lemons!
|
SC scene
, s r t r e a v t i r s D
r u yo lemons!
A
few minutes before 11 a.m. on race-weekend Sunday, drivers in the 24 Hours of Lemons fall endurance race at Carolina Motorsports Park pulled off the winding, 2.3‑mile circuit and cut their engines. It was time for church, after all, and nobody wanted to disturb the faithful as they gathered at the area’s houses of worship. The teams, now in their second day of racing, used the mandatory stop to check tires, brakes, engine fluids and whatever else needed tending. And, heaven knows, many things needed tending. These were some of the most frightening, unroadworthy vehicles on the planet. In sharp, deliberate contrast to the multimillion-dollar investments in Formula One racing and NASCAR, Lemons drivers are prohibited from spending more than $500 on their vehicles—brakes, tires and safety equipment excluded. Track manager David Watkins, who used to drive the race, found his
first Lemons car abandoned in a field with cornstalks growing through the windows and small animals living in what was left of the front seat. Even without laying eyes on the outlandish cars that populate the track, the names of the race teams—Cockroach Racing, Terminally Confused, Loose Lugnut Racing, Ratfink, Cheap Saloon Racing, Radioactive Racing and Our Lady of Perpetual Downforce— signal the good humor and creative irreverence that unite Lemons drivers across the country as a tribe unto themselves. The founder of that tribe is former motorsports journalist John “Jay” Lamm, who more than a decade ago found himself profoundly annoyed at the expensive, stuffy and humorless world of racing. What would happen, Lamm wondered, if he organized a race called 24 Hours of Lemons (a pun combining the disparaging term for a defective car and a takeoff on the legendary 24-hour endurance race in Le Mans, France), in which
e Lemons Festivities at th LEMON LINEUP and include a parade South Fall race n. de m Ca n wntow block party in do
22
SOUTH CAROLINA LIVING | MARCH 2018 | SCLIVING.COOP
BY TIM HANSON
ra
PHOTOS BY MILTON MORRIS
ces
r to South Ca o m roli hu r seatbelt and b f u o o na’ y e ring a sens n e t s loo e s Fa piest enduranc In on the joke
LEMON ZEST Jerry Sprink le (ab face” on as Theorectical Rac ove left) gets his “race ing crewmember Thomas Morris gives the car a fina l inspection. Their Ford Tau rus, adorned with Clemson Tig er Paws, is a proven machin e that delivered two, top-5 performances in 2017.
the cars were really cheap and the race was really long? Well, he knew what would happen: The cars would inevitably lose a wheel, or the engine would overheat, or some terrifying noise would force a pit stop. Faced with these and other unforeseen problems, drivers would be forced to come up with creative solutions to get their cars back on the track. Along the way, they would rediscover that racing was supposed to be fun. Lamm intended to stage his humorous protest race only once, near his home in California, with a dozen or so friends. But, a second Lemons race followed, then a third, and the idea took off. Since then, more than 200 Lemons events have been held around the country. In South Carolina, two Lemons races—the Southern Discomfort in April and Lemons South Fall in September—are held each year at Carolina Motorsports Park near Kershaw. The races typically attract 100 or more race teams and a crowd of curious spectators who revel in this irreverent and unconventional form of motorsports. “Nobody comes to this event who is just a normal, boring person,” Lamm said. “Those people go elsewhere.”
Justin Sprinkle always loved racing, but it wasn’t until six or seven years ago that he learned about 24 Hours of Lemons and talked his father, Jerry, and two of his childhood friends—Thomas Morris and Jamie Owens—into forming a team. They called themselves Theorectical Racing (no, that’s not a typo) and adopted a 1982 Nissan 280Z. “It was like driving a dogsled,” Sprinkle said. “We spent more time working on that car than we actually raced, but it was a lot of fun.” The team eventually scrapped the Nissan and picked up a 1979 Toyota Celica, which, in hindsight, wasn’t much of an improvement. Sprinkle casually noted that it was “notorious for catching on fire.” At the 2017 Lemons South Fall race, the guys brought a Ford Taurus SHO painted white and orange, with a giant Clemson Tiger Paw stamped on the hood and the number 38 emblazoned on its doors. In that year’s spring race, the car placed fifth out of more than 100 cars, leaving Sprinkle confident his team could win. Equally confident about his team’s chances, Jim Poston, captain of Irritable Dad Syndrome Racing, supervised a pre-race check on his 1994 Mazda Miata. With a durable 120-horsepower engine, the little car has plenty of speed, and Poston especially likes how it handles in the 14 corners of the Carolina Motorsports Park course. While larger cars need to slow considerably to take the turns, the Miata hugs the road like a champ. Unlike some of the other participants, who excel at the blush-inducing art of ribald humor, Poston keeps his car “family friendly.” There are handprints from his children stamped all over the body, along with a selection of stock admonitions that fathers everywhere have uttered to their children. Particularly fitting, given the setting: “Don’t make me stop this car!”
SCLIVING.COOP | MARCH 2018 | SOUTH CAROLINA LIVING
23
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SC scene
LEMON FRESH Dale Strimp le (right), one of the Lemons safety inspect ors, scrutinizes Irritable Dad Syndrome Rac ing’s 1994 Mazda Miata before giving it the green light to race.
Meanwhile, William Miller of Simpsonville and his Team S.O.B. crew were looking for a second consecutive firstplace win with their BMW 325. They claimed victory in the 2017 spring race after slogging away in Lemons racing for eight years and 18 races. Before switching to the BMW, Miller and his team drove a 30-year-old Volkswagen Golf, never once taking the checkered flag, but placing second more times than any other team in the history of the series. “That Volkswagen was a truly horrible car,” Miller said. “We did our best with it, but it never disappointed in finding ways to surprise us with a different failure or a new way of breaking.”
Safety first, bribery second After getting settled into their assigned pits, teams spent the Friday before the race working on their cars before a close examination by Lemons safety inspectors like Dale Strimple. “We make sure the battery and fuel tank are secure, the roll cage is built properly and that the welds are good,” Strimple said. “And, we require a kill switch on the car so that a fireman or anyone else can kill power to the car if it becomes necessary.” With the inspections completed, teams took their vehicles into nearby Camden for an evening block party. The cars paraded through town and parked along both sides of Main Street, where hundreds of locals turned out to meet the drivers and laugh at the quirky costumes and themes that set 24 Hours of Lemons drivers apart from other racers. Keith Stallard of Stafford, Virginia, and his team suited up as lumberjacks—checkered red-and-black shirts, beards, fur hats—and bolted a chainsaw to the top of their 1991 Ford 24
SOUTH CAROLINA LIVING | MARCH 2018 | SCLIVING.COOP
Sierra, just in case anyone had missed the gag. On the other side of the street, another Virginia-based racing team, led by Jonathan Rohrer, took up the Mad Max movie theme, painting their faces silver and dressing as characters from the film. “We love the movie,” Rohrer said. “It is action-oriented and involves rust and bullet holes. It kind of matched what we had.” What they had was a battered 1999 Chevy S-10 they had picked up for $200. To create what looks like a massive machine gun atop the little truck’s cab, they used an old drive shaft, some saw blades and the actual gears from a 25 mm machine gun. Many of the teams brought beer or liquor to the block party—not to consume, but to bribe the two Lemons judges who moved from car to car, clipboards in hand, making sure the teams had not exceeded their $500 investment limit. Mario Rocha, from Harrison, New Jersey, made sure a case of Heineken was strategically placed on the hood of his 1995 BMW 325. When judge Steve McDaniel declared that the car had passed the $500 test, he loaded the beer into a wagon along with other booty he had collected and moved on to the next car. Minutes earlier, he had been “bribed” with an Italian dinner provided by Aaron Horn from Taylorsville, North
ad Max, S Inspired by M LEMON WARRIOR one of many that is this Virginia team miles to participate. of ds re nd hu l trave
24 LEMON APPEAL Jay Lamm, founder of rs Hours of Lemons, urges the veteran drive fear.” of se “sen a and nce vigila tain main to
Carolina, and his teammates. A green tablecloth had been spread over the back of their 1972 Alfa Romeo Spider, and on it had been placed silverware, plates, champagne glasses, flowers and, of course, a generous portion of lasagna.
Sharks and jets On Saturday morning, 75 first-time drivers huddled up as McDaniel gave a final safety briefing and warned about the dangers of getting too cocky on the track. With clunkers barreling around at speeds in excess of 100 miles an hour, the potential for disaster is ever-present. Humor may permeate every aspect of Lemons racing, but safety is always a top priority. Meanwhile, Lemons founder Lamm held the safety briefing for veteran drivers. He began by gesturing to the rookies meeting and making a broad reference to the film West Side Story. “If you look behind you, coming at you—sort of like the Sharks and the Jets—are drivers from the rookies meeting,” he said, amid a round of good-natured booing. Lamm held up a hand for silence. “You may say ‘boo,’ but I will now establish that they are not going to be the problem out there. Those people have a healthy sense of fear and self-preservation, which you, as Lemons veterans, are starting to lose,” he said, pausing for effect. “Let us reclaim that sense of fear and self-preservation out there today.” Soon, the drivers were suited up and strapped into their cars. At 10 a.m., they began filtering onto the track and navigating the circuit. Then a green flag signaled the start of the race, and for the next eight hours, the air was filled with the
GET THERE The 24 Hours of Lemons Southern Discomfort race takes place April 28–29 at Carolina Motorsports Park, 3662 Kershaw Highway, Kershaw. The Lemons South Fall race is scheduled for Sept. 15–16. ADMISSION: All-access spectator passes are $30 at the gate. Kids are admitted free. DETAILS: To learn more about the race and the Lemons racing series, visit 24hoursoflemons.com or facebook.com/24hoursoflemons.
LEMON SPOILER Aft er eight years and 18 races racking up more second-plac e finishes than any tea Lemons history, Sim psonville-based Team m in both of the 2017 en S.O.B. won durance races in So uth Carolina.
sounds and smells of nonstop racing. By the end of the day, the serious contenders had sorted themselves out, and when racing resumed following Sunday’s quiet time, Irritable Dad Syndrome Racing was in first place, Team S.O.B. in second and Theorectical Racing in third. The final leg of the race turned out to be the most eventful for Les Denkins, the track’s tow-truck driver. One car lost a tire around turn 12 and bounced crazily off the pavement. A brake fire erupted on another car, and the hood from a third popped up and slammed back, smashing the vehicle’s windshield. A fire extinguisher in another car suddenly discharged, sending a cloud of white smoke in the vehicle’s wake. Yet another car lost its transmission and coasted to a stop along the edge of the track. Early in the final leg of the race, Poston’s Miata developed engine problems and limped into pit row. Irritable Dad Syndrome mechanics worked furiously but couldn’t fix it in time to finish the race. “Well, that’s Lemons racing for you,” Poston said, vowing to return. With the quick little Mazda out of contention, Team S.O.B. moved into first place and held tight until the checkered flag made the win official. Miller and his team had raced for more than 14 hours and completed 386 laps. Sprinkle’s team came in second, with only three laps separating it from the winner. Minutes later, weary but smiling drivers and mechanics gathered around Lamm as he presented trophies made from discarded engine parts. Then, in true Lemons form, he paid out the top cash award of $1,500—in 40-pound bricks of rolled coins. “It is funny, obviously,” Lamm said later. “But, it also helps reinforce the idea that racers are not coming here to win a purse and pay for their racing and move on up the ladder. I think it helps everybody understand that this is a distinctly noncompetitive competitive event.”
SCLIVING.COOP | MARCH 2018 | SOUTH CAROLINA LIVING
25
SC scene
, s r t r e a v t i r s D
r u yo lemons!
A
few minutes before 11 a.m. on race-weekend Sunday, drivers in the 24 Hours of Lemons fall endurance race at Carolina Motorsports Park pulled off the winding, 2.3‑mile circuit and cut their engines. It was time for church, after all, and nobody wanted to disturb the faithful as they gathered at the area’s houses of worship. The teams, now in their second day of racing, used the mandatory stop to check tires, brakes, engine fluids and whatever else needed tending. And, heaven knows, many things needed tending. These were some of the most frightening, unroadworthy vehicles on the planet. In sharp, deliberate contrast to the multimillion-dollar investments in Formula One racing and NASCAR, Lemons drivers are prohibited from spending more than $500 on their vehicles—brakes, tires and safety equipment excluded. Track manager David Watkins, who used to drive the race, found his
first Lemons car abandoned in a field with cornstalks growing through the windows and small animals living in what was left of the front seat. Even without laying eyes on the outlandish cars that populate the track, the names of the race teams—Cockroach Racing, Terminally Confused, Loose Lugnut Racing, Ratfink, Cheap Saloon Racing, Radioactive Racing and Our Lady of Perpetual Downforce— signal the good humor and creative irreverence that unite Lemons drivers across the country as a tribe unto themselves. The founder of that tribe is former motorsports journalist John “Jay” Lamm, who more than a decade ago found himself profoundly annoyed at the expensive, stuffy and humorless world of racing. What would happen, Lamm wondered, if he organized a race called 24 Hours of Lemons (a pun combining the disparaging term for a defective car and a takeoff on the legendary 24-hour endurance race in Le Mans, France), in which
e Lemons Festivities at th LEMON LINEUP and include a parade South Fall race n. de m Ca n wntow block party in do
22
SOUTH CAROLINA LIVING | MARCH 2018 | SCLIVING.COOP
BY TIM HANSON
ra
PHOTOS BY MILTON MORRIS
ces
r to South Ca o m roli hu r seatbelt and b f u o o na’ y e ring a sens n e t s loo e s Fa piest enduranc In on the joke
LEMON ZEST Jerry Sprink le (ab face” on as Theorectical Rac ove left) gets his “race ing crewmember Thomas Morris gives the car a fina l inspection. Their Ford Tau rus, adorned with Clemson Tig er Paws, is a proven machin e that delivered two, top-5 performances in 2017.
the cars were really cheap and the race was really long? Well, he knew what would happen: The cars would inevitably lose a wheel, or the engine would overheat, or some terrifying noise would force a pit stop. Faced with these and other unforeseen problems, drivers would be forced to come up with creative solutions to get their cars back on the track. Along the way, they would rediscover that racing was supposed to be fun. Lamm intended to stage his humorous protest race only once, near his home in California, with a dozen or so friends. But, a second Lemons race followed, then a third, and the idea took off. Since then, more than 200 Lemons events have been held around the country. In South Carolina, two Lemons races—the Southern Discomfort in April and Lemons South Fall in September—are held each year at Carolina Motorsports Park near Kershaw. The races typically attract 100 or more race teams and a crowd of curious spectators who revel in this irreverent and unconventional form of motorsports. “Nobody comes to this event who is just a normal, boring person,” Lamm said. “Those people go elsewhere.”
Justin Sprinkle always loved racing, but it wasn’t until six or seven years ago that he learned about 24 Hours of Lemons and talked his father, Jerry, and two of his childhood friends—Thomas Morris and Jamie Owens—into forming a team. They called themselves Theorectical Racing (no, that’s not a typo) and adopted a 1982 Nissan 280Z. “It was like driving a dogsled,” Sprinkle said. “We spent more time working on that car than we actually raced, but it was a lot of fun.” The team eventually scrapped the Nissan and picked up a 1979 Toyota Celica, which, in hindsight, wasn’t much of an improvement. Sprinkle casually noted that it was “notorious for catching on fire.” At the 2017 Lemons South Fall race, the guys brought a Ford Taurus SHO painted white and orange, with a giant Clemson Tiger Paw stamped on the hood and the number 38 emblazoned on its doors. In that year’s spring race, the car placed fifth out of more than 100 cars, leaving Sprinkle confident his team could win. Equally confident about his team’s chances, Jim Poston, captain of Irritable Dad Syndrome Racing, supervised a pre-race check on his 1994 Mazda Miata. With a durable 120-horsepower engine, the little car has plenty of speed, and Poston especially likes how it handles in the 14 corners of the Carolina Motorsports Park course. While larger cars need to slow considerably to take the turns, the Miata hugs the road like a champ. Unlike some of the other participants, who excel at the blush-inducing art of ribald humor, Poston keeps his car “family friendly.” There are handprints from his children stamped all over the body, along with a selection of stock admonitions that fathers everywhere have uttered to their children. Particularly fitting, given the setting: “Don’t make me stop this car!”
SCLIVING.COOP | MARCH 2018 | SOUTH CAROLINA LIVING
23
|
SC scene
LEMON FRESH Dale Strimp le (right), one of the Lemons safety inspect ors, scrutinizes Irritable Dad Syndrome Rac ing’s 1994 Mazda Miata before giving it the green light to race.
Meanwhile, William Miller of Simpsonville and his Team S.O.B. crew were looking for a second consecutive firstplace win with their BMW 325. They claimed victory in the 2017 spring race after slogging away in Lemons racing for eight years and 18 races. Before switching to the BMW, Miller and his team drove a 30-year-old Volkswagen Golf, never once taking the checkered flag, but placing second more times than any other team in the history of the series. “That Volkswagen was a truly horrible car,” Miller said. “We did our best with it, but it never disappointed in finding ways to surprise us with a different failure or a new way of breaking.”
Safety first, bribery second After getting settled into their assigned pits, teams spent the Friday before the race working on their cars before a close examination by Lemons safety inspectors like Dale Strimple. “We make sure the battery and fuel tank are secure, the roll cage is built properly and that the welds are good,” Strimple said. “And, we require a kill switch on the car so that a fireman or anyone else can kill power to the car if it becomes necessary.” With the inspections completed, teams took their vehicles into nearby Camden for an evening block party. The cars paraded through town and parked along both sides of Main Street, where hundreds of locals turned out to meet the drivers and laugh at the quirky costumes and themes that set 24 Hours of Lemons drivers apart from other racers. Keith Stallard of Stafford, Virginia, and his team suited up as lumberjacks—checkered red-and-black shirts, beards, fur hats—and bolted a chainsaw to the top of their 1991 Ford 24
SOUTH CAROLINA LIVING | MARCH 2018 | SCLIVING.COOP
Sierra, just in case anyone had missed the gag. On the other side of the street, another Virginia-based racing team, led by Jonathan Rohrer, took up the Mad Max movie theme, painting their faces silver and dressing as characters from the film. “We love the movie,” Rohrer said. “It is action-oriented and involves rust and bullet holes. It kind of matched what we had.” What they had was a battered 1999 Chevy S-10 they had picked up for $200. To create what looks like a massive machine gun atop the little truck’s cab, they used an old drive shaft, some saw blades and the actual gears from a 25 mm machine gun. Many of the teams brought beer or liquor to the block party—not to consume, but to bribe the two Lemons judges who moved from car to car, clipboards in hand, making sure the teams had not exceeded their $500 investment limit. Mario Rocha, from Harrison, New Jersey, made sure a case of Heineken was strategically placed on the hood of his 1995 BMW 325. When judge Steve McDaniel declared that the car had passed the $500 test, he loaded the beer into a wagon along with other booty he had collected and moved on to the next car. Minutes earlier, he had been “bribed” with an Italian dinner provided by Aaron Horn from Taylorsville, North
ad Max, S Inspired by M LEMON WARRIOR one of many that is this Virginia team miles to participate. of ds re nd hu l trave
24 LEMON APPEAL Jay Lamm, founder of rs Hours of Lemons, urges the veteran drive fear.” of se “sen a and nce vigila tain main to
Carolina, and his teammates. A green tablecloth had been spread over the back of their 1972 Alfa Romeo Spider, and on it had been placed silverware, plates, champagne glasses, flowers and, of course, a generous portion of lasagna.
Sharks and jets On Saturday morning, 75 first-time drivers huddled up as McDaniel gave a final safety briefing and warned about the dangers of getting too cocky on the track. With clunkers barreling around at speeds in excess of 100 miles an hour, the potential for disaster is ever-present. Humor may permeate every aspect of Lemons racing, but safety is always a top priority. Meanwhile, Lemons founder Lamm held the safety briefing for veteran drivers. He began by gesturing to the rookies meeting and making a broad reference to the film West Side Story. “If you look behind you, coming at you—sort of like the Sharks and the Jets—are drivers from the rookies meeting,” he said, amid a round of good-natured booing. Lamm held up a hand for silence. “You may say ‘boo,’ but I will now establish that they are not going to be the problem out there. Those people have a healthy sense of fear and self-preservation, which you, as Lemons veterans, are starting to lose,” he said, pausing for effect. “Let us reclaim that sense of fear and self-preservation out there today.” Soon, the drivers were suited up and strapped into their cars. At 10 a.m., they began filtering onto the track and navigating the circuit. Then a green flag signaled the start of the race, and for the next eight hours, the air was filled with the
GET THERE The 24 Hours of Lemons Southern Discomfort race takes place April 28–29 at Carolina Motorsports Park, 3662 Kershaw Highway, Kershaw. The Lemons South Fall race is scheduled for Sept. 15–16. ADMISSION: All-access spectator passes are $30 at the gate. Kids are admitted free. DETAILS: To learn more about the race and the Lemons racing series, visit 24hoursoflemons.com or facebook.com/24hoursoflemons.
LEMON SPOILER Aft er eight years and 18 races racking up more second-plac e finishes than any tea Lemons history, Sim psonville-based Team m in both of the 2017 en S.O.B. won durance races in So uth Carolina.
sounds and smells of nonstop racing. By the end of the day, the serious contenders had sorted themselves out, and when racing resumed following Sunday’s quiet time, Irritable Dad Syndrome Racing was in first place, Team S.O.B. in second and Theorectical Racing in third. The final leg of the race turned out to be the most eventful for Les Denkins, the track’s tow-truck driver. One car lost a tire around turn 12 and bounced crazily off the pavement. A brake fire erupted on another car, and the hood from a third popped up and slammed back, smashing the vehicle’s windshield. A fire extinguisher in another car suddenly discharged, sending a cloud of white smoke in the vehicle’s wake. Yet another car lost its transmission and coasted to a stop along the edge of the track. Early in the final leg of the race, Poston’s Miata developed engine problems and limped into pit row. Irritable Dad Syndrome mechanics worked furiously but couldn’t fix it in time to finish the race. “Well, that’s Lemons racing for you,” Poston said, vowing to return. With the quick little Mazda out of contention, Team S.O.B. moved into first place and held tight until the checkered flag made the win official. Miller and his team had raced for more than 14 hours and completed 386 laps. Sprinkle’s team came in second, with only three laps separating it from the winner. Minutes later, weary but smiling drivers and mechanics gathered around Lamm as he presented trophies made from discarded engine parts. Then, in true Lemons form, he paid out the top cash award of $1,500—in 40-pound bricks of rolled coins. “It is funny, obviously,” Lamm said later. “But, it also helps reinforce the idea that racers are not coming here to win a purse and pay for their racing and move on up the ladder. I think it helps everybody understand that this is a distinctly noncompetitive competitive event.”
SCLIVING.COOP | MARCH 2018 | SOUTH CAROLINA LIVING
25
