One of the S2000 pistons had come apart, sending its connecting rod on a rampage under the hood; it windowed the block in the front and the back. The impacts were so violent that they cracked the transmission case. After finishing off the oil pan, the rod finally flew out and impaled the starter. I remembered that this motor was quite notorious among the Honda Challenge ranks. Its combination of internals was so effective that the H1 rules had to be rewritten to outlaw it. It's funny what goes through your head during traumatic experiences.
I slowed to a stop just past the famous Magic Mountain corner. All was silent except for the fuel pump buzzing away behind me. I didn't want to fry the pump, but I was afraid to flip the kill switch since I didn't know if that would clear the memory on the data acquisition system. Close to a minute later, I heard tires squealing through my oil slick. Then an M3 came flying over the hill and slid by me in the dirt. That kicked my brain back into race mode and I flipped the switch. Safety first.
After a tow back to the pits, a skeptical Martinez plugged his laptop into the dash. Fortunately, the memory card confirmed I'd only gone 200 over the recommended 7200rpm shift point. My record was cleared and I was restored to flight status without further delay.
The following Thursday, I hopped in Project Backmarker Civic and arrived at the Grand Prix. I grabbed my gear and hiked through the spectator areas. The Super Lap Battle paddock wasn't marked on any map and finding it wasn't easy. Nobody wanted to talk to the weirdo with the large duffel bag, helmet bag, camera and folding chair. The few who did probably just wanted to see whose stuff I'd stolen. None of them knew what a time attack was, let alone where we were pitted.
I found the group eventually. Maybe no one knew who we were, but I knew everyone there. It was a who's who of time attack. All the fastest cars and drivers were stacked next to each other under one giant tent. Tsuyoshi-san from 5Zigen was with a lace-clad Japanese model. Chris Rado was raving about the air-conditioned and carpeted port-a-potties we had access to. Crawford had its brand-new STI all done up to match Tarzan's hair. We looked like a live-action Muppet movie.
My Integra was wedged between the Six Autoworks Evo and Jack Mardikian's RX-7. Brian Gillespie of Hasport had towed the car from Los Angeles to the Phoenix headquarters for a motor swap and cosmetic makeover. Then he returned with his son Carter, and mechanics Brian Thomas and Joe Borelli. The car looked mean with its skull and crossed bolts mascot on the hood.
We did the official course walk at noon. I was surprised at how much of a crown there was in the hairpin leading to the front straight. The centerline was more like a peak. This was definitely going to be a late-apex corner. There was also an impressive amount of camber through the curve in the Shoreline Drive front straight. The apexes were the most interesting, though. Each one had bumpy tiger teeth backed by smooth, slanted curbing, followed by the corners of heavy cement K-rail. The pavement surface varied from corner to corner and, in some places, changed significantly from inch to inch. Choosing one line over another might push the braking point back by 100 feet.
The drifters finished their session just after 4 p.m., giving us our first crack at the track. In any other car, this course would be terrifying. But the balance was so good that I could place the car exactly where I wanted. I just had to figure out where that was. The 255/40/17 R1s on appropriately sized nine-inch-wide 5Zigen FN01R-Cs sent serious torque through the Progress spherical bearings and TEIN Super Racing dampers. My non-assisted steering wheel was the perfect traction scanner. When things got slick, it let you know. And when there was grip to spare, I knew to bring more speed with me the next time by.