ROAD AMERICA, ELKHART LAKE, WISC.

 

SANDBAGGING?

The world of racing is such an odd one.

When the boys in white-and-blue, otherwise known as the No. 01 TELMEX BMW-Riley (by the way, Carlos, we know you’re still in your honeymoon phase and all, but, gee, when is your bride gonna let you come to the track again?) ran the fist-of-year Rolex Series’ pool table, people started raising such a ruckus that the car was ordered to NASCAR’s research center and subjected to a cavity search that’d make the folks at TSA proud while, just like most TSA searches, illegal devices were absent from the TELMEX car, too.

Then, just when everyone had accepted that the TELMEX car would simply win the rest of the 2011 race schedule without challenge, the team produces seventh and second-place finishes, respectively compiled at Lime Rock Park and Sahlen’s Six Hours At The Glen.

So, what’d folks say?

“Sandbagging!”

Well, TELMEX team manager (is he a “director” yet?) Tim Keene then just suddenly breaks with TELMEX’s two-race “tradition” and oversees a win at Road America.

So there!

Then again, traveling a little farther down the “untouchable” path was the an apparent end of a budding end-of-year, three-team championship thrash – a la the 2007 Miller Motorsports Park race – at the EMCO Gears Classic at the new and now constantly improving Mid-Ohio Sports Car Course.

It’s pretty clear the EMCO folks would dread a year-ending September 16-17 Mid-Ohio show devoid of championship-chase thrills – just like the rest of us.

THE BEAT GOES ON

The late Sonny Bono for years looked like a guy who just couldn’t ever believe he’d actually been lucky enough to “score” Cher.

Sonny actually later proved a little deeper – eventually becoming a member of the U.S. House of Representatives as well as being an astute businessman – but over the roughly 13 years they were an “item” Sonny looked nothing less than stunned.

Well, Ol’ DC probably would’ve been stunned, too. In fact, Cher’s still stunning just from “here.”

Unlike Sonny, Jon Fogarty and Alex Gurney looked fairly satisfied (engineer, race-strategist Kyle Brannan being the stunned one) the podium is beginning to feel like home again for their Bob Stallings’ No. 99 GAINSCO Chevrolet-Riley after Saturday’s second-place Road America VisitFlorida.com race finish.

For “The Dragon” the last three races now have produced a 4-3-2 countdown to “one” – and where better than “home” in fewer than two weeks (Saturday, June 9) at Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca?

For Fogarty and Gurney, the “secret” to their improvement has been the ability to test, evidently absent for the better part of the season’s first half.

PROOF POSITIVE

Motorsports journalist John Dagys got one of the season’s best, um, “aftermath” photographs of Gunter Schaldach’s motionless CoolTV Camaro, which at Road America made like an Ornimegalonyx and succeeded. Well, after it tried to air it out, that is.

In the last 35-minutes, Ol’ DC has seen the otherwise “flightless” Camaro no fewer than nine times – count ‘em; nine times.

IT JUST MADE SENSE

“The cars were at such a good price, it just made sense” not to add insult or injury, staying instead with the engines they brung, insisted DP team owner Peter Baron in explaining how one of his two cars went from a deep-throated Ford to emitting a slightly higher pitch with a flat-six Porsche in the No. 2 Starworks’ Avior Riley engine bay of Venezuelan drivers Alex Popow and Enzo Potolicchio.

Satisfied with taking receipt of two finely maintained Penske Racing Daytona Prototypes which, during the 2009 season, were the object of gunshots at the feet (metaphorically speaking, folks) – both self-aimed and found squarely in the crosshairs of others – Baron said it’d cost in the neighborhood of $45,000 each to modify the two former Penske chassis for the Ford engine still carried by the No. 8 of Mike Forest and Ryan Dalziel’s No. 8 Grout Shield Ford Riley, which finished fourth Saturday at Road America’s VisitFlorida.com Rolex Series race.

The No. 2 Starworks Porsche-Riley finished eighth.

FOSTER RELEASED

With little additional news than hearing the concern for Joe Foster’s physical health had more to do with neck, shoulder and/or collar bone injuries than ribs, the No. 40 Patrick Dempsey Racing VisitFlorida.com driver/owner nevertheless was released from Milwaukee’s Froedtert Memorial Lutheran Hospital after being flown there following the Turn 1 row with Gunter Schaldach’s CoolTV Camaro, referenced earlier – and an additional dozen-or-so times on TV since the first mention made above.

Whew, there’s nothing like getting the media churning than an everyday racing crash, huh?

Later,

DC

JUST SKATING ALONG

 

“I hit the tires and I thought, ‘Gee, that wasn’t so bad,’” Gunter Schaldach said after skating across the Turn 1 gravel trap like a stone skipping across a pond before hitting a tire and fence barrier no was expected to hit, much less bore through it.

“Then I realized I still had some motion, but it was kinda quiet.”

It was just about a millisecond later when Schaldach’s No. 07 Banner Racing CoolTV Camaro GT.R (the remains of which pictured at left) performed what was described as a “couple of rolls” before settling upright somewhere on a Road America hillside no one had previously traversed – at least, not as had Schaldach.

That which launched Schaldach hasn’t exactly been determined, though the driver noted some “long travel” in the brake pedal before the run-in with Joe Foster’s No. 40 Fresh From Florida Mazda RX-8’s rear bumper.

“I had a really long pedal before I even hit him,” Schaldach said. “I pumped it but it didn’t respond.”

Expectations of Schaldach’s health fell about as quickly as did his car sail from view but concerns were soon reversed as Schaldach climbed atop the hillside and strolled through the hole his car had just created.

Attention then focused on Foster, whose Mazda had been contained by the barrier and was thought to have borne far less of the crash burden than did Schaldach.

Soon, though, Foster’s roof was peeled rearward and the driver, complaining of a shortage of breath, presumed to have been caused by a rib injury, was extricated by the Road America safety crew.

Soon afterward Foster was flown to Milwaukee’s Froedtert Memorial Lutheran Hospital for further evaluation.

More as it becomes available.

Later,

DC

RECOGNIZING POTENTIAL

 

Racing media and public relations expert Barbara Burns has been around for awhile.

Um, no, a poor choice of words to say about any woman but, then again, Ol DC seems to be on a recent roll of ill-advised expressions.

Nevertheless, racing-media and public-relations expert Barbara Burns’ DNA (oxyribonucleic acid minus a little oxygen, thus the “De”) has been around the sport for a long enough period that there’s little she can’t or won’t do, given legal and moral limitations, of course.

Indeed, Burns was born into racing. Among the residences her family claimed as “home” was a rural race track just up the road from a town once owned by a movie star (and native Georgian) Kim Bassinger.

More than one or two more interesting stories over the years have in some way, directly or indirectly, involved Road Atlanta’s once seriously rural environs and upon which Atlanta today is seriously encroaching.

Road Atlanta is a magical place where one could’ve seen Mark Donohue to Tom Kristensen plying its turns, never mind Calvin Fish (yes, he once drove; quite well, too).

Much like a Who’s Who of the racers – whether drivers or teams or cars – who’ve traversed Road Atlanta’s hillside course, a perusal of Road Atlanta’s real estate title abstract likely would produce similar interesting results, as well as finding names appearing on both lists.

One such name: “Whittington.”

One-time Road Atlanta owners Bill and Don Whittington, along with the littlest Whittington, Dale, now deceased, were powerfully good racers in their own right.

In 1982 the Whittingtons became the only three-brother “team” to make the same Indianapolis 500 field.

Unfortunately, when life pulled one of its unexpected left, well, actually, make that “right” turns, the three brothers didn’t get much farther than a couple of pace laps before mayhem ensued and, officially, Dale Whittington didn’t officially take the race-starting green flag

The 1982 Indy 500 was a race from which emerged were famous phrases like, “This is what happens when you have children doing a man's job up front,” credited to Mario Andretti, along with this assuredly classic A.J. Foyt one-liner: “The guy had his head up his ass.”

Yesiree, full of hyperbole and metaphor, that latter thought.

No, the Andretti and Foyt comments didn’t refer to any of the Whittingtons, though one, Dale, was ultimately involved in a front-of-field melee started when Penske Racing Indy 500 rookie driver Kevin Cogan took that unexpected right turn, directly into Foyt’s side.

Cogan somehow managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, proverbially if not actually, having combined in just one race both his best and worst starts.

On a high just two weeks earlier, Cogan, who’d come to U.S. open-wheel racing by way of two years in Formula One, had on Pole Day set one- and four-lap track records of 204.638 mph (329.333 km/h) and 204.082 mph (328.438 km/h), respectively, only to have Penske teammate Rick Mears soon after wipe both, setting a then-blistering four-lap 207.004 mph (333.141 km/h) average. (By comparison, the slowest driver to make the 2011 Indy 500 grid, Brazil’s Ana Beatriz, turned a 223.879 mph/360.298 kph four-lap average.)

Wedged in the middle of a front row that on Cogan’s left had Rick Mears – whose brother, Roger Mears, also made the ’82 field – and A.J. Foyt to his right, Cogan at the very end of the final pace lap Cogan had nothing but empty race track directly before him and roughly 30 soon-to-be highly agitated racers behind.

As the race-starting green flag was unfurled, Cogan, for some still-debated reason, hung a right straight into Foyt.

Behind them, an inside-Row 2 Mario Andretti, somehow was also into someone or something and, presumably “digging deep” from his 23rd starting spot was Dale Whittington, whose momentum apparently was to be stemmed only by Andretti’s car, ending the ’82 race, before it had officially begum, for both drivers.

(See it for yourownself, including the complete pictorial starting lineup, among who was Indy 500 rookie Chip Ganassi, with hair, here.)

Gordon Johncock, who nearly always seemed to be on the wrong end of a hard-luck tale (at least from his viewpoint), won the race by 0.16 ahead of a hard-charging Rick Mears, who delivered the first real “hint” of the feats to come from one of Indy’s best, if not most storied contestants.

Now, what’s all this got to do with Burns? Not much, really; certainly not in a direct sense. Yet, it’s a great story, huh?

Among those great Whittington stories, which starts to get a little closer to “The Burns’ Road Atlanta Chapter,” is the drug-money millions buried in various places scattered around Road Atlanta’s environs.

While it’s best to allow Barbara Burns to take the lead in speaking of the many funny stories to come from that Road Atlanta era, it’s fairly safe to say Burns didn’t get any of that stash because she likely would be on permanent vacation somewhere along the French Riviera.

Still, despite his propensity for brain farts even then, in early 2006, Burns asked this reporter for a dinner-time meeting.

So, over a quiet dinner on the hardwood floors, echo-perfect walls and most excellent cuisine at a packed VIRginia International Raceway Oak Tree Tavern, Burns asked for help in educating a newly budding 16-year-old in the ways of the motorsports media.

The “kid” hadn’t raced much before earnestly undertaking the sport the previous year but, if not standing on every podium, he was winning darn near every Skip Barber and karting race he entered. Indeed, his greatest competition, like the Whittingtons, often came from a younger brother, but that’s another story for another day.

“Don’t let him slide,” Burns implored, “Ask some hardball questions. He at some point will be facing a much larger audience.”

So, it was with some measure of pride that Ol’ DC watched 21-year-old Ricky Taylor, co-driver of the No. 10 SunTrust Racing Chevrolet Dallara, handle himself so well last week while appearing “WindTunnel with Dave Despain.”

Later,

DC

MEA CULPA

 

In a slight departure from racing into the realm and meaning of “real” life, Ol’ DC needs to again use some space to fess up for having screwed up “in racing.”

Years ago, actually about two decades ago when given deeper thought, Ol’ DC’s father, Mr. Williams, was altogether lost when the bedrock of his life, his spouse, Ol’ DC’s mother or “Mrs. Williams,” passed into existence’s next domain.

Soon, Ol’ DC’s father joined a household that included his son’s spouse and two daughters barely out of diapers.

Ol’ DC, having the luxury of working from home, was their primary caretaker. It was a role gladly embraced, if nothing else than because Ol’ DC would provide an environment where knowledge and its acquisition was of paramount importance.

Being the functional equivalent of sponges absorbing water, learning the world around them offered lessons quickly learned, though mistakes frustratingly occurred, they being human and all.

That they later graduated summa and magna cum laude in high school and college is offered as proof that the two, now respectively undertaking graduate studies, indeed learned knowledge is “king.”

Bereft of his great love, Ol’ DC’s father, their grandfather, relished the opportunity to hang with his only grandchildren and, generational information being an important part of any family’s firm grounding, he was a welcomed part of a newly expanded household, albeit wedged in a house that hadn’t simultaneously transformed its size.

With only one wall separating the father’s room from his son’s office, father and son often and easily bantered, sometimes jokingly spurred by one having first talked only with himself or, at other times, when a television’s talking head initiated a “conversation.”

Thus it was one day when Ol’ DC heard him say, “. . . little black girl.”

Think about it enough – “little black girl” – and one can only come to the conclusion that it’s “discriminating” language that has more to do with singling out ethnicity than gender or a person’s size.

As once did I and as have others since, my spouse used to say it without actually thinking, for she claimed – and after 30-years of marriage this spouse can attest – she’s not a bigoted soul.

Yet, innocent habit or no, it had no place in ordinary, casual discourse and the expression needed to be omitted unless specificity dictated otherwise, Ol’ DC insisted.

It’s not easy for a son to dictate anything to a father, but after having heard and together logically considered the place of or, rather, the “lack of place” for “little black girl” in nearly any conversation, a father then agreed to modify his words.

The principal reason for drawing the distinction and seeking moderation was simple: exposure to bigotry is the principal reason behind its perpetration, whether the damnation of ethnicity or gender being at the root.

One day, though, Ol’ DC’s oldest daughter, Rachel, came home from public school – one considered to be among the top elementary schools in the area – and quizzically repeated to her father a word she’d learned only days shy of “graduating” to second grade.

“Have you ever heard the word ‘nih-jur,’” she struggled to say phonetically, contorting her mouth in an effort to get the word out.

Yep, it was the “n” word; “nigger.”

Ol’ DC was absolutely fit to be tied. Having expressly banned the word’s use by anyone in the household or related to it, that they’d ultimately learn of it in school didn’t seem too farfetched to expect, even if unwanted.

Yet, it was learned from a teacher, whose intention was honorable in the end but who had first used the word as means by which to insist her charges not use it. The logic didn’t catch with me, honestly, but the cat was out of the bag and, after Rachel and Camille were exposed to yet another discussion of the subject – this time at their home – the word was no longer heard around our house.

One day, with Rachel and Camille back at school and their grandfather and father still separated by that same, single wall at home, “kike!” suddenly was yelled from one side of it.

Arising from his desk, a short and quick walk placed Ol’ DC in his father’s doorway, asking “What’s up?”

“Oh, those damn Jews . . .”

His conversation interrupted at the “s” in “Jews,” a son again was at odds with the words of his father and was making such known, vociferously so.

In short, knowing the degree to which he loved his granddaughters, Ol’ DC’s father was explicitly given a choice having a very sharp, defining line: no bigotry in any manner whatsoever or no granddaughters.

It mattered not where, when or about whom. Additionally made clear to him were that no exceptions; no excuses would be accepted from that point forward.

In the following seven years that remained in his life, not once did that grandfather utter another pejorative expression regarding anyone’s ethnicity or culture.

In a recent post-qualifying Watkins Glen media center news conference Question and Answer period Ol’ DC posed a question of Max Angelelli which contained the words “. . . death-camp look . . .”

Angelelli looked a bit pekkid, a physical condition to which Ol’ DC clumsily attempted reference.

The ineptitude, if not downright stupidity of having used those words hit Ol’ DC about two-milliseconds following the words’ departure from Ol’ DC’s mouth.

Neither malice nor forethought was first undertaken in their formation, no grand plan of defamation, it was just a mind’s eye seeing one thing – a physical presence – and, in the words above, an unfortunately lame attempt at drawing a quick, verbal analogy.

Now dropping the formality of second or third-person references:

Mine was a brain fart, pure and simple, but one at which at least one unknown other took offense and expressed such to Grand-Am.

Mine was a stupid, dumb reference behind which was absolutely no intent to offend, glibly or otherwise.

I know in my heart, and as has been exemplified in the general conduct of my life’s six decades, that injury of another with those words was completely unintended.

Furthermore, people who know me also will attest that I will unreservedly go toe-to-toe, face-to-face with anyone with whom I’ve a bone to pick – including a man who gave all that he could so that I might live – and that I do not resort to vague references as a means by which to attack, whether verbally or within the confines of writing.

Yes, such at times has caused ill feelings – ask representatives of Porsche or Chevrolet; individuals like Wayne Taylor and, even, Jim France – but at least folks know where I’m coming from, unequivocally so.

But I’m not a bigot or racist – or, at the very least, I do not wish to be.

That someone, anyone, whoever it may have been was offended by those three words was not my intent.

Yet, it now has become one of many lessons learned in a life that will end far sooner than a lust  for the lessons it offers.

It’s also a lesson I ardently hope won’t again be repeated - but for the occurrence of which I nonetheless and sincerely apologize.

DC

STIRLING WISDOM

“There are two things no man will admit he cannot do well: drive and make love.” - Sir Stirling Moss OBE

In a recent television interview Sir Stirling Moss proffered his belief that modern-age racing is more likely to produce accidents than was the case during his heyday because today’s driver is better protected than at any time in the history of automobile racing.

By Moss’ line of reasoning, today’s race car driver, ensconced in web of belts tightly pressing his torso into a contoured, nearly all-enveloping seat, is disposed of taking greater risk, making the race car driver “one” with and giving life to the machine he steers.

Moss, who contested more than 500 races in his 15-year professional career, thus believes today’s better-protected driver takes greater risks than ever before, consequently producing more accidents of a kind which drivers once knew there would be little or no hope of surviving.

Agreeing with Moss that today’s race car driver clearly has more favorable odds is Scotsman Allan McNish, who survived an unreal crash Saturday in the Circuit de la Sarthe’s "La Chappelle” section, when his No. 3 Audi R18 TDI all but disintegrated. (McNish’s No. 3 Audi R18 TDI’s remains at left, thanks to “Scotland’s Newspaper,” www.dailyrecord.co.uk)

“I have to say (I) probably wouldn't have been able to talk to you right now,” had the accident occurred absent of Audi putting into play current-day technology, McNish related the following day.

Given the proximity of spectators (no, not photographers, who were plentiful but expendable, of course) more than a few observers said their mind’s eye – coming practically before the last fragment of the shattering No. 3 Audi had hit the ground – quickly wandered to the 1955 race’s tragic pit-straight Mercedes crash, in which were killed 83 spectators and No. 20 Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR driver Pierre Levegh.

It was a moment in time (see British Pathé newsreel 1955 footage here) that many in racing have repeatedly cited as having nearly ended motorsports competitions everywhere.

Daimler Benz later withdrew its two sister 300 SLR cars from the race – ironically, one being co-driven by Sir Stirling Moss – and at the end of 1955, despite having won the overall championship, Mercedes announced its withdrawal from motorsports, too – one that lasted three decades. In nearby Switzerland (it’s a country, Harnisfager) the government permanently banned motor racing. Other countries enacted racing moratoriums until motorsports spectator safety standards could be dictated and enacted.

After McNish’s crash had already been replayed thousands if not millions of times worldwide, Mike Rockenfeller deftly shifted the spotlight to his No. 2 Audi R18 TDI – though some insisted NASCAR Sprint Cup Series team owner Rob Kaufman wanted, or certainly at least got that spotlight, too.

In 2010, Rockenfeller, aka “Rocky,” demonstrated his considerable racing talents when he scored one of four very exclusive Rolex timepieces after helping pilot the No. 9 Action Express Porsche-Riley to victory in the 48th Rolex 24 At Daytona, during which he punched the team’s fastest-lap (1:41.722) on Lap 581 of the 755 laps completed. (Rockenfeller is at near left in picture at right, dancing with his “mates” to the strains of “Staying Alive”)

Late Saturday, while doing roughly 300 kph (186.411358 mph, give or take a hundred-thousandth) Rockenfeller boldly decided to go where few had gone – and lived to tell of it.

Occurring just prior the course’s famed Indianapolis turn, Rockenfeller and his Audi were passing to the driver’s right of the No. 71 AF Corse Ferrari 458 (below, courtesy of Michael Waltrip Racing), driven at the time by Rob Kauffman (co-driven by Rui Aguas, along with business partner and third co-driver, two-time Daytona 500 winner Michael Waltrip).

The rate of Rockenfeller’s closure on Kauffman was, well, darn quick and it spelled trouble as the Ferrari apexed at the junction of the Audi running out of road.

Suddenly an unguided rocker, the R18 turned hard left and hit the outside guard rail, providing a shower of fractured bodywork and whatever else, as seen in this video taken though a standalone camera.

Fairly remote and thus absent of race fans in close proximity, such was about the only difference between Rockenfeller and McNish’s hours-earlier crash, in that both cars were principally reduced to their respective driver compartments and, as did McNish after his crash Rockenfeller “walked,” too.

Utterly remarkable, actually.

"I’ve never had such an accident before in my career and hope I’ll never have such an experience again,” Rockenfeller said afterward.

The relatively unscathed No. 71 Ferrari 458 would later retire due to a transmission failure about 16 hours into race. The team placed 13th in the GTE Pro class and 38th overall.

Prior to Audi bad news/good news scenario at Le Mans, Sir Stirling Moss’ thoughts about safety, survival rates, faster cars and testosterone highs was recently explored with driving coach Barry Waddell (Ozz Negri being counted among a number of highly capable drivers who are coached by Waddell.)

“What about today’s street cars?” Waddell wondered aloud.

“More and more of them, straight off a dealer’s lot without any modification whatsoever, are well beyond their driver’s ability to properly control them.”

Mainly due to the lack of safety equipment “one and done” once was the operative conclusion when a racing wannabe decades ago couldn’t control an urge to control out-of-control acceleration when climbing into late-60 and early 1970 muscle cars.

Newer cars plus helicopter “life flights” (believe me, they weren’t around way back “when”) and expert trauma care keep many of today’s wannabes coming back for more when what they really need do is attend a Skip Barber School.

Later,

DC

DRIVING THE WHEELS OFF

 

“It was awesome, just awesome, especially going through the turns,” is how Jack Roush Jr. (at left, Hi-fiving a “big” fan) described his No. 61 Roush Performance Ford Mustang Boss 302R on the way to a Friday win at Watkins Glen International with teammate Billy Johnson.

Friday’s Grand-Am Continental Tire 150 race at The Glen was pretty doggone awesome, too. Indeed, so much so that highly recommended is a tape-delayed review of it, whether via “live tape delay” scheduled for 5 p.m. Sunday June 12 on SPEED, or by watching an even still-later, self-recorded DVD, DVR, TiVo or 4-track cassette of the live tape-delayed show – or something to that effect.

“It was pretty brutal out there but a lot of fun. We were having a blast,” Roush added after he and Johnson finished atop the podium in the door-banging 59-lap, 142-mile Continental Tire Sports Car Challenge race held near the southern end of New York’s famed wine-making corridor. The pair now have recorded five-consecutive podium finishes - including two victories - after failing to finish the season-opening race at Daytona International Raceway.

Finishing in second place was the No. 9 Stevenson Motorsports Camaro GS.R of Matt Bell and Jon Edwards.

The No. 46 Fall-Line Motorsports BMW M3 of Mark Boden and Terry Borcheller finished third.

A pole-sitting (2:02.256, 100.118 mph) Joe Foster kept his No. 15 Multimatic Motorsports Ford Mustang Boss 302R on the race’s point for the first three laps of the 2-hour, 31-minute race before slowly starting a backward fade – the nagging issue behind which would be appropriately diagnosed during a Lap-13 pit stop.

“We’ve got a cracked exhaust header,” a dejected Foster said as mechanics scurried around the car and under its hood after he climbed from the car and handed the wheel to co-driver Scotty Maxwell (at right, ahead of the No. 80 BimmerWorld Racing BMW 328i of David White and Bill Heumann at The Glen).

“It’s not terribly bad,” Foster said, “But you can hear it and the power just doesn’t quite come on like expected. It’s just enough to mess up the engine’s overall timing and gas mileage.”

“Huh?” your intrepid, all-knowledgeable reporter responded with conviction.

“The exhaust-gas leak creates an imbalance in the engine’s atmosphere exchange, creating a vacuum leak that negatively impacts the amount of air a related valve can move (push from the engine cylinder) the exhaust gases; the impacted valves being incapable of moving, or clearing as much exhaust gas from the chamber,” Foster (far left, in his “other” racing life with Patrick Dempsey, near left) said.

“Huh?” your intrepid, all-knowledgeable reporter responded with conviction.

“The less ‘clean air’ available for combustion, the richer, or greater amount of fuel must be burnt to get the same sort of engine performance, horsepower wise. It’s not the end of the world but it’s not an ideal situation, either, otherwise the Ford guys would build ‘em that way.”

As if the team’s self-imposed, if not intended engine penalty wasn’t enough, a race penalty of the official kind came along at just about the same time and left Maxwell scratching his head even long after race end.

“I never did find out the reason for the penalty,” the 47-year-old grizzled veteran said, “and didn’t understand what was communicated to me about it.”

“You know, you can waste time arguing and fuming about it to people (race officials) who aren’t likely to change their mind or kick ‘er in gear and roll. I’ve just kinda favored the latter for awhile now,” Maxwell (at right) said.

Sent on Lap 18 to the Grand Sport-class’ 31st and final available spot, of the remaining 41 laps in the 59-lap race Maxwell’s Boss 302R crossed into the top-10 on Lap 30 and into the top-five by Lap 42. Maxwell then captured third place on Lap 55 before lapsing slightly two laps later and settled into fourth, where he’d bring the evidently not-so-ill Boss 302R home minutes later.

“Not bad for an old guy,” Maxwell later quipped. “Then again, it’s not too bad for a Mustang that most everyone thought shouldn’t have run as well.”

Nor was the first-place finish for a couple of relative youngsters in the form of Johnson and Roush

(Left: at The Glen, the No. 61 Roush Performance Mustang Boss 302R “takes flight” ahead of the No. 00 CKS Autosport Camaro of Ashley McCalmont and Eric Curran).

“Scotty and I had a really good-handling car but, I swear, it seemed like every time I looked at Billy or Jack in that (No.) 61 (Mustang Boss 302R) it seemed like they were in cruise mode; one hand on the wheel and the other draped over the back of the seat, lazily driving down the road,” Foster laughed as he demonstrated the look.

Johnson insisted Foster’s observation wasn’t far from the truth while the Roush Performance team celebrated in Victory Lane.

“I have to give all the credit in the world to our guys on the team and back in the shop,” Johnson (at right, in The Glen’s Victory Lane) said. “They gave us a really sweet-handling car.”

Evidently a “hot” one, too, according to one Grand-Am official in the know.

“After the race the car was off-camber, the left front was a little low,” observed CTSSC series director Jeff Smallwood.

“We kind of wondered what was going on so we started tearing it down.

“Well, the left front brake rotor, the hub, bearings and spindle were all but melted. It was amazing that the wheel was still on the car.

“You ever hear of that expression, ‘he drove the wheels off?’ Well that’s darn near what Roush and Johnson did to that car; for real. It was among the most incredible things I’ve ever seen in all my years in racing.”

Later,

DC

P.S. A special “Thanks” to photographer Brian Cleary, who provided the spectacular images above, including the gratuitous “hunk-actor” shot of Dempsey, though Dempsey, not Cleary (nor Ol’ DC, for that matter) would be the one who does 200-or-more sit-ups daily so as to be that “hunk.”