by Erik Dolson
My times were slow at the May 26, 2023 NWR-SCCA Pacific Grand Prix Masters over Memorial Day weekend.
I was there as half of “Team Yellow Jacket” with Jake, formerly known as Jakester and now signing up for races as Jacob. His car is #98, mine is #99, both white with black and yellow stripes.
Though my Spec Miata was down 10 percent on horsepower, it wasn’t just the car. I was slow.
For now, I’ll blame it on the transition to Miata and more than 20 years of muscle memory that won’t let me trust this little car that weighs two-thirds of a ’69 Corvette.
But “last?” That’s a little humiliating.
Jake’s a solid competitor, now deep in the top ten in his second season. It was my second race in a Miata.
Maybe it wasn’t the car. I’m older. I don’t want to say “old,” but facts do matter and that’s a fact. I don’t like to admit it out loud. I don’t think that’s denial. It’s just that if I say it out loud, I’m afraid it will become more real.
Wait a minute… that is denial!
I was also favoring pain in my back from helping a disabled friend move beds in and out of his small space the week before.
But that’s an excuse. We all have aches and pains.
The lack of horsepower meant my #99 couldn’t get a jump on the two most important corners on the track, Turn 3B and Turn 8, and so was slower for the entire distance of the following straight.
Coming out of Turn 3B took forever to pull and wouldn’t let me shift from third to fourth until just before the trickiest set of turns on the track, when car balance and driver concentration were most important.
In fact, I spun there on Friday during qualifying. I was scrambling for seconds of improvement, tenths of seconds. About five seconds of “best time” separates first place from last place in a field of 30 cars over a lap lasting more than two minutes. A half second separates first from fifth.
“Brake later, carry more speed, accelerate sooner…” became my mantra, and I actually thought I was cutting seconds. Instead I brushed the tire wall with the car’s nose and wrinkled a bit of sheet metal. Nothing serous.
So I intended to push a bit harder in the qualifier Sunday morning. But on the third lap after the green flag, a driver near the front pushed more than his track knowledge would allow. He flew over the red and white “rumble strip” in Turn 5B, ran out of pavement in Turn 6 and into the tire wall.
The first car behind him was able to avoid the incident, but the disabled car began to roll back across the track. Behind the car that got by, Jake couldn’t see the disabled car until it was too late and clipped him, which shot Jake’s #98 across the track where he was hit by the next car.
When I got there, all three cars involved were stationary but it was obvious that this session would be “black flagged” while the carnage was cleaned up. I pulled into the pits.
As soon as I was out of the car, Jake’s dad came up to me to asked if Jake was alright. I reassured him.
“It was a terrible sound,” he said, distraught, having heard the wreck from the grandstand. I forget the impact our “hobby” has on those who are close.
But all drivers were checked out by medical personnel at the scene of the wreck, which took a considerable bit of time.
When his car was finally brought in, we saw #98 was significantly damaged. I brought my truck to where the Miata was left by the tow vehicle. With a chain I use to pull cars out of the ditch during snow storms where I live, I yanked left rear wheel out of body work behind the door.
A half inch was enough so the wheel would roll and car could be loaded into trailer.
“My season is over,” Jake said at one point.
“I think you should take my car out this afternoon,” I replied.
“What? Why?”
“You’d do better in it than I would, and I’d learn if the chassis under my car is worth investing in an engine or if I should start over with a different car.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
About an hour later, he came up to me. “Were you serious about me driving your car this afternoon?”
“It’s still on the table until I suit up.”
“Let’s go talk to Will,” he said.
Will is one of the top drivers and a leader of the Northwest Spec Miata Tour, a man who gives far more than he takes from this life. In fact, I “borrowed” the theme of this piece from him.
“Talk to the officials, see if it’s possible,” Will said, a much better plan than just putting Jake in my car without saying a word to anybody, which is what I’d been thinking.
The official driver change request was approved, but Jake would start last.
When the race started Jake gained a couple of spots in the tight pack, then began to pick off slower cars one by one. After passing nine cars, the lack of horsepower didn’t let him advance any further.
The race announcer made a comment about my “generosity” in letting Jake drive my car.
It wasn’t generosity. Jake and I have been a team since he was 12. He’s responsible for more than one of my victories over the last decade. It was the right thing to do.
In “impound” where winning cars are weighed and officials share their wisdom, Jake said, “I think the chassis is good. At first I thought it was soft, but it’s fine. But that engine a dog! It took forever to get speed out of Turn 3B!.”
“I’m glad you confirmed,” I replied with a smile.
Jake won the “Hard Charger Award,” advancing the most spots during a race, going from 24th to 13th.
We loaded my car up and decided to leave it at Jake’s so he’d have a ride this next weekend in Portland, at the Spec Miata race during the NASCAR weekend. It’s a special event for the Miata club, and for Jake too.
“That’s so nice of you,” said fellow racer.
“Not really — he’s on his way up, I’m probably on my way down,” I replied. “We’re a team. It’s the way it should be.”
I meant that, though my damn old back felt every bit of rough pavement over more than 300 miles home.
But instead of disappointment with my own fading skills, that 7-hour drive was filled with deep satisfaction about what we accomplished.
Erik, I am in disbelief and deeply moved of all you have given this family the past decade. I know You and Jake have a bond, but you have impacted us all. Our dad brought us to the races when he could to spectate. But it was not until Jake painted that hot wheel and your friendship started did it change the experience for us all. We all counted down the days until we could come and watch you dominate that race track. The races were awesome but secretly, we all loved just watching you and Jake in your element. Thank you for always allowing us to be a part of it, and thank you for always treating my brother like family on and off the track. This last weekend would have been much more devasting without you there to lead Jake through it. Excited to see what he does in #99 this weekend.
Thanks Erik