve always needed to reach the next level of popularity and broaden our fan base. I interviewed Don Garlits for a future episode. Let that sink in…I (me, Jack Beckman: drag racing fan and recently the target of some jerk trying to steal money) got to speak with BIG DADDY! Though the interview went very professionally, I had to fight the urge to give him a huge hug and tell him he’s the greatest (I actually do that to Force quite often). I’m a lucky guy. Our team also hosted Bill and Kat (Catherine), who were the winners of a local contest to spend the day Saturday with our team. Actually, I think they won third prize. Second place got dinner with Ronnie Swearingen, and first prize was accompanying Tim Wilkerson to his next breathalyzer/urinalysis. Anyway, Bill already was a big fan of the sport (I wonder if he’s hugged Garlits or Force?), and I think Kat is too after the weekend. They got to ride up in the tow vehicle and see a lot of behind-the-scenes action that is really interesting, and they were nice people, too.

Though our race weekend wasn’t close to what we were looking for, we’re going to win one real soon, so we all have our heads high (not to be confused with having to go in for the drug testing, that’s a different kind of “high”) and will go try to get our trophy in Houston.

I ran into Chip Foose (Hot Rod builder to the stars, and reality TV personality) at the airport in Jacksonville on my way home. I met Chip when he and his good friend Chris Titus (actor/comedian) came through the school many years ago. Chip is such a typical car nut — humble, approachable, and laid back — and he is amazingly talented.

The best part of my entire trip was arriving home and having Jason come “running” down the walkway to greet me. He is growing up so fast and speaking more every day. I love the time I am able to spend with him, watching how he changes, though it’s tough to try and get anything done around the house, as he is pretty “high maintenance,” so one of us always has to be monitoring him.

Speaking of, I’ve been trying to get some home projects taken care of lately (while I have the ambition) and have been mildly successful. I power washed and re-stained the side fence, repainted the gate next to the garage (of course, I turned a one-hour project into three days of fun, after peeling/torching all of the old paint off, spackling the screw holes and cracks, sanding, priming, AND THEN painting, then wishing I’d just spent the hour and done it quick and dirty), and attempted to install a new door for the back kitchen entrance. After three trips to Home Depot, getting the old door completely off and stripped of hardware, having bud Danny bring his tools and expertise over, it became apparent that this 1953 door jamb had seen better days. By the time we would have got this door to fit, we probably would have ruined 2 or 3 of them. I have a pre-hung door now on order, and Dan and I will be doing some serious demolition, tearing out the entire jamb, in about 2 weeks. Jason didn’t care, he got to use some of dad’s tools and hammer on the old door before I had to reassemble and re-hang it.

The entire side of my garage is peeling, and I’m pissed. Not so much that the paint looks horrible, but due to the fact that I paid a guy less than 3 years ago to do the paint…and I paid him well. Being captain of the cheap team at my high school, money and I don’t part ways easily, but I did pay a handsome fee to have old Pablo Picasso give me a substandard job. When the first peeling occurred just over a year after his fleecing, I mean visit, I phoned him, but of course he’s no longer at that number. Go figure! So, I scraped, sanded, stripped (the paint, not my clothes) and got my first sunburn of the year (note to self: tank top means sunblock, Jack), but I am making progress. After Vegas I will need to re-sand all of the wood, pressure wash, prime, and paint. Yep, I should be done just after Vegas…the second Vegas!

There’s a great sense of accomplishment that goes with an honest day’s work (are you listening, Commodore Embezzler?), and I enjoy that satisfaction of getting projects done. I also have been able to get back to working out, though not nearly as regularly as I used to. With my schedule (and older physique), I try to get in three sessions a week, but the racing makes it tougher at times. Jason does his best to help dad lift when I get tired, and I really have to be mindful that I don’t whack him with a weight or let him get his finger in a pulley while I’m lifting. I also try to get down to Redondo and surf with Rich when possible, but that is so dependant on water conditions that I hadn’t been in probably a month. I was able to go Saturday and Tuesday, and it felt wonderful. I was tired as can be out there, especially with trying to get some weight training done in between the beach days, but it was well worth the soreness. Some of the rides I had on Tuesday will definitely tide me over until I get back from Vegas (there won’t be any time between Houston and Vegas, as my schedule gets very hectic).

Today I picked up the motorhome from Andy’s storage, so we can get on the road as soon as I get back from Texas. I’m off to Houston tomorrow, and we still have plenty to get done in the morning before my flight. Our new couch (yeah, that would be the one we ordered and paid for over 16 weeks ago…nice of them to get it delivered when they promised) is getting here Friday, and apparently they won’t move the old furniture. Just so you understand the lunacy of this, let me rephrase: The furniture movers won’t move YOUR furniture. The people who are bringing the nice, new, big couch won’t touch the small one now in the living room. The folks I PAID GOOD MONEY for delivery don’t want to trouble themselves with trivial stuff, like MOVING FURNITURE! So, Jenna and I will move the couch into the garage tomorrow, and she and Jason will have to do without until Friday. You see, Friday is the only day that they deliver in our area, never mind that they are already 2-4 weeks behind our estimated date, let’s just let it sit in the warehouse for a few extra days, as we sure wouldn’t want to go out of our way for a paying customer. Whew, glad I vented on that one. I think it’s just the thought of that $@!*#@! pretending to be me that’s got me wound up. Hey, here’s a thought for you, Major Rip-off: If you really want to be me, how ’bout YOU move the couch, paint the garage, and replace the back door? Then maybe we could get you some money. And next time you figure out my schedule (tough once you read this blog), DO NOT call DSR looking for an advance on my paycheck. Call my dad instead. Better yet, call the President. He’s taking money from all of us to…that’s an entirely different speech. I quit.

Stay tuned.