| |
Now that the holidays are behind
us, the majority of the gearhead community is settling in to
wait for spring. There are some who have the benefit of heated
facilities to continue work on a project, and there are those
who are just zealous enough to get out there and brave the
elements for the sake of getting the next thing done.
Those who reside, vacation, or possibly "snowbird" to the
southern reaches of North America can still enjoy a temperate
climate that is warm enough through the winter to still enjoy
the outdoors. They can ride their motorcycles and drop the tops
on their convertibles, if only for a few hours on a given day.
Then there are those gearhead souls who either by birth or
choice, inhabit the upper reaches of the continent. Places where
the temperatures plunge and the ground gets a regular blanket of
that white stuff called snow. I have noticed during my life that
snow has a profound effect on humans in many different ways.
Here in central Virginia, snow is generally a once a year
occurrence, anything more than that is considered a harsh
winter. Mind you,
we are only
talking about a scant few inches when it does fall, and even
then it rarely lasts more than one to three days max.
The forecast of three inches of snow in my area starts a level
of madness and havoc, with people scurrying about in desperation
to fill the gas tanks on their generators, and buying enough
milk and bread to feed a small Eskimo tribe for a month. We
recently had about a six inch snowfall that lasted over about a
three to four day period, part of which was a Christmas shopping
weekend.
When all was said and done, the Virginia State Police reported
there had been over 3000 traffic accidents attributed to the
inclement weather. Long story short, no matter if you own an all
wheel drive, four wheel drive, cheap or fancy SUV equipped with
all the right features such as ABS, traction control or
stability control systems, it will still slide on snow and ice.
The lack of respect for winter elements around here is
astounding sometimes.
There is another kind of madness that is brought on by the flaky
white stuff, and that is winter sports. Every four years the
Winter Olympics is a showcase for
an army of athletes who draw a very fine line between bold and
just plain crazy. I can respect the adrenaline thrill of speed
and power to be sure, and I can also truly respect the kind of
athletic prowess it takes to generate these thrills from human
strength combined with a total absence of the fear of gravity.
Ski jumpers immediately spring to mind as the epitome of this
concept. If someone offered me an all-you-can-carry shopping
spree through Fort Knox in exchange for strapping on some skis,
blasting down a ramp as steep as many cliffs I've seen, only to
be vaulted skyward at the end so that I could slowly watch my
own demise approach a few hundred feet father down the same
slope, I would be forced to ask if skydiving was an option
instead. At least jumping out of perfectly good aircraft with a
parachute suggests a level of survivability.
The contestants who ride the Luge are also a bunch who strikes
me as slightly askew. Watching these people run and jump onto
what looks like a sled made for a small child, and then racing
down this track of glare ice carved out of mountain, begs the
question in my mind of what would be an automotive equivalent?
The only thing I can think of that comes close is asking Danica
Patrick if she would strap me to the nose of her Indy car, and
then let’s take a few hot laps around Laguna Seca raceway with
some special emphasis on the dreaded "corkscrew turn".
Being more in tune with actually driving a vehicle at speed, one
would think that I would relate to those who pilot the bobsleds.
Yet here again is a wild departure from anything remotely
car-like. The driver of the bobsled has the singular
responsibility of steering, while the contestant in the rear is
the one who controls the brakes. What horror story addict came
up with this arrangement? Did someone realize early on that if
the driver actually feared for his life that he might slow
down?...so the solution became giving the brakes to the man
behind so he could feel somewhat secure in the knowledge that
the driver would smack the ice wall first, therefore increasing
the chances of his survival?
I won’t even begin
to enter into the thinking of the four-man sled, which adds two
more unfortunate souls purely as ballast. Tell me, how does it
feel to be a human sandbag?
In truth, I should not speak so harshly concerning our gallant
Olympic athletes, especially since they will be gathering in
Vancouver, British Columbia next month for two weeks of winter
“sports”.
One only has to
visit some of these locations where prolonged winters can drive
gearheads to embark into edgy competitions of motorsports to see
this type of madness slowly taking hold. The most glaring in my
mind is snowmobiling, which for all purposes is a motorcycle for
the ice and snow. For many years, this concept looked very
appealing to me, that is until I began discussing the warnings
with my wife's cousin. At the time, he owned a cabin in northern
Vermont, and he purchased himself a nice used snowmobile that he
carried up from his home in Connecticut for some winter weekend
fun.
He related to me
the stories of the fierce cold at speed, and how some snow
trails went across frozen lakes and rivers. He went on to
explain how these areas are taken at full throttle, and if your
buddy next to you suddenly drops out of sight, then don't dare
let off the gas, since this means you die too. I realize that
driving fast cars has always had its own level of risk, but
running off the track doesn't usually mean throwing off the
mortal coil.
Then one day I watched in amazement on television as two
snowmobilers rocketed down an icy track which ended at a pond.
This water was not frozen over, and the intrepid racers
continued off the snow and across the water, with their machines
skipping along like flat rocks shot from a cannon. One racer
made it all the way across, while the other for some reason was
not able to maintain enough speed to stay above the surface
(can't imagine why). While his machine quickly sunk, a small
boat came and scooped him out of the freezing water before
hypothermia set in. Isn't it humiliating enough to lose your
fine racing machine, but to then add threat of death to your
bruised ego might be considered extreme. How would it be if the
next winner of the Indy 500 got ice cold milk to drink, while
the second and third place finishers got an ice bath that may or
may not induce pneumonia? It certainly might raise the level of
competition...then again it may impose a distinct desire to
crash rather than finish second or third.
I've seen snowmobile round track racing, motorcycle ice racing,
where the tires on the bikes wore huge spikes in order to give
them traction. Woe be it unto the poor fool who has a wipeout
and gets run over by others in the pack. The list of winter
motorsports goes on, but the general feeling of going fast over
the ice and snow to me is just this side of dancing with the
devil. I'm sure that many would see motor racing in any form as
having this quality, but to me throwing in the winter aspect ups
the ante more than I care to play with. I tip my racing helmet
with honor to those who do, but I still wonder if the more time
you spend in cold and snow, if this is the lasting effect it has
on just about any gearhead.
Each Christmas
season I catch myself doing image searches online for a custom
sleigh, done with a hot rod kind of theme. The Beach Boys
classic Christmas tune, "Lil Saint Nick" is without doubt one of
my all time holiday favorites, and any picture I can find that
follows that is one I like to keep on file for future use.
This year I ran across a real gem, a snow going hot rod built by
a guy named Lars Eric Lindberg of Sweden. Obviously, Sweden is
one of those places endowed with a long and deep winter. Lars
appears to be a true hot-rodder at heart, and must have been
suffering from either cruising or drag racing withdrawals. The
'snow monster" he has created is a winter hybrid of a snowmobile
and an old fashioned Model "T", or T-Bucket as they are often
called. The wide back tires have been traded for a pair of
Polaris tracks, covered by some slick looking custom fenders,
and what looks like a dropped axle up front has been flipped
over and rigged with set of skis in lieu of front tires. The
crowning jewel is a blown Chevy 454 big-block, which, I'm sure,
provides more than enough horsepower for anyone at first glance
to call Lars's hot rod a "deathtrap". Granted, I would have
chosen a Hemi instead, just for its visual impact alone as well
as its threatening exhaust note.
This dedicated winter hot rod gives "dashing thru the snow at
frightening speed" a whole new meaning, and is proof positive
that gearhead is deep in the blood, no matter how cold it gets
or how long winter lasts. If I ever wind up living in some area
where winter comes heavy and stays for months, I shudder to
think how it may mutate my car-guy habits, but Lars Lindberg is
proof the hot-rodder will find a way to survive...without
jumping off mountains.
Timmy
www.tobthebat.wordpress.com
Top of Page
|
