At each driver change the car had been harder and harder to start, until, at the start of Coleman's stint, the team had to push it for a full lap of the pits before it finally caught. Turning off the car was out of the question, but so was letting it run. The new radiator, it turned out, had a broken fan. As the team watched, the temperature gauge slowly waggled past 230, 240, 250 degrees. Steam started coming out of the air cleaner, the dipstick tube and the exhaust.
Under yellow at long last, circulating the track blew enough air across the radiator to bring the temperature down to 220, but no less. Back in the pits, Eyesore Racing's patented pressurized cooling system refilling tank was connected to the still-running engine, but as the life-saving water shot into the block, an eruption of steam shot out the carburetor and the engine sputtered to a stop. It would never run again.
An hour later, the checkered flag flew, and an hour after that, the Eyesore Racing CR-XXX finally, after a combined 52 hours of racing, was left in a ditch.
Confused?
Has none of this story made any sense to you? Congratulations, you're the last person on earth to hear about the 24 Hours of LeMons. The race's only real rule is that the car must be purchased and race prep accomplished for a combined total of no more than $500. Obviously, since the organizer hasn't been sued yet, safety gear is not included in that total.
There are usually something like six races a year, spread around various tracks unpopular enough to be willing to try anything to book a date. Up to 90 cars enter each race, but twice that many usually try to enter. Only those who race organizer Jay Lamm thinks he'll enjoy spending 24 hours with are allowed in. If you've managed to get this far without hearing about the race, you're probably too dull to make the cut, but feel free to go and try anyway.