db: Speed!

“I’m Speed Racer…”

Dateline: Bassmaster Marshal registration

“What’s behind you doesn’t matter.”
~ Enzo Ferrari

There is a stretch of blacktop, straight and true, east of California, where the cops don’t sit, and the wind don’t blow.

There is a stretch of blacktop, where snakes wiggle, tarantulas crawl, and crows hop, but no man walks.

There is a stretch of blacktop, where I once, flew.

Early ‘70s, ponytail and fringe two-wheeling cross America, looking not for trouble, just looking not to be seen, pop over a foothill and there it was…blacktop by its ownself.

Right hand grasps…right foot clicks up once.

Grasp, click…second.

Grasp, click…third.

Grasp, click….SPEED!

750cc’s found life without stop signs, the long rake of the front wheel moved slightly up, the frame sunk some and took a deep breath and suddenly my Triumph Trident chopped motorcycle was set free.

I can’t remember how far the speedometer went up to number wise, all I know was that the speed needle had no more room to go.

Is it the swoop from high, or the catch that eagles love best.

I vote, swoop.

I vote, speed.

“Faster, faster, faster, until the thrill of speed overcomes the fear of death…”
– Hunter Thompson

“…and I drive real fast…”

Ok, so I dig speed, did some oval racing as a kid, I’m not afraid of…GO.

But it is no secret that if I had my way with B.A.S.S. this would be the Cocktail Waitress in High Heels 12 Speaker 50-inch Flat Screen Cabin Cruiser Moored To The Dock Elite Tour.

With no animosity to the bass boat building and selling community, many of whom are friends of mine, going 70MPH in 3-feet deep of fiberglass scares the bloody bejesus out of me.

I’ve done it a couple of times, IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN.

For those of you who have not done it, do this:

Call your nearest Rent-A-Racer.

Use your points and MasterCard and rent Mario Andretti’s F-1 motor vehicle.

Squeeze into it, take your right foot and push the pedal beneath it as far as your leg will stretch.

Aim it straight, hold on, time it so that at top gear you enter the beginning of the mile long Mr. Suds Car Wash and Jet Dry Emporium just as the part-time high school worker hits the DELUXE WASH button.

There you go, welcome to riding with the Elites.

By the way, every lake you fish will come with 4 foot high waves for your 3 foot high boat.

By the way 2, if I ever get in an Elite boat again, very doubtful, but if I do and they speed I will NOT use the passenger “grab handle,” I will in fact “grab” the driver of the boat which pretty much functions as a “speed governor” when you hang around Biffle’s neck and start balling like a baby.

Trust me on that one.

By the way 3, at 70 mph the top speed of puke is 68 mph, bring Scotch-Guard.

“…he’s Speed Racer…”

“Hi, thanks for being a Marshal, good luck out there.”

That’s me, quoting, you know, me.

It is Marshal registration here at the Elite shindig on whatever waterway is around the town of Palatka, Fla.

I’m a greeter and B.A.S.S. hat hander and I say hey and shake the hands of all 100 or so of the kind, and maybe somewhat naïve, Marshals for the Elite event.

Most of them wear clothing with some sort of fish on it, have the telltale “Panda” face “tan,” and shake with a strong grip with hands that have the unmistakable scars of what happens when you try on your boat to remove a hook from your hand with a Budweiser rusty bottle opener.

Some know me, others are afraid to admit they do, a few forgo the free hat altogether.

“Hi, thanks for being a…dude, what’s the #43 about.”

Towering over me is a guy with a gold chain around his neck with the number 43 hanging from it. “…it’s my boat number.”

Wow, I’m thinking, somehow this Marshal knows what boat he’s going to get assigned to even before Chuck hits the text button with boat assignments. I’m looking at the tall guy while glancing at Chuck who’s giving me his weekly stink-eye for holding up Marshal registration/free stuff march.

“It’s my boat number, I’m retired now but I use to be a professional hydroplane boat racer…” hold a couple water speed records…”

At which time I look back at Chuck and give him the secret sign between us that translates to exactly this: “I found Biffle’s Marshal…”

“…and I hold a couple water speed records.”

I look back at Chuck with the “got-the-guy-for-Iaconelli” sign.

“…and he drives real fast…”

“So, how fast have you ever gone in a boat,” I say all peacock puffed up like since I ride with the Elites.”

“153.”

“Huh, excuse me.”

“153 on a straight-away.”

“ONE FIFTY THREE,” I say in an OMG voice and not quite the journalist voice I was hoping for.

The Jim Sellers sticks out two huge fists with two huge rings, as an Investigative Reporter when that happened to me before I would just duck, but now I just take out my iPhone. This, a true front-teeth saving gig.

“The one that say Y-43 that’s for the world record in the five mile race, won it twice, once in 1978 and once in 1979. The boat was just a little bigger than a bathtub, hit 104 on the straight.”

I have to tell you, honest here, I’m pretty darn impressed even though I’m not real sure what a “hydroplane” is but whatever it is I’ve never gone over maybe 0-mph in a bathtub.

“The one that says A43 that was for the world record on a five mile course but in a smaller boat.”

This is what happens when you stand in line and hand out free B.A.S.S. hats, if you are lucky one time you will hand a hat to someone inducted into the American Powerboat Association Hall of Champions, a three time #1 hydroplane racer in the United States, World Champion two time free hat taker.

Yep.

“…he’s Speed Racer…”

“So…Jim…you going to be nervous out there?”

A laugh, “No.”

“They drive pretty fast you know Jim.”“Hmm…153 fast…”

Dude has got me there, I’m thinking it may be possible with Shaw going 70 with an 83-mph tailwind.

“…I’ve gone 70 mph with my girlfriend in the boat.”

I keep the tailwind thought to myself.

“I sense you don’t like going fast in boats, sir.”

I pump up my pecs and try and flatten my stomach but I haven’t lifted weights since that Labatt’s keg in 1978.

“uh-huh,” I whisper.

“In my first eight years I crashed nine times, once went over backwards in front of my hometown…”

I was just about to ask him how to stay safe in a fast boat…

“…but the last 12 years of my career I didn’t get wet.”

…oh, okay.  I think.

“To stay safe, just stay in the boat…”

Or, stay on land.

“…and watch out for solid objects.”

Or, stay on solid land.

“You know sir, I owe everything though to my father, would you please write that, because of my dad, Jack, everything I have accomplished I have done so because of him, please write that.”

I will.

“…and he drives real fast…”

“My father is 87 now, he is a Hydroplane World Record holder as well back in the day, Hydroplane boats don’t have trim…”

I’m not exactly sure what “trim” is but for you non-boaters out there I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have anything to do with the boat being skinny and fit.

“…don’t have trim so he designed the boat itself to have trim built in, it was him doing that which led me to being able to go so fast and win the world records, that and…”

Now for you children and sensitive women, the next coming up quote is a kind of man quote normally said in locker rooms but I will try and proper it down some…

“…and he always said I had size 13 throttle shoe and a size four helmet.”

…okay translation for the women and chill-dren:  His, you know, man parts were bigger than his brain parts. More (something) than brains.

As I look up from trying to write that quote in my notebook without having a scheduled meeting with the HR department all I see is Jim sitting there smiling at me, “My father, I owe everything to him.”

“…I drive real fast – I’m gonna last…”

There is a stretch of blacktop that now lives in my soul.

750cc’s let loose, telephone poles flashing by, fome, fome, fome.

Shift up, pass the jackrabbit.

Shift up, wave to the express train conductor as you pass by.

Shift up far enough and all becomes quiet, all, SLOWS DOWN.

Shift up far enough and the blacktop bows to speed, yields to power, honors those who tame the fast machine.

There is a stretch of blacktop, that knows my name.

And I, its.

Kelbaker Road, Mojave.

“Once you’ve raced, you never forget it…and you never get over it.”
– Richard Childress

“…go, go, go.”
Speed Racer
DEVO

“So Jim, before you go, what do you do now?”

“I’m a transportation safety advisor.”

Can’t make this stuff up.

db