(Editor’s note: I haven’t written one of my popular “mostly true” stories in a while. I am not starting today. This is more of a “You can’t make this up” moment. Also, usually I’d cover the racing, but not today. Suffice it to say, on-track was no better than off track tonight.— Bill)
So there we were, the EBR team, minus Justin and Cody, en route to 141 Speedway, north of Manitowoc. It was a two hour trip we’d never made before. Truth be told, if Justin didn’t have to work, I would have asked him to haul us in his big bad Ram. Knowing the area and knowing our Chevy Envoy, I planned carefully. We would take a path that was about 10 minutes longer, because I didn’t want to chug up that very steep hill on 151 south of Chilton. At least on the route I planned, we could get a running start on the Highway 23 hill east of Fond du Lac.
We hit that hill running, with Mary Jo and I chanting, “I think I can, I think I can..,” something we’ve done since Eric started racing at Road America (this is the same route) and we had to get up this hill with a small 8 foot trailer, weighing about 500 lbs. Today, we had a 12 foot trailer and 5,000 lbs behind us.
The rest of the trip was still hilly and I was worried about the transmission in our tow rig. We enjoyed listing to The 500 on the radio as we went. Luckily it wasn’t too warm out, as the air conditioning wasn’t working. I kept my eye on the temperature gage on my dash and it stayed right in the middle. I’d just baby the transmission and we’d be fine I figured.
Once we got northbound on I-43 the hills were not steep, but they seemed miles long. It felt like we were making that long climb west toward the Rockies. The SUV was loosing power. “How much farther?” I asked the navigator, “About 15 miles,” was Mary Jo’s reply.
We got down to 45 mph, I had the flashers on. Then we couldn’t even do that much, but we were only a couple of miles from the exit we needed. At about 25 mph there was a “Pop.” Then there was smoke. I pulled over and we all jumped out. Eric was already headed to the trailer. “There’s no fire, but get me something to lift the hood,” I said. He came back with his racing gloves and a fire extinguisher. “No don’t call 911,” I told Stephanie. I lifted the hood and actually, there was a small fire. Luckily the flames went out with one hit of the extinguisher. Mary Jo just stood in the ditch with her back to all of us. The scene would have made a perfect meme about a wife pissed at her husband or a “Demotivational” poster about preparation.
“Now what?” I thought. Well obviously, job-one was to get the trailer to the track for Eric to race. Enter the angel Scott. A truck pulled up behind us with a yellow light flashing on top. My first thought was, “Crap, it’s a volunteer fire fighter and the brigade won’t be far behind.” But, no, it was just Scott (we learned his name later). He asked if we were OK and I told him we were. I walked right back to the back of his truck and was pleased to see a ball, i.e. he could tow. “Would you tow my kid and one or two others of us to the track?” I asked. He said he would.
Consider we were in, or near Sheboygan County. There’ s a reason Appleton radio station, WAPL does a segment off the police blotter called, “Sheboygan County Weird Ass Story of the Day.” Scott didn’t know us from Adam. We could have been a traveling family of ax murderers, but Scott took us under his wing. We unhooked the trailer from the Envoy and Scott hooked his truck up. Stephanie and Eric jumped into Scott’s truck and headed to the track. At least that was our hope. Mary Jo and I kept the fire extinguisher in the Envoy and limped the truck to the track, several miles behind the others.
Eric and Scott parted ways after 141 let Scott sign into the pits w/o paying, with the understanding that he’d be on his way in short order. Scott and Eric did exchange phone numbers just in case. But we knew we’d have friends at the track who could help us. Just like a “Touched by an Angel” episode Scott drove off. Mary Jo and I actually met him on the highway a few miles after he left the track.
Right after we pulled in, Eric realized he left his trunk lid in Scott’s truck. We called Scott and luckily he answered. He came back to the track within about 10 minutes. He just shook his head and laughed. We did slip him a couple of bucks which he reluctantly took.
Again, “Now what?” Enter Saint Phil. Stephanie and Phil Espenes have been friends for a year or so. We’ve spent time with him a couple of times, mostly dealing with the race car. Phil owned a Sport Mod. so he understands the ins and outs of our sport and Eric’s logistical and financial circumstances as they pertain to the 6E.
Stephanie made the call and Phil set the balls in motion. He’d get our trailer and the ailing Envoy back to Sun Prairie. He arrived with his young friend Brady, before our first heat. Brady and Phil seemed to really enjoy hanging out at the track. Brady was happy to do anything on the car I asked. Phil didn’t have to be asked, he knew what needed to be done and jumped in when needed. He knew a lot about 141 from his racing days.
I wasn’t sure what was going on, since Brady was only 14 years old. How were we going to get the Envoy home? He could only bring one vehicle up here, I assumed he’d have an adult friend with a second truck and trailer. The answer was, Phil put his truck in a trailer and hauled that up. Then we took that truck out, hooked it to our trailer and drove the Envoy into Phil’s trailer. Phil towed our Envoy, I towed the Dog Guard trailer. By 2 a.m, which is not much later than if everything went well, we were safely in Sun Prairie with everything we left with, except maybe my pride. Phil wouldn’t take a dime. Not for the two pit passes he bought, not for gas, which had to be a tank and a half, nothing. I’m told Phil is a fan of my writing so I guess this is my tribute and we have a new sponsor!
As for the Blumer family, we are in the market for a good used truck that can haul the race car if anyone has one to sell.
I told Mary Jo while we were limping the Envoy to the track that ten years from now we’ll say, “Remember that year Simon Pagenaud won the 500 and we were headed to 141?” and we’ll have a good laugh. Truth is we are all already laughing about this incident and extremely grateful to The Angel Scott and Saint Phil.
Now to assess the damage on the 6E.