Back in those fun days of going down the road with our open trailers and caravaning with our buddies, we were always saying, “Go west young man.”
Back in those fun days of going down the road with our open trailers and caravaning with our buddies in vans and pickup trucks, we were always saying, “Go west young man.”
We always seemed to end up in Phoenix at least a couple times each year. By the time we would finally get there, we would be really worn out.
Many times I would be alone, and hardly ever had the opportunity to pull over to get a good night‘s sleep in a bed, due to the fact that I would have to pay for that luxury and just didn‘t have the money to do it.
Driving cross-country nonstop was a real strain, and when you finally pulled into the pearly gates of the Wayne Weiler Farms driveway, you miraculously got that third wind you needed, and you were ready to go again.
But, by that night, your body had given you all it could give. I think this helped to develop that mindset that you never give up, no matter what it takes until you reach your goal.
I always remember going to one of racing‘s great ambassadors out in Phoenix, friend to all Jimmy Blanton, who owned Arizona Race Mart. So many times he saved us with just about any part we needed when we‘d blown an engine or crashed at Manzanita the night before.
Jimmy, an old racer himself, always went out of his way to get us going again. I remember he had a sign up above his counter that said, “A winner never quits, and a quitter never wins.”
I always tried to follow that advice, although I must admit I really blew it one time at Hamilton Jr. High School. A couple of my deranged buddies and I went out for the track team in eighth grade, as we were able to get out of class about a half-hour earlier to go to practice or for meets.
I decided to run the 440-yard dash, but wasn‘t really into the idea of practicing every day. I figured, like in racing, you would wear out some of the grip on your track shoes that you needed for the meets, so I didn‘t always make the practices.
Back then, Jim Ryan had just run the first four-minute mile, running for the Los Angeles Track Club. So, I made myself a T-shirt to wear to all of the practices.
I lettered it with a magic marker and it said, “The World‘s Fastest Human” on the front and “Los Angeles Track Club” on the back. I figured this would give me a psychological advantage and intimidate the other schools‘ 440 runners at the meets.
When the day finally came for my first city track meet, I wore my T-shirt to the warmups. Unfortunately, when we were ready to race, they made me take it off. We were running against a school from the other side of the railroad tracks in Rockford and the 440 runners looked to me to all be at least seven feet tall and 250 lbs. of pure muscle.
I wasn‘t worried, though, as I was around 140 and 5‘-7” with legs that Jeff Gordon would later tell me I “better not go by a Kentucky Fried Chicken store.”
Anyways, as we lined up for the start of the 440-yard dash, I knew that my competitors were probably each off their game when they realized “The World‘s Fastest Human” was in their race. When they fired the deadly starter‘s gun, I was off on a dead run right out of the gate. About 25 yards into the 440 I saw the amazement on the faces of the cheerleaders and classmates.
I ran like Sea Biscuit leading the field of slower runners not giving it their all. At 50 yards I was still full throttle and increased my lead even more. People knew they were witnessing history, much like Jim Ryan‘s four-minute mile, right in front of their eyes.
Sadly, I misjudged by going full throttle a bit too early, and at 100 yards I was completely out of air and came to a slow walk. My legs were seizing up and I had to pull in on the backstretch out of the race.
Unfortunately, even though my buddies were extremely impressed with me, my coach was not, and I was never allowed back on the track field again.
My running career ended that day. This proved to be a good lesson for me when I started racing. I learned that a winner never quits and sometimes you need to pace yourself.
There are so many times in racing, whether on or off the track, that you better not quit or you definitely will not win. I remember when we were racing at Erie, Colo., on the first of two nights, before we were to go on to races over the next week ending up in Salt Lake City.
I was getting ready for warmups and Sleepy Tripp still hadn‘t shown up at the track. As I was pushing off, I saw a U-Haul truck pull into the pit area with his race car on the back. Sleepy‘s tow rig had broken about seven hours out of Denver and he pushed it to the side of the road and got a U-Haul to make the race that night.
Sleepy went on to win and kept the U-Haul for the rest of the tour that week. He knew he needed to get to Erie, as it would have been awfully tough to win it if he wasn‘t there.
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