I Hated Crash Repairs As A NASCAR Mechanic

Editor’s Note: My series on Richard Petty is not finished. Be sure to stop by tomorrow for the fifth in our seven part series “They Call Him ‘The King’”. Meanwhile, let’s do a little bench racing with former NASCAR mechanic Patrick Reynolds.

Working on a race team has its ups and downs like any other job. There are good days and bad. Things you like and things you don’t. My least favorite project was big crash repairs in the garage area during a race.

Racing is about winning and when that goal is taken away from you, so goes the wind from a team’s sails. But unlike other sports where there is one winning and one losing team, NASCAR Sprint Cup holds one winning team and forty-two losing ones.

Championship standings are formed not just by winning races but by not losing as bad as someone else loses. In other words thirtieth means more than thirty-first and as a team we grind out every position we can. When a car is bounced around like a pinball and torn open like a tin can we had to patch the remains together safely, quickly, and effectively. Even if it meant just a solitary finishing position.

One heartbreaking example during my garage area tenure occurred during Bristol’s spring Cup race. The year was 2005 and the weekend’s weather spanned two seasons in three days.

Friday was our only practice session with qualifying held during the evening. Spring like temperatures in the east Tennessee hills gave way to cold air that night. The hustle of the afternoon’s practice produced sweat and deep breaths from the aerobic workout that chasing a fast setup turns into. We shivered and donned our winter coats during tech inspection and time trials.

NASCAR was experimenting with impounding Cup races and this was one of the earlier races trying to make that work. No scheduled Saturday garage time meant a day at the hotel watching it snow and sleet. My sympathy went out to all the Busch Series teams that had to shiver and endure before eventually getting their event in on Monday.

Sunday dawned clear and chilly and formed into a sunny and warm afternoon. Hotel wakeup calls are well before sunrise so race team members witness all Mother Nature had to offer.

Very early morning prep work began in near darkness. The sun soon poked around Thunder Valley’s vast grandstands and flashlights could be put away. Under impound procedures, NASCAR held our work allowed to a strict list. So a lot of pre race safety checking was completed on Friday. The usual thorough tech inspection took place as always.

We were proud of our new car. Every body panel and fabricated aluminum piece was clean and unblemished. The suspension freshly coated and the sunlight reflected off the paint finish applied just a few days prior.

Five hundred laps and a long day awaited everyone. The invocation, national anthem, and military flyover brought the excitement level to its peak. Optimism reigned as we admired our machine on the pace laps. Pit crews get just as pumped up as the die-hard fans.

The green flag waved and the field disappeared from our point of view down into the corner. The first laps are always anxious as we watched our car roar past the straightaway again in a cluster of other loud, fast automobiles. We all hoped for patience to be used especially on the Tennessee high banks known for tearing up racing machinery.

The car’s four seconds in view and twelve seconds out of view would be our planned rhythm for the next three-and-a-half hours. Our spotter’s words guiding our driver would be like navigation and our only connection for three-quarters of every lap.

We heard “SPIN UP TOP! GO LOW!” And looked towards the turn exit to our right and saw another car sideways. Then came our car climbing over the hood of the spun machine. Up on the two left wheels, ala Joey Chitwood, the roof numbers were visible from pit lane. The car crashed back down on all fours with a crunched front end that scraped, dragged, and ground away back to pit row. All this happened on lap three.

All the weekend’s work and sacrifice was destroyed less than forty-five seconds after the race’s start. The pit area equipment was quickly packed in and on our large toolbox. It was pushed towards the random infield area where we last saw the car pull. Shortly thereafter jacks and stands were grabbed and put to use. Battery powered impacts removed all the lug nuts and the wheels stacked to the side. Then the repairs began.

Sawzalls cut away shredded body panels. Gaffer tape was applied to the jagged metal edges so no people would require stitches and repairs of their own. Suspension components were inspected and replaced as necessary. The radiator and oil cooler assembly was spewing its fluids so it was replaced. This was done as the hot liquids spilled under the car and drenched our uniforms. Damaged brake cooling hoses and ductwork was cut away and replacements hurriedly fabricated. Once pristine crush panels were bent into place and taped together.

At the time I worked as a mechanic at the racetrack on weekends and as a fabricator in the shop during the week. Much of the metal that I personally had detailed and worked long hours into the night creating was now crushed. My attitude changed from trying to make the nicest garage area ductwork, to seeing how fast I could drill out the rivets and toss aside the mangled aluminum.

Part of me did not care about the loss of craftsmanship. My only concern was helping our car rejoin the event. The other part of me was heartbroken seeing pieces I had put so much effort into making, lying wrecked in a pile.

Days like this make me just want to load up and go home. Three laps into the race I had no desire to send our driver back out onto the track 100 laps down just to compete for points. But this is the job we all signed up for. We as a team needed to strive for every possible championship marker. This instance is just a time when I would rather not slap a nice car back together just to log laps. I am a competitor but this is an honest admission.

I do realize that some of my worse days were better than a lot of others. Millions of fans view from a television every Sunday who wish they could be apart of the world I was working in. For all my unhappiness with rebuilding a wrecked car I am well aware that there are plenty of people who would have traded places with me.