Julian's Last Ride

You think you know a guy. Then you go to his funeral. It happened again today.

I worked with Julian Gonsalves for two seasons at Champion Raceway in Medford, Oregon. We’d first met a few years prior, when I was a two-bit racer and Julian was the new Safety Coordinator at the track. We instantly connected and I felt a special bond with the guy. Julian ‘got it’ – that unique understanding and passion for drag racing that could be spotted a quarter mile away. So when I became a track employee myself, I found myself leaning on Julian when tensions sometimes got high enough to make me consider walking away. Julian had a gift for putting things into perspective (understatement), constantly reminding me what a privilege it is to do what we do (usually with a quick radiant smile). After my second season at the track, I had to make some tough calls regarding priorities and said goodbye to my announcing job, but continued racing there. That’s when I began to realize my relationship with Julian wasn’t so unique after all.

As a track employee, I kept my nose to the grindstone and missed a lot of the human interaction around me. Afterward, I was focused on my racing too, but was exposed to more reality in the pits. The great view up in the tower had isolated me. I quickly realized that my relationship with Julian was a tiny drop in the bucket, compared to the ocean of intense experiences he shared with the other racers and employees. But I still thought I knew him.

Julian died last week. He was 59. My understanding is he had an aneurism. Sudden. Little or no suffering. Gone. I’d heard there would be a service at the track today, so I went and got an education.

Julian Gonsalves began his career at Baylands Raceway in Fremont, California, at 19 years old. Between then and now, he’s worked at most every drag strip on the west coast, at events large and small. He married twice and his son Jason began riding with him in the safety truck at age three. At this morning’s service, his widow Gail read remembrances from some of the biggest names in drag racing (I was stunned). Julian’s whole life revolved around drag racing and music (just like mine). He insisted on having fun with every task (just like me). I had no idea. Everyone who ever met Julian felt he was their best friend. Whether he pulled us from burning race cars, or just flashed that reassuring smile, all of us were right.

You think you know a guy. Then you go to his funeral. There’s better ways to learn about your friends.

The day kicked off with a mass fire-up.

In the startling silence after the cacklefest, track manager Jim Taylor and Julian’s son Jason ride Julian’s safety truck down track.

Julian’s firesuit finally gets a break.

A pleasant surprise. These guys had the chops to set an appropriate vibe.

We spent well over an hour, just telling Julian stories. I didn’t know he also went by Julio, Jitsu and Scarecrow.

Gail reads us a condolence letter from Al Hoffman’s widow.

Jason speaks of betraying orders not to follow in his dad’s footsteps.

Steve Ruggiero warms up his Top Fuel Harley…

…and takes Julian Gonsalves for his last ride.

American Thrill Ride

Le Cinema has been insidiously creeping into my peripheral vision in recent years. There was my doomed hot rod music video opus (Roll) that literally crashed and burned, after 5 years of work. Soon after, I learned that Top Fuel shoe Adam Sorokin (a new pal at the time) remastered film and video for his day job. Then Faith Granger crashed into Scottyville with her Deuce of Spades film. Last year, my friend Holly Felsen reported that one of her dad's stories is being made into a movie. Earlier this year, my plans to write a biography on American hero and street race icon Big Willie Robinson were squelched because his story is being made into a trilogy of films and the studio holds the rights to his story. While at Bonneville for Speed Week last month, I attended the premier of The Boys of Bonneville in a spectacular theatre with a few thousand other crusty salts. Then last night, I got a phone call from fellow local yokel Chris Darland.

Chris (an ultra-independent film maker and hardcore hot rodder) was screening selected scenes from his first full length feature film (American Thrill Ride) and invited me to sit on the jury and bust chops along with the rest of the people involved. I reflected on the above examples of cinema connectivity, then thought of my link with Chris.

As a pre-pubescent elfin street punk with a chronic case of Go Fast fever in the mid 60s, I was begrudgingly friended by a neighborhood hot rodder who sometimes let me wash parts and hand him tools while he built his blown smallblock powered '33 Willys coupe. Bill Darland was an "old guy" (probably pushing twenty at the time), but took time to demystify the workings of this badass street/stripper to me. I was beyond honored. Bill taught me some basic theory that has served me well over the years. We both survived the 60s and went our separate ways. Decades later, I started running into this Chris guy at drag races, swap meets and other gearhead gatherings. We were finally introduced by a mutual friend (fast street car guru Charlie Allin) and I discovered Chris' last name was Darland. Bill is his uncle and had shared his expertise with Chris, inspiring and educating him just as he had me. Besides that common denominator, I instantly sensed that Chris 'gets it' - that hot rods are toys to be played with and are not necessarily status symbols. Plus, he's just an easy guy to hang with.
Chris builds cars at his shop, Chris' Hot Rodz, by day and makes unabashedly sophomoric comedies at night (heavy on the 'night' - this guy hasn't slept a wink in 15 years).

                                Shameless spam! Chris and his cars have been in two of my books...

So when Chris called about the screening, I cranked up the wagon and rolled down to Johnny B's, a tiny rockabilly joint on a downtown side street, where the screening took place. The invitees were almost exclusively participants in the project (my hot rod Morris plays itself - a psycho street racer - in a bit part) and all are friends. Basically, we broke into Johnny B's and threw a private party. My only expectation was to have some laughs with my friends. And my expectations were met, head on.

After much nervous flitting about, wrestling with tech demons, and the world's most succinct introduction ("Here it is"), Chris showed us half a dozen finished scenes from the film, as well as a lengthy string of out takes. The scenes we witnessed were surprisingly realized, considering none of the actors have had any experience whatsoever, beyond Chris' direction. Production values exceeded expectations. And the bottom line: It was funny. Imagine a parody of Two Lane Blacktop, with more plot, more action and way more dialog - acted out by individuals who'd rather do time in detention than attend a drama class. Part of the fun was watching these guys try to crack each other up on screen - it was palpable. And contagious. More so, when the out takes appeared. These guys are all naturally hilarious anyway (another reason they're all friends), and the bar was raised even higher when the cameras rolled. My side literally aches today, from laughing so much last night. Of course, a big part of that is because I know these people. Will Joe Toolbox find the film as amusing as we did? This reviewer had too much fun watching American Thrill Ride to care what others may think of it. Five stars!

This was the polar opposite of the Boys of Bonneville experience. Luckily, I can look to each end of this spectrum and honestly say that I enjoyed them both equally. How often does that happen? Maybe somebody should make a movie about this phenomenon. Meanwhile, I know Uncle Bill must be very proud... I am.

Keep an eye on www.divebombersgarage.com for a release date on the film. Give it a couple of years. While you're waiting, you can see some of Chris' learning curve in action on the site.

 Crappy snapshots of the Morris and I on location for a street race scene in American Thrill Ride. This shoot went from 7:00PM to 2:30AM. My race against an undercover detective in a '34 roadster took two takes and I freight trained him both times. Heh, heh...

                                    Hanging out in front of Johnny B's waiting for showtime...

                                                                  ... THE END

Midnight Oil - Part III

If you have an actual life, don't ever go to Bonneville. It'll chew up and spit out a week of your life faster than a cat can lick his ass with his tongue out and his tail up. I've been back for a couple of weeks now, desperately playing catch-up. I guess it didn't help to crew for a buddy at a three day drag race, days after returning from the salt. But I did, with no regrets, except for a little exhaustion. Meanwhile, this poor blog has been neglected. I just checked in and was shocked at the cobwebs and dust. I swear I saw a tumbleweed roll by a minute ago.

You know those little 15 second blurbs that the TV networks use to promote their programming? This blog entry is like that - just a reminder that we're still open for business. Cool content is on the way, but for today, I'm posting a couple of photos I had hoped to use in my station wagon book as part of a collage. The idea never made it to print, but I'm bravely posting the images here, even though I don't know the photographers or anything else about them. I just saw these somewhere online and saved them because they made me feel good. I hope they work for you, too.

                            The aforementioned book. You NEED one of these to be a complete human!

                                           The images CarTech Inc. doesn't want you to see!                                                                            

Here's salt in your eye...

Every Bonneville pilgrimage is epic by nature. At least that's been my experience over the last 30-some years. 2011 was no different - yet another leap of faith, with thumb out, empty wallet and no expectations.

In the last blog entry ("Gone, gone, gone..."), I alluded to the lack of words to convey the salt experience. That didn't stop me from trying in 1996, when I wrote "Here's Salt in your Eye" for my hot rod album:

Out on the wide open road

Out where the line chasers go

So fast

So fast...

Out on safari for speed

Out there fulfilling a need

So bad

So bad...

Step right up to a dream

Take a chance and believe

And enjoy the ride

And if your hopes are dashed

And if you're broken or crashed

Well here's salt in your eye...

They've been broken before

It's a price they pay over and over and over

So cold

So cold...

Out looking toward what they want

Sometimes they find what they need

So bad

It's so good...

Copyright Squid Valley Music 1996

Those lyrics probably only resonate with those who've lived them. Oh well, I tried...

The 2011 edition began wth my brother Wayne and I loading up my old '36 Ford truck cab (narrowed 20" and chopped 8") into the trailer behind his HHR delivery. I had an afternoon book signing at the Medford Barnes & Noble, then we blew town, targeting Winnemucca, Nevada.

                                        Wayne, "Checking the load", somewhere in Nevada...    

Exhausted from unsuccessfully dodging dozens of jackrabbits, coyotes and owls for nine hours, we made camp at  the Scott Motel -the traditional stop in Winnetown and our oasis in the desert night.

                                                                   The next morning...

Six more hours of bench racing delivered us to Wendover and finally, the salt. It's always such a sweet warmfuzzie to reconnect with old friends and make new ones. First stop was checking in at Sid and Eric Johnson's pit, where I'd be crewing for the week on their Berkeley roadster. Much more on these guys in the story of my 2009 adventure, "Surfing the Asphalt Playground".

My mission was to photograph and interview racers from abroad for my book on the subject, in between crewing for the Johnsons and yukking it up with old cronies. Mission accomplished, on every count.

Some highlights:

It turned out that the big salt news this year was the Italian and French teams I was covering. They both exceeded their expectations - high and low, respectively. I got great stories from these guys, along with Norwegians, Kiwis and a certain Brit from Switzerland, driving for a Scottish team.

Wayne and I attended the premier of The Boys of Bonneville film, with a couple thousand friends. Great documentary on Ab Jenkins, who brought land speed racing to Bonneville from Daytona Beach and the dry lakes. We were amazed to discover how much else he did in such a frantic short lifetime.

Keith and Tanya Turk were pitted near us, with the Hot Rod Magazine Special Camaro. Frieburger, Chad Reynolds and the usual suspects were in attendance. They blew up the big block Chevy early in the week, but called a Hail Mary and ran it in the 2-cylinder class, qualifying for a record at 32 MPH. While preparing for the back-up run, a dedicated V-2 racer reality slapped them with a 120 MPH run. Only at Bonneville...

George Poteet and Ron Main took the Hot Rod Magazine Top Speed award with a 426 MPH run in their streamliner.

Funny Car ace Ron Capps drove the Speed by Spectre 'liner over 300, contracting a nasty case of Salt Fever in the process.

There were way too many more stories to list here. Bottom line: My jaw still aches from laughing.

I can't post the book photos here, but will share some random snapshot out-takes for your amusement:

                                        Last thing we saw at Road's End, before hitting the salt

                      Wayne surveys the salt for the first time in a year. Still tastes the same...

            Going to work Monday morning, after Sunday night's thunderstorm. The course was fine.

                                                           Erik Johnson (AKA Nexxussian)

Sid Johnson (AKA Hot Legs). If you think this is a tight squeeze, you should see Erik shoe-horned into this cockpit. Seven days later, we finally got through tech (long story)...

  

That left us two days to figure out this year's combo and get back to where we left off in 2009, at 140 MPH. Maybe next year...

I hung with this blown banger A in the staging lanes (they had a nice fan and it was scorching hot). Didn't realize the driver I'd been BSing with was Tanya Harding until later. They were shooting for 100 MPH.

Gene Winfield is still burning salt and building world class customs. He must be 112 by now. He grabbed me in a pinch and put me to work in his pit. Same thing happened to every other journalist type I spoke with. Small price to pay for a moment with royalty. He spun out at 205 MPH, but was back in action and still running when we left.

Old pals Steve Peterson, Frank Silva and John Sprenger ("Got Salt Racing") broke their old record with a 324.961 blast. Way to go, guys! Look for these characters in an upcoming Scotty book ("Black Wednesday Libretto").

Random shots from 2011 Speed Week:

Enough! But super extra special thanks to the Johnsons, who fed, sheltered and chauffered me all week! These guys are genuine hot rod heroes who also taught me what real friendship looks like.