No grip, no problem
This story was originally published on DriveTribe in 2017, but because that website is now dead, we decided to keep the story alive here at Tuner Fan. Enjoy!
The rain dripping from the tip of my nose, I wondered why I was standing in a mud puddle in a field deep in the backcountry of northern California. I looked at my hands, gripped tightly around a tepid cup of noodles, and pondered – what is my purpose here amongst the strange fungus and shattered side markers? Was it some form of sadomasochism, an act of self-denial for sick pleasures? Perhaps it was an ancient ritual aimed at bringing back the sun to help usher in warmer, dryer weather?
As these weird questions drifted through my brain, a sodden, mud-streaked Subaru slid past me, its engine thrashing against the limiter in a maddening, offbeat flat-four protest.
Then I remembered.
I was a corner worker at a NorCal SCCA Rally X event, taking part in my first-ever non-asphalt motorsport competition. Thankfully, I wasn't alone. Earlier that morning, at the driver's meeting, as a group of 30 of us huddled together under a tarp like penguins braving an arctic storm, at least ten other courageous souls raised their hands when organizer Ivan Tzvetanov asked who was participating in their very first rally cross that day. "This isn't the best first impression," he conceded. But the veterans found the humor in it, laughing and shrugging off the weather with knowing smiles.
Several hours prior to the meeting, as I stood around waiting for things to get under way, a caged-up, race-ready two-door 2.5 RS rolled up.
"Can we share a table with you?" asked a young man as he leaned out the passenger-side window. His name was Sean Campbell, and he and his father Paul were co-driving their daily driver/race car that day.
Laying down some plastic covers, the pair moved with quick precision, jacking up the car and mounting more mud-friendly rubber.
Both the Campbell's and I were competing in the Modified All-Wheel Drive class, the fastest class of the event. Front-wheel and rear-wheel drive cars were not well-represented that day – understandable, considering the conditions.
After an initial parade lap, our class hit the grid in three neat lines, eventually trundling out onto the course one by one to wait for our individual turn in the mud trough.
My first run was abysmal. It was a game of find the traction, and I was losing. Just keeping the car straight at any speed was a battle, and you could forget setting up any kind of braking zone, apex, or exit.
The worst corner by far was number four. After some slithering about, four popped up at the bottom of a hill as an off-camber right-hander. Parked just outside the apex was a lake three inches deep. Slide off the banking, and if you were lucky, the engine would bog and you'd lose a lot of time. At worst, you'd need a tow.
More than once I found myself nose deep in this treacherous brown body of nastiness, my tires spinning as I struggled to put the power down, plowing straight ahead in terminal understeer.
My car was not built for this kind of action. The power on tap was more than ample, but meaningless in the muck. Suffice to say, I was out of my element, and so was my car. The surface, this kind of racing, my stock suspension… all of it laid waste to the turbo goodness under the hood, neutering my car's potential with endless wheel spin.
You could call it racer's excuses… but perhaps novice excuses would be more accurate. Luckily, I didn't enter the event intending to be competitive. Rather, I wanted to find the gist of the sport, drill down and grapple with the nitty gritty reality of it, and my wagon was my only means to such an end.
By comparison, the Campbells were on fire. I had more than three times the power, but they were much, much faster, and more consistent as well, besting my fastest time by more than 5 seconds. And when a lap is less than a minute long, 5 seconds is an eternity.
My quickest run was my last of the day. Somehow I managed to break into the forty-second range. Just.
With my class' time on track complete, I parked, climbed out, and looked over my new mud-colored paint job, fretting a bit over my clear (and now public) incompetence.
Just then, the Campbells came back, laughter roaring from inside the cabin. Sean climbed out, splattered head to toe in mud.
Apparently, there was a hole around their 2.5 RS's shifter, and following an unexpected meeting with a particularly large puddle, approximately half the entire world's supply of mud erupted into the cabin like a dirty Old Faithful. I leaned in to inspect the carnage. Paul Campbell was as enthused as his son.
After cleaning up, Sean and I donned our respective rain gear and hiked over to corner five. Our fun now done, it was time to shag some cones for the next run group.
As Sean and I chatted about swaybar settings and the cure for understeer, the rain lessened, and we watched AWD rooster tails for about 30 minutes before heading back in.
While my own inability was plain to see, the Campbells were the true heroes of the day. And even though I was soaked to the bone, cold, and driving an overpowered, traction-free monster, I could say with confidence that I had an absolute blast.
I'll be back next time, that's for sure. Hopefully with better tires. And definitely with an umbrella.
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