Well one night I'm over at Bridgeport running my Mustang in the 4 cyl. stock class. It was one of those nights... everything was dragging, the micros could barely get the first lap in before somebody was rolling on their roof in one of the turns. It must've been 5 or six starts/re-starts at the beginning of their feature. Well FINALLY, our feature was coming up and as we're going out on the track from the staging lane, the race director comes over the radio and tells us WE have to hurry up as the racing curfew (11 p.m. I think) was just about upon us (I said it was one of those nights!). Anyway, as luck would have it, I was starting on the outside of the first row. The guy to the inside of me was always fast, but a pain in the butt who was often invovled in rough driving. He also had a habit, when starting a race, of brake checking. He always did it, and the officials always let it go. So as we're taking the couple of warm-up laps behind the pace car, I kind of give a hand signal to Ian Wray (my unoffical road course partner) that I was gonna go. About two thirds of the way down the back stretch, I just sense that he's going to brake check, He does and I'm flooring it figuring theirs NO WAY, the they are going to make us re-start being so close to the curfew. I'm flying around turn four, laughing my @$$ off with Ian right behind figuring I was in the clear. Then, all of the sudden they throw the yellowThe race director was screaming at me over the radio about jumping the start. I knew I had one shot and it didn't work. Probably nobody but Ian and I got the humor in it, but we thought it was a riot.
OK... I'm sure there are a thousand stories funnier than that. Let'em fly.
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Originally Posted by tbirdracer
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