eeeeek
Freelance Superhero
This weekend we, as a club, suffered a personal tragedy. Those of us at the track always feel a sense of doom when the track is shut down for an extended period and every time the helicopter comes, I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach. I am not an official of the AFM. I’m just a guy who has been allowed to cling to my past as a racer with a microphone. This also gives me a small glimpse behind the scenes, which is at times a curse. On Sunday, July 8th, I pieced together that the crash in turn 8 was much worse than normal.
All of us who have been around racing for a while know the rhythm of the track. First call comes at crossed flags, second call at the white flag at final call at checkered flag. Most racers can read what is going on by delayed calls and when the track goes cold. We all know that a helicopter is a concern and at the same time, we also know that sometimes it is not necessary. There is also a standard routine to the helicopter. It’s either staged by the skid pad because they aren’t on a call or it flies in from Chico. When it actually lands on the track, we know it is serious. When it doesn’t leave…
Over my years of racing, I have seen a few fatalities. Rich Thorwaldson in 2004, turn 6 at Sears Point. Jimm Groshong, later that same year at the same track in turn 9. Eric Arnold, at the start line in 2009. Kenny Anderson in turn 11 at Buttonwillow in 2013. Now, Jason Blancas, turn 8, Thunderhill.
In 2004, I didn’t know many people in the AFM, but I already felt like it was a family. Rich had been a staple in the industry for many years and was well known and loved. Jimm Groshong, in a bizarre twist of fate, was Rich’s pit mate and neighbor. I had never met either of them, but the whole club felt the impact.
Eric Arnold was a long term AFM racer and Keigwin’s instructor. He and I personally battled many times on the track in the Open classes and we even crashed together once in turn 5. We, as a club, struggled with him as he tried to overcome his injuries. We all suffered when he chose to end the fight.
Kenny Anderson was a young gun. A fresh new talent who quickly made an impression and fought his way to the top very quickly. At just 12 years old, we all felt this one.
Jason Blancas was a new racer. I had not yet met him, but those that had, spoke highly of him. He had already established racing friends and made plans to continue to pit with his new friends. When I figured out it was someone I didn’t know, I first felt a sense of relief. I didn’t know him. Then it hit me.
Jason was a racer just starting out, like the rest of us. His racing career could have lasted a short time or he could have been the next paddock fixture. I was reminded by Dave Stanton that we all hold a spot in our hearts for our Novice Season when Dave used his very first race number to determine the winner of a raffle. Everyone was sure he was going to pick ‘53’. Instead, he chose his three digit novice number.
The moment Jason launched his first race start, he became a racer. He felt the exhilaration, the anticipation, the sheer thrill of that green flag dropping and charging into turn 1. I’d bet every single one of us can recall our first start. Some have butterflies in their stomachs, other get a dry mouth. The feeling of getting the first start is something that you have to do to truly understand.
I didn’t know Jason, but I respect him. I respect the dedication, the determination and the desire he possessed to take that leap and launch on his first green flag.
I choose to celebrate Jason’s life by remembering what it was to be a first year novice; the future of our club. I’d like to ask you all to share in this with me and tell your story of your first race: What it took to get there, what you had to overcome, the feeling, the emotion and even any silly mistakes you made.
All of us who have been around racing for a while know the rhythm of the track. First call comes at crossed flags, second call at the white flag at final call at checkered flag. Most racers can read what is going on by delayed calls and when the track goes cold. We all know that a helicopter is a concern and at the same time, we also know that sometimes it is not necessary. There is also a standard routine to the helicopter. It’s either staged by the skid pad because they aren’t on a call or it flies in from Chico. When it actually lands on the track, we know it is serious. When it doesn’t leave…
Over my years of racing, I have seen a few fatalities. Rich Thorwaldson in 2004, turn 6 at Sears Point. Jimm Groshong, later that same year at the same track in turn 9. Eric Arnold, at the start line in 2009. Kenny Anderson in turn 11 at Buttonwillow in 2013. Now, Jason Blancas, turn 8, Thunderhill.
In 2004, I didn’t know many people in the AFM, but I already felt like it was a family. Rich had been a staple in the industry for many years and was well known and loved. Jimm Groshong, in a bizarre twist of fate, was Rich’s pit mate and neighbor. I had never met either of them, but the whole club felt the impact.
Eric Arnold was a long term AFM racer and Keigwin’s instructor. He and I personally battled many times on the track in the Open classes and we even crashed together once in turn 5. We, as a club, struggled with him as he tried to overcome his injuries. We all suffered when he chose to end the fight.
Kenny Anderson was a young gun. A fresh new talent who quickly made an impression and fought his way to the top very quickly. At just 12 years old, we all felt this one.
Jason Blancas was a new racer. I had not yet met him, but those that had, spoke highly of him. He had already established racing friends and made plans to continue to pit with his new friends. When I figured out it was someone I didn’t know, I first felt a sense of relief. I didn’t know him. Then it hit me.
Jason was a racer just starting out, like the rest of us. His racing career could have lasted a short time or he could have been the next paddock fixture. I was reminded by Dave Stanton that we all hold a spot in our hearts for our Novice Season when Dave used his very first race number to determine the winner of a raffle. Everyone was sure he was going to pick ‘53’. Instead, he chose his three digit novice number.
The moment Jason launched his first race start, he became a racer. He felt the exhilaration, the anticipation, the sheer thrill of that green flag dropping and charging into turn 1. I’d bet every single one of us can recall our first start. Some have butterflies in their stomachs, other get a dry mouth. The feeling of getting the first start is something that you have to do to truly understand.
I didn’t know Jason, but I respect him. I respect the dedication, the determination and the desire he possessed to take that leap and launch on his first green flag.
I choose to celebrate Jason’s life by remembering what it was to be a first year novice; the future of our club. I’d like to ask you all to share in this with me and tell your story of your first race: What it took to get there, what you had to overcome, the feeling, the emotion and even any silly mistakes you made.
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