La Carrera Nevada 2000

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Saturday.

We start the day with a drivers' meeting in the hotel parking lot. We'll meet out at the "City Dump" for a flying mile race being run by the Eureka locals. Martin also warns us about some road conditions on the way to Belmont. We arrange with the other Jag drivers, Jay Lamm and Elizabeth Gardiner to trade mounts for a while at some point today.

Above: Gathering for the Drivers' meeting.

We leave town and get slightly lost looking for the location of the race. We take the directions a bit too literally and actually drive all the way to the dump. Eventually we find the right spot though The weather looks pretty good. In fact it promises to be the best day yet.

When we arrive at the designated spot, it is obvious because the road is blocked off and there is a growing crowd of locals here to watch the festivities. We amble up to hear the race rules and sign in for the event. We will be given a standing 'drag race' type start... there will be a radar gun posted at the .5 mile mark and at the finish. Our speed will be measured and we'll be allowed two runs.

We are lined up at the back of the pack. The only thing unusual about this is that they want us to allow the cars to be used for some impromptu modeling shots for a couple of local girls building a modeling portfolio.

Right: Cars lining up for the flying mile.

Below: Watching the previous miler on the radar.

Above: An Olds at the start.
Below: The badass Buick blows off the line.

The weirdest part was the amateur models. It was funny to watch. These girls were probably in high school and the photographer was probably not too experienced either. They came up to the front where I was shooting the cars and started posing. As Bill Cammarano's 1954 Dodge Meadowbrook pulled up to the line, everyone said "You have to shoot that car, it is so colorful!" so the girl dutifully walked up to it and the photog started shooting. They obviously needed an Art Director as it was just a girl in front of a car. I said "have her hold the flags"... The photog caught on, told her to grab the flags from the starter and then directed the model to do this or that with the flags. Then I said "you should probably have those people get out of the background." It was as if the photog was seeing what he was looking at for the first time... he suddenly realized there were spectators right behind the model . I photoshopped them out of the picture below. =) I thought my Art Director days were long gone.

Below: Teen Models and Dusty Old Cars. Enjoy!

Former Art Director's note: Notice the shadow on the right-hand models' face above. Oh Well.

Below: Avid race fan awaiting the run of the 54 Jaguar.

Our turn comes to run the mile. Dad is at the wheel and I'm along for the ride. We pull up to the line and await the waving of the flag.

The flag drops and ... the car s l o w l y accelerates.

This car is *not* the E-Type. =)

I'm watching the radar's display and taking the occasional picture. The car eventually makes it to the half mile mark and we are going...

...71 Miles Per Hour! whoo hoo. =)

Unfortunately the 46 year old XK doesn't quite have the same punch it displayed at the time of it's birth, where at Jabbeke, Belgium, a production
XK-120 Jaguar set the watermark for it's day of 132.6mph. This old geezer seems to just run out of breath at 4000 rpm. We finish the mile at around 92 mph. Not bad for a car that is older than me by 11 years. Besides Dad and I agree that 90 is about as fast as you would *want* to drive this car. =) The combination of Drum Brakes (No Offence Martin!) and wonky farm tractor steering puts a mental limit on how fast you really want to go.

Left: Don't try this at home folks.

Instead of pulling around for another go at the mile we pull over and exchange cars with the other folks in a Jaguar. But before we get there let me tell you about the best part of the race. I wasn't there to witness it firsthand, but here is what happened. Ron Wren's 1954 Lincoln Capri died the previous day. But he was determined to run the mile anyway. So Old Lucky #13 ran the mile on the Flatbed. It even managed to beat the time of John Horton's 1952 Chrysler New Yorker! =)

We pull over and trade cars with Jay and Elizabeth. Dad really wants to test drive another Jag, if only as a comparison to his own. His 120 seems to be an excellent specimen. (I tell him it must have been built before lunch.) It has been (gasp) quite reliable and even shows (double gasp!) some quality workmanship. The doors for instance fit perfectly and do not rattle. To anyone who has owned or driven an old Jag this is something of a shock. Dad shows them around his 120, and helps them get underway. Meanwhile I'm in the Fixed Head Coupe surrendering my safety because there is NO WAY I can wrap a seatbelt scaled for Elizabeth's petite frame around my not-so-petite self. Dad drives the FHC and pronounces it to be a better performer. The engine freely revvs up to 4000 and beyond. The engine is fitted with a C-Type head and is much better equipped to breathe. The rest of the machine however is more of what you would expect from a Jaguar. The doors rattle. Things don't fit together too well. Etc. Two things I do notice right away however, is that the fuel gauge works and that the "Trafficator" indicator light works. =)

Above: Dad shows Jay & Elizabeth the Roadster.
Below: Leaving the closed road & Looking back.

Below: Shot across the louvered bow of the FHC.

We trade back for our trusty mount about 10 miles down the road. Why? The scenery and surface is about to change for the worse...

Above: The rutted "Belmont Road" south from US 50 towards Belmont... which is beyond the mountains left of the
road below. This whole valley has never seen pavement.

The road south to Belmont is unbelievable. This is a valley that seems as large as the whole Puget Sound region where I live. From The hills south of the Skagit River down to Olympia, and from the Cascade Mountains to the Sound holds about 3 million people. This seemed to be an equivalent space and my guess is that about 12 people live there at *most*. A HUGE valley with only about 5 roads in it. The scale was dizzying. There were only two cars ahead of us on the route (since we left the race early) and I was able to count the dust plumes from individual cars ahead and behind for what seemed like 50 miles in both directions. The road varied in quality from rutted disaster to smooth quality gravel. While the valley appeared flat bottomed there were in reality many folds and twists... in fact we had several surprise roller-coasteresque drops and bumps along the way. At one point we crested a small hill at relatively high speed to be confronted with *a three way fork* in the road. Screeching to a halt, we debated which one to take. Of course there was no such intersection shown on the map! We deduced that the right hand fork was correct based on the appearance of the road on the right side of the valley much farther ahead and the casual appearance that this road looked more well-worn and traveled. So right we go and down into a smallish canyon and *shock* right into somebody's ranch amid some cottonwood trees. We roll to a stop. Standing on the left side of the road are two HUGE bulls. Dad is fishing about with the stick trying to find reverse when a man walks out... Since we are obviously lost, and this guy seems to have no fear of the bulls we slowly drive past them and ask if this is the way to Belmont. He lets us know that yes, if we continue on straight that we'll meet the "main" road again and be headed towards Belmont. Had we gone straight at the 3-way fork we would have stayed on the "main" road.
The ironic thing is the use of the term "main"...

The road continues - and we continue to take on dust and dirt at an alarming rate. I swear there are several pounds of dust in my shirt alone. I won't even begin to describe the crunchy sensations in my mouth. Thankfully we encounter Jay & Elizabeth stopped along the roadside and they share their water with us. Thanks Jay!

Another 70 miles or so go by and finally round a ridge and climb west out of the valley and up to the semi-ghost town of Belmont.

Above Left: The Belmont Saloon.
Above Right: a lone smokestack with no building attached.

After Belmont we go up and over the last 12 miles of dirt road to the mining town of Manhattan. We finally hit pavement again in the Big Smoky Valley and head north on Nevada 376... familiar territory now as this is the third time we've traversed it (once on the Cannonball, and again on Thursday.) At the town of Carvers we stop for gas at a 76 station. While Dad fills up I head inside to buy a drink and leave some fluid. As it is very hot (at least for this wimpy northwesterner!) I also grab an ice cream bar... to hard to pass that up! Dad sees this and goes inside for one too... while I finish off mine then wash the windscreen.

While I'm doing that another rally car pulls up and fills up too. Then a local comes out and asks us where we were yesterday. I answer that we were up around Elko. He says that the whole valley turned up at the Twist Ranch to make lunch for us yesterday and that we never showed up.
I say that we are supposed to be at the Twist for lunch today. He says that there obviously was some mistake since they cooked up a 'Big Ol' Barbeque' for us yesterday - but we never showed up! The whole damn valley turned up and made a huge party of it, but since we never showed they ate it all!

For a while I thought he was joking but eventually I figured he was telling the truth. He said that we'd have to go all the way to Austin (about 45 miles up the road) to grab a lunch and suggested a place to do it.

Dad and I hit the road north and eventually came to the Twist about 20 miles further... it turns out to be the place where we traded drivers in the storm two nights before... when Dad couldn't see the cows.) As we go by I see some rally cars there so we turn around and pull in. They are serving us lunch, but the guy in Carvers was right... we are a day late. Somehow the good folks at the Twist Ranch managed to throw together a lunch for us at the last minute from some leftovers. I have to say I ate one of the best steaks I have ever tasted in my life. Maybe it was the contrast from the 16 pounds of dust I consumed on the dirt road this morning, but I have to say it was a damn fine steak! I had some nice corn and beans too. I thanked the Cook and our fine Host, Shelby (whose last name I can't recall, sorry!)

Above: An Impromptu, yet excellent lunch at the Twist Ranch.

I'm sure that the rally organizers and the Twist's staff managed to soothe any hurt feelings surrounding the miscommunications. If they can put on a lunch of this quality in these circumstances I *really* want to make up for the error and see what they can do when we show up on the right day!

We hit the road soon after we finish and blaze the trail towards Austin with me at the wheel. The town is perched on a small 'flat' spot on the side of a huge grade. Weird spot for a town. Soon after Austin we leave US 50 and take a scenic route, Nevada 722 over two passes and through one big valley complete with gigantic dry lake:

The second pass has some great curves and hairpins. After we regain US 50 we head lower and lower and the scenery gets drier. Eventually we are on a huge dry lake bed. Shimmering in the distance is the town of Fallon, with it's Naval Air Station. Just as we get within about a half mile of the town the Jag sputters to a stop. We've run out of gas again! Several Rally cars pass us while we are pouring or spare 2 gallons in. We crank it back up and roll into town for a satisfying tankfull of surprisingly inexpensive fuel. The rest of the route takes us toward Virginia City and then up around the east shore of Lake Tahoe, then down the Kingsbury Grade to Minden. But since we have to pick up Dad's tow vehicle in Carson City we bypass that part and beeline for the state capital and it's Ford dealership. I drop Dad off to recover the behemoth. The wait is quite long as there has been a screwup and the truck is locked behind a fence. Dad had requested it be left on the lot so we could just pick it up, but of course it is not. In the meantime I took a nice shot of the Jag in a window:

Dad finally gets his truck and we're off down US 395 to Minden. I'm in the Jag alone, and he's in the Expedition.

We make it to Minden and immediately load the Jag onto it's trailer. A shock awaits when we open the trunk...

Above: My baggage, complete with three acres of Nevada dust.
Below: An additional acre in my clothes. But hey, we're finished and a shower awaits!

We shower, and head down for the final get together. The room is half empty due to the attrition rate. We are served a great dinner (Hey Andy, a mixed grill!) to top off the whole event. We say good bye to everyone and head to bed.

Dad drives me to the airport in Reno, with the car in tow and heads straight east back on US 50 towards Colorado. I fly back to Seattle.

Got to give a big thanks to:

Martin Swig and Dan Radowicz for hosting such a wild event.
My lovely wife Sue and my two boys for having the patience to graciously allow me to go away on these crazy trips.
...and of course my father, Charles Goolsbee for inviting me to come along. Thanks Dad!

--chuck

It's over, so...



		Saturday. We start the day with a drivers' meeting in the hotel parking lot. We'll meet out at the "City Dump" for a flying mile race being run by the Eureka locals. Martin also warns us about some road conditions on the way to Belmont. We arrange with the other Jag drivers, Jay Lamm and Elizabeth Gardiner to trade mounts for a while at some point today. Above: Gathering for the Drivers' meeting. We leave town and get slightly lost looking for the location of the race. We take the directions a bit too literally and actually drive all the way to the dump. Eventually we find the right spot though The weather looks pretty good. In fact it promises to be the best day yet. When we arrive at the designated spot, it is obvious because the road is blocked off and there is a growing crowd of locals here to watch the festivities. We amble up to hear the race rules and sign in for the event. We will be given a standing 'drag race' type start... there will be a radar gun posted at the .5 mile mark and at the finish. Our speed will be measured and we'll be allowed two runs. We are lined up at the back of the pack. The only thing unusual about this is that they want us to allow the cars to be used for some impromptu modeling shots for a couple of local girls building a modeling portfolio. Right: Cars lining up for the flying mile. Below: Watching the previous miler on the radar. Above: An Olds at the start. Below: The badass Buick blows off the line. The weirdest part was the amateur models. It was funny to watch. These girls were probably in high school and the photographer was probably not too experienced either. They came up to the front where I was shooting the cars and started posing. As Bill Cammarano's 1954 Dodge Meadowbrook pulled up to the line, everyone said "You have to shoot that car, it is so colorful!" so the girl dutifully walked up to it and the photog started shooting. They obviously needed an Art Director as it was just a girl in front of a car. I said "have her hold the flags"... The photog caught on, told her to grab the flags from the starter and then directed the model to do this or that with the flags. Then I said "you should probably have those people get out of the background." It was as if the photog was seeing what he was looking at for the first time... he suddenly realized there were spectators right behind the model . I photoshopped them out of the picture below. =) I thought my Art Director days were long gone. Below: Teen Models and Dusty Old Cars. Enjoy! Former Art Director's note: Notice the shadow on the right-hand models' face above. Oh Well. Below: Avid race fan awaiting the run of the 54 Jaguar. Our turn comes to run the mile. Dad is at the wheel and I'm along for the ride. We pull up to the line and await the waving of the flag. The flag drops and ... the car s l o w l y accelerates. This car is not the E-Type. =) I'm watching the radar's display and taking the occasional picture. The car eventually makes it to the half mile mark and we are going... ...71 Miles Per Hour! whoo hoo. =) Unfortunately the 46 year old XK doesn't quite have the same punch it displayed at the time of it's birth, where at Jabbeke, Belgium, a production XK-120 Jaguar set the watermark for it's day of 132.6mph. This old geezer seems to just run out of breath at 4000 rpm. We finish the mile at around 92 mph. Not bad for a car that is older than me by 11 years. Besides Dad and I agree that 90 is about as fast as you would want to drive this car. =) The combination of Drum Brakes (No Offence Martin!) and wonky farm tractor steering puts a mental limit on how fast you really want to go. Left: Don't try this at home folks. Instead of pulling around for another go at the mile we pull over and exchange cars with the other folks in a Jaguar. But before we get there let me tell you about the best part of the race. I wasn't there to witness it firsthand, but here is what happened. Ron Wren's 1954 Lincoln Capri died the previous day. But he was determined to run the mile anyway. So Old Lucky #13 ran the mile on the Flatbed. It even managed to beat the time of John Horton's 1952 Chrysler New Yorker! =) We pull over and trade cars with Jay and Elizabeth. Dad really wants to test drive another Jag, if only as a comparison to his own. His 120 seems to be an excellent specimen. (I tell him it must have been built before lunch.) It has been (gasp) quite reliable and even shows (double gasp!) some quality workmanship. The doors for instance fit perfectly and do not rattle. To anyone who has owned or driven an old Jag this is something of a shock. Dad shows them around his 120, and helps them get underway. Meanwhile I'm in the Fixed Head Coupe surrendering my safety because there is NO WAY I can wrap a seatbelt scaled for Elizabeth's petite frame around my not-so-petite self. Dad drives the FHC and pronounces it to be a better performer. The engine freely revvs up to 4000 and beyond. The engine is fitted with a C-Type head and is much better equipped to breathe. The rest of the machine however is more of what you would expect from a Jaguar. The doors rattle. Things don't fit together too well. Etc. Two things I do notice right away however, is that the fuel gauge works and that the "Trafficator" indicator light works. =) Above: Dad shows Jay & Elizabeth the Roadster. Below: Leaving the closed road & Looking back. Below: Shot across the louvered bow of the FHC. We trade back for our trusty mount about 10 miles down the road. Why? The scenery and surface is about to change for the worse... Above: The rutted "Belmont Road" south from US 50 towards Belmont... which is beyond the mountains left of the road below. This whole valley has never seen pavement. The road south to Belmont is unbelievable. This is a valley that seems as large as the whole Puget Sound region where I live. From The hills south of the Skagit River down to Olympia, and from the Cascade Mountains to the Sound holds about 3 million people. This seemed to be an equivalent space and my guess is that about 12 people live there at most. A HUGE valley with only about 5 roads in it. The scale was dizzying. There were only two cars ahead of us on the route (since we left the race early) and I was able to count the dust plumes from individual cars ahead and behind for what seemed like 50 miles in both directions. The road varied in quality from rutted disaster to smooth quality gravel. While the valley appeared flat bottomed there were in reality many folds and twists... in fact we had several surprise roller-coasteresque drops and bumps along the way. At one point we crested a small hill at relatively high speed to be confronted with a three way fork in the road. Screeching to a halt, we debated which one to take. Of course there was no such intersection shown on the map! We deduced that the right hand fork was correct based on the appearance of the road on the right side of the valley much farther ahead and the casual appearance that this road looked more well-worn and traveled. So right we go and down into a smallish canyon and shock right into somebody's ranch amid some cottonwood trees. We roll to a stop. Standing on the left side of the road are two HUGE bulls. Dad is fishing about with the stick trying to find reverse when a man walks out... Since we are obviously lost, and this guy seems to have no fear of the bulls we slowly drive past them and ask if this is the way to Belmont. He lets us know that yes, if we continue on straight that we'll meet the "main" road again and be headed towards Belmont. Had we gone straight at the 3-way fork we would have stayed on the "main" road. The ironic thing is the use of the term "main"... The road continues - and we continue to take on dust and dirt at an alarming rate. I swear there are several pounds of dust in my shirt alone. I won't even begin to describe the crunchy sensations in my mouth. Thankfully we encounter Jay & Elizabeth stopped along the roadside and they share their water with us. Thanks Jay! Another 70 miles or so go by and finally round a ridge and climb west out of the valley and up to the semi-ghost town of Belmont. Above Left: The Belmont Saloon. Above Right: a lone smokestack with no building attached. After Belmont we go up and over the last 12 miles of dirt road to the mining town of Manhattan. We finally hit pavement again in the Big Smoky Valley and head north on Nevada 376... familiar territory now as this is the third time we've traversed it (once on the Cannonball, and again on Thursday.) At the town of Carvers we stop for gas at a 76 station. While Dad fills up I head inside to buy a drink and leave some fluid. As it is very hot (at least for this wimpy northwesterner!) I also grab an ice cream bar... to hard to pass that up! Dad sees this and goes inside for one too... while I finish off mine then wash the windscreen. While I'm doing that another rally car pulls up and fills up too. Then a local comes out and asks us where we were yesterday. I answer that we were up around Elko. He says that the whole valley turned up at the Twist Ranch to make lunch for us yesterday and that we never showed up. I say that we are supposed to be at the Twist for lunch today. He says that there obviously was some mistake since they cooked up a 'Big Ol' Barbeque' for us yesterday - but we never showed up! The whole damn valley turned up and made a huge party of it, but since we never showed they ate it all! For a while I thought he was joking but eventually I figured he was telling the truth. He said that we'd have to go all the way to Austin (about 45 miles up the road) to grab a lunch and suggested a place to do it. Dad and I hit the road north and eventually came to the Twist about 20 miles further... it turns out to be the place where we traded drivers in the storm two nights before... when Dad couldn't see the cows.) As we go by I see some rally cars there so we turn around and pull in. They are serving us lunch, but the guy in Carvers was right... we are a day late. Somehow the good folks at the Twist Ranch managed to throw together a lunch for us at the last minute from some leftovers. I have to say I ate one of the best steaks I have ever tasted in my life. Maybe it was the contrast from the 16 pounds of dust I consumed on the dirt road this morning, but I have to say it was a damn fine steak! I had some nice corn and beans too. I thanked the Cook and our fine Host, Shelby (whose last name I can't recall, sorry!) Above: An Impromptu, yet excellent lunch at the Twist Ranch. I'm sure that the rally organizers and the Twist's staff managed to soothe any hurt feelings surrounding the miscommunications. If they can put on a lunch of this quality in these circumstances I really want to make up for the error and see what they can do when we show up on the right day! We hit the road soon after we finish and blaze the trail towards Austin with me at the wheel. The town is perched on a small 'flat' spot on the side of a huge grade. Weird spot for a town. Soon after Austin we leave US 50 and take a scenic route, Nevada 722 over two passes and through one big valley complete with gigantic dry lake: The second pass has some great curves and hairpins. After we regain US 50 we head lower and lower and the scenery gets drier. Eventually we are on a huge dry lake bed. Shimmering in the distance is the town of Fallon, with it's Naval Air Station. Just as we get within about a half mile of the town the Jag sputters to a stop. We've run out of gas again! Several Rally cars pass us while we are pouring or spare 2 gallons in. We crank it back up and roll into town for a satisfying tankfull of surprisingly inexpensive fuel. The rest of the route takes us toward Virginia City and then up around the east shore of Lake Tahoe, then down the Kingsbury Grade to Minden. But since we have to pick up Dad's tow vehicle in Carson City we bypass that part and beeline for the state capital and it's Ford dealership. I drop Dad off to recover the behemoth. The wait is quite long as there has been a screwup and the truck is locked behind a fence. Dad had requested it be left on the lot so we could just pick it up, but of course it is not. In the meantime I took a nice shot of the Jag in a window: Dad finally gets his truck and we're off down US 395 to Minden. I'm in the Jag alone, and he's in the Expedition. We make it to Minden and immediately load the Jag onto it's trailer. A shock awaits when we open the trunk... Above: My baggage, complete with three acres of Nevada dust. Below: An additional acre in my clothes. But hey, we're finished and a shower awaits! We shower, and head down for the final get together. The room is half empty due to the attrition rate. We are served a great dinner (Hey Andy, a mixed grill!) to top off the whole event. We say good bye to everyone and head to bed. Dad drives me to the airport in Reno, with the car in tow and heads straight east back on US 50 towards Colorado. I fly back to Seattle. Got to give a big thanks to: Martin Swig and Dan Radowicz for hosting such a wild event. My lovely wife Sue and my two boys for having the patience to graciously allow me to go away on these crazy trips. ...and of course my father, Charles Goolsbee for inviting me to come along. Thanks Dad! --chuck
	It's over, so...