A true story - SIlver State anyone?

It all began with a chance meeting at Fast Eddie’s Race Car Shop. My Boss was checking out Eddie’s personal car (a *****in’ El Camino), when he spied a g-Machine Camaro getting a fresh bullet elsewhere in the shop. When he inquired about the beautiful car, Eddie informed him it belonged to his pal Cam Dougl***, and that the car was being readied for the Silver State Cl***ic Challenge race. Randy hooked up with Dougl*** to get some facts about the car, and Cam mentioned he was looking for a navigator for the run. Ever the gentleman, Randy volunteered me for the job.
I was blunt with Dougl*** when he contacted me. I’ve never done anything like this before, so I was hoping to be in a proven car with an experienced driver. Cam told me he’d never done anything like this before either, and that the ’71 Z28 we’d be in was totally fresh and not even broken in yet. My nerves tingled slightly as I heard myself agreeing to go. Two rookies in an unproven car. This was brilliant.
The race occurs on Sunday morning, but the pre-race prep starts on Thursday. I’d received all of the literature from the Silver State Cl***ic Challenge (SSCC) staff, so I knew our schedules would be full. As rookies, we had mandatory driving school to attend. Time would be tight, and managing it would be one of the greater challenges facing both of us. We hooked up and began to discuss everything we needed to accomplish in the limited time we had, and came up with a roughshod game plan.
The Showboat Hotel in Las Vegas was hosting the racers, and the parking lot was filling up quickly with participants. The level of vehicle refinement was understandably high, and we were quite intimidated. Many of the vehicles were completely prepped for open road racing, boasting full cages, trick suspensions, and complete GPS units and/or PC-based rally timing systems. These folks took their racing seriously! Luckily, we didn’t know who would be in the 130-mph-cl*** we were in, so we were able to mentally focus only on the task at hand. Vehicle prep and course navigation strategy became our primary obligations, and we thought we had a handle on both.
The car was not purpose-built for this event, but is a true street machine capable of running at this level. With a stout AFR-headed 355ci small-block, a Richmond six-speed, and a GM 12-bolt, the driveline is comprised of proven components. Although fresh, the quality of the components Cam put into the car was re***uring. Exotica was minimal, and if we had to choose parts to rely on, these were the right parts. I could only pray the effort put into teaming the parts as an ***embly was as effective as the parts themselves, but the initial impression was a positive one. The car looked great, sounded great, and was intelligently ***embled, so my confidence in the car began to grow the more I got to know it.
We went through Tech Inspection with a minimum of issues. We needed hose clamps to mount our fire extinguisher to the rollcage, and cotter pins to secure the hardware holding our Cobra racing seats. We also needed to affix all of the required stickers in place on the car and we needed to include the decals of all those who’d chosen to sponsor us. There were also some basic essentials we’d need to pick up before race day: a stopwatch, clipboard, a driving suit for me, and a mascot for good luck.
The driving suit was found in the parking lot of the Showboat, offered up by a fellow racer for the bargain ba*****t price of $25. Hardly ever used, the suit was my size and had been collecting dust in a closet for awhile. Thinking ahead that someone at the race wouldn’t have their act together (namely me), he brought it along hoping to help out a fellow racer. I was fortunate enough to be the first to need it.
With one hurdle cleared, we addressed the rest of our Tech items as the day p***ed before attending driving school. Cam paid close attention to the experienced instructors at the Derek Daly Driving Academy, and after a few ride-along laps with an instructor, was signed off and qualified for the race. The Camaro worked well at the Derek Daly track, increasing my confidence in the car even more, as I snapped pictures of it commanding the corners at speed without body roll, and hearing the 355 wind up with authority in the straights. This was getting better quickly.
The caravan of racers proceeds to the small town of Ely (about 250 miles north of Las Vegas) on Saturday morning, and is almost immediately treated to a parade through town. The local folks in Ely really support the race and its participants, and truly made us feel welcome in their hometown. Once the parade was completed, we took the opportunity to check the accuracy of our speedometer on the local highway. At 60 mph, we were a bit off the mile markers and stopwatch, so we made several annotations and Cam developed a plan to create a chart to accurately track our speed during the run. This was one crucial step we made in the right direction. After completing technical inspection, you are ***igned a maximum speed based upon the safety equipment and tires your vehicle is equipped with. Exceed this speed during the race, and you’ll be disqualified, regardless of how well you finish. An accurate speedo is essential. Cam determined our percentage of inaccuracy, and drew on the speedometer face with a marker to positively identify our minimum, maximum, and target speeds based on that percentage.
We made the necessary trip to acquire a decent stopwatch and clipboard for me, and found a mascot in a local store. As a rule, we determined the mascot would have to be lucky, and should be green. We found a stuffed representation of the Lucky Charms™ leprechaun (appropriately named “Lucky”), and we were off.
We attended the mandatory drivers meeting Saturday night, and were ***igned a grid position based on our cl***. After the drivers meeting, it was off to the ******s Choice awards, sponsored by one of the local brothels. Having never been to a brothel (legal or otherwise), we decided to check this out, and ended up coming in second to a pretty ’59 Corvette. Oh well, legal pros***utes aren’t car show judges for a reason, I guess, and the open-top Vette was very attractive. The “working girls” certainly were friendly, though. We had to leave as soon as the judging was over, as we still had some homework to do.
We’d discussed strategy for navigating the course several times, and Cam had trusted me completely to develop a plan. My plan was based on the course notes provided to all racers by the SSCC. The course itself is precisely 90 miles, measured down the center of the road and ending at a mile marker. Logic determines that the race should also start at a mile marker exactly 90 markers away from the one called the finish line, but deviations in county surveys have made this not the case. Regardless, the race is 90 miles and the average time can be easily calculated by figuring how long it should take to travel 90 miles at your target speed, in our case 130 mph. Some more basic math, and we’d whipped up a basic spreadsheet on our laptop that gave us accurate times for every mile marker on the course.
I compared the math with the course notes we’d been given, and a few important things just didn’t jive. It was midnight on the eve of the race, and I had discrepancies to figure out on the race course, almost an hour away from our hotel. Apparently, it was going to be a late night. I drove out to the course and double-checked all of my notes, made all my corrections, and firmed up our strategy. It was now after 2:00 a.m. The race starts in six hours.
Cam and I did the best we could to sleep, but with adrenaline pumping and anxiety creeping up on us, neither of us could have gotten much more than two hours rest. We met up with the rest of the racers promptly at 6:00 a.m., and headed toward the race course. It was then we realized that our timed compe***ion run would be the first and only time we’d ever traveled the road in the proper direction. I’d checked on a few things in the dark of the night, and we’d driven this stretch of tarmac in the opposite direction as we’d entered town, but as the sun rose it became painfully obvious that we really had no idea what to expect on the road ahead. Not wise.
All of the racers met up to break into proper grid location at a truck stop near the starting line, and thankfully they had good coffee, and lots of it. We were almost tired, but the anxiety of what we were about to do combined with a large amount of Java pushed us into a clear-thinking zone. We waited nervously as the first car took off at 8:30 a.m. It would be nearly an hour before we would run.
Finally, our turn had arrived. We had already donned our driving suits and moved to get our seatbelts snug and helmets in place. It was then that I realized another huge error I’d made; a full-face helmet. Our only means of communication would be me telling Cam where we were on the stopwatch, and I’d just muffled that quite effectively with my *****in’ Simpson. I sounded like Charlie Brown’s schoolteacher, and that couldn’t be cool for my teammate. I’d have to bark all of my directions as loudly and clearly as I could throughout the race, and pray Cam heard me enough to understand.
The course can be broken down into three distinct sections. The first is a 70-mile run that is quite flat and doesn’t have any significant turns. Next is the much-ballyhooed “narrows”, a canyon containing many switchback turns and tight corners over a 5-mile stretch. The final 15-mile run is also relatively straight, all the way to the finish line.
Our strategy was to haul total *** on the first section of the course, and get some time “in the bank” to challenge the narrows. We knew we’d have to take it easy through there, and we’d lose plenty of time toward our 130-mph average. We figured that, once out of the narrows, we could realign our pace and hopefully get dialed in before the finish line. The blatant simplicity of our plan was our greatest ***et, since we were both as green as the beautiful Camaro we rode in. I looked at it as a 90-mile bracket race, with our “dial-in” determined for us. Unlike bracket racing, you can go faster than your “dial in” (or target time), as the trophy goes to whoever is closest to the target, faster or slower.
My next challenge, as navigator, was cutting a good light. This may sound odd, but the official timing clock is started on a drag-race-style Christmas Tree, and I’d have to hope my stopwatch finger was in sync with the green bulb. My many bracket races might really help here. The lights came down; yellow, yellow, yellow, green! We were off!
We eased through the gears of the Richmond six-speed, creeping the Camaro up to 100, then 120, 130, and 140 in rapid succession. Once comfortable and stable, Cam pushed the throttle to 4,700 rpm--165mph. This was our Tech speed limit, and we wanted to be comfortable here. The temp gauge began to climb toward 200, so Cam eased the car back to 140-145, and prayed we’d stay cool. The temp gauge seemed locked at 205, and if it stayed there we’d be fine.
We quickly began getting time in the bank as the miles flew by. Ten, then 20 seconds ahead of pace. We realized we’d have to p*** the Mustang who launched 30 seconds ahead of us to keep rate. P***ing is permitted in the Silver State, but it must be a clean p*** to the left and the p***ing driver is completely responsible. We carefully slid into the left lane, and p***ed the Mustang (who was traveling at 130 mph) at 165. Quite a rush, to be sure. We spent the next five minutes at 165, and 50 miles into the course, we were a full minute ahead of schedule, but the narrows lie ahead.
We were confident about the seconds in our bank account, but as we entered the first right-hander into the narrows, we’d slowed to 90 mph. Cam carefully navigated his way through the strange road at between 90-110 mph, being careful and loving the solid suspension under the car. The Goodyears gripped tight, body roll was non-existent, and the car was perfectly predictable. Thank you John Hotchkis! I was loving the ride, but getting nervous about the clock. The five-mile p*** was soon over, and the first mile marker past the narrows told the tale. We were 6 seconds behind pace.
Cam wound up the 355ci small-block a bit, and we began making up time. I yelled out from behind my helmet …“five seconds slow”…another mile marker whizzed by... “four seconds slow” I screamed. Then three, then two, then one. Finally, we were on pace and within ½-second of our target with about five miles left to run. We really had a shot at this--if my calculations and stopwatch could be trusted.
We saw the finish line approaching rapidly, and with less than a mile to go, I realized we were going a bit fast. There wasn’t much time to react, but as I saw the finish line approach, I screamed to Cam “Brakes…brakes…!” In cl***ic bracket-racer fashion, we tapped on the binders as we crossed the finish line. The quartet of Baer Claws eased us back into reality without fanfare, as good brakes should.
“How did we do?” Cam asked me nervously.
I replied excitedly “I think we’re in there…maybe a little fast, but I think we’re in there.”
“What?”
Damn full-face helmet.

The euphoria in the pits after the race is addictive. Everyone else was just as pumped up as we were, and it’s impossible to hide the rush you’re feeling. It’s not like you’d want to, of course, but after hauling *** for 90 miles, catching your breath and downing some water are definite priorities. With our protective gear off, we could talk clearly and I was sure we were within a second of our goal. This was reason enough to attend the post-race awards banquet back in Vegas, but the concept of a warm shower and a belly full of good food sure sounded good, too. I thought about sleep, but it was impossible now. We were too hyped, we’d had too much fun, and we knew we had a shot at placing well our first time out. Honestly, we were a bit spooked about looking like ****s.Doing poorly could make us both look pretty bad, even though it was our first time. Doing well, however, could be very cool.
We showed up at the banquet and anxiously awaited the results from our cl***. The third place winners were announced, then the second place team collected their well-deserved award. Cam and I looked at each other as if to say “We’ve either got first or nothing at all”.
The announcer said that a green Camaro had won the cl***, and we began celebrating immediately! No GPS, no computer, no experience, and we’d pulled this thing off with a simple stopwatch and some basic notes! We humbly accepted our awards and basked for a moment in our success. Then, we both realized it was late Sunday night in Las Vegas, and Cam had to be in Phoenix tomorrow while I had to be back in SoCal.
The ride home from Las Vegas was four hours of road relaxation. I was way too fired up to sleep, yet I had no desire to haul *** on the freeway home, either. As I set the cruise control at 72 mph and eased into the slow lane, I couldn’t help but giggle as boy racers flew by me at 95 on I-15. Ninety-five ain’t squat…now, 165, there’s something…


Scotch~!

 

Dude, that's the coolest thing I have read all day long! Congratulations on the win and I hope you guys can back it up again next year.

 

That's awesome. I've ALWAYS dreamed of running the Silver State.

Congratulations.

 

The end of this story is that Cam called me later that weekend at 9:00 at night on some indian reservation in Arizona with a flat rear tire and smashed rear quarter panel on the camaro. His wife had to get home so he decided to drive it to Denver from Nevada. Seems he hit something on the road that tore the rear tire and jumped up into the fender. Try finding tires for custom built wheels on a sunday night in the middle of know where. After desperate phone calls the next morning He finally got pulled into Pheonix and was at work by tuesday morning.
I have taken several rides and tinkered a bit on that car and I'll tell you it carves corners like a go cart and you cant shift fast enough. It is really a great piece of work.
If you hear from Cam tell him Aaron said hi and to drop me an email.

 

Great piece of writing.
You put us right in the car with you.
Kinda the way it oughta be I think.

 

Makes me want my truck done...... NOW!!
I NEED SOMETHING FUN TO DRIVE!!
Great story. You are one lucky S.O.B.

 

Good read, very well told. Got a rush just reading it.

 

I've always wanted to do that... sounds like you had fun!

 

I've always wondered what it would be like to run that event, now I have a rough idea. Top end has always been more facinating to me than short acceleration. I had a '66 Chevelle 396 (the only new car I've ever owned) that would do very well for the day. It came with 3.08 gears and I put the first set of tall radial tires in this area on it. This was back when GTO's were the hot thing. Most of them that were used for stoplight bashes had 3.90 gears and would run out of steam around 110/120. It was fun to stay just behind them on the X-way and wait until they were ALL DONE, push down to get along side, then walk away.

Frank

 

DAMN! That was exciting. Great writing. I was in the back seat all the way. Too neat!

Charlie

 

Great story, sounds like a lot of fun.

I have a buddy that did that race once. He flew to Vegas and rented a Camry, I think he even placed in his <90MPH cl***.

What have you started for your own canyon racer?
TZ

 

man that's cooool

 

Awesome story Scotch. Thanks for sharing it. I've read a bit about the Silver State Cl***ic through the words of Tony Zamisch who races a Rambler Javelin called "Great White". I think they run in the unlimited cl*** now, 200 MPH+ !!!

We have quite a few "Targa" type events in Australia, but nothing like the Silver State. They did hold one once, but some dumb*** Jap with too much money and not enough skill stuffed a Ferrari (F40 I think) into a checkpoint. Killed himself and a couple of other people from memory.

Any more pics of the car? I'd love to see them, even if it is a mullet-mobile.

 

WAY To *****IN'!!!
Congrats and great story! Thanks

 

I read that story a few years ago in some magazine.was it R&amp;C ? very cool!

 

Now, what would a good HAMBROCKET for this event look like???
The old HRM Caballo? The Spencer '32? An old T track roadster or road racer? '53 Lincoln Mexican?
This is new turf in need of conquest...

 

That was a *****in story, kinda like watchin "Rudy" only better. What kind of Gear Ratio/Horse Power/Tires were you guys running. I think I'm in.....in a couple years.

 

HAMBers liking a Camaro, WHOUDATHUNKIT!
Now I don't feel so bad about the ol burple ****ville...

 

Congratulations! Damn I am jealous. Hell of a nice looking car and hell of a job on the navigation bro.

 

What a piece of literary geniusness!!! I have always been intrigued my the Silver State Cl***ic but never realy new much about it. Reading that gave me a better understanding of what goes on. As I read line by line I found myself going through all the emotions. The adrenalin and cold chills alone made it an enjoyable read.

Thanks

 

Here's another shot of the car. This actually happened a couple years ago, but after reading some great true stories on the HAMB, i went back and found it to post here. The story ran in POPULAR HOT RODDING mag, which I write.

We went back 6 mos. later with the same car, and stepped up to the 140mph cl*** from the 130mph cl*** we'd won. Somehow, we won again, and had a perfect 2-for-2 record at the event. A third shot in the 145mph cl*** netted a 5th place finish when Cam the driver didn't listen to his navigator, and we were 1.5 seconds off pace.

We've spent between 6 and 7 solid minutes at 165mph in this car.

Now Cam is building a new car to go even faster. Our technical speed limit in the Camaro was 165mph due to the use of a stock fuel tank. Rather than cut the car to install a fuel cell (it IS a real numbers-matching Z28), he chose to accept a ridiculous offer and cash out.

The new car is a Cadillac CTS-V with the Vette LS6 engine, and we will be certified to go 200 mph in it. We're talking about running the 170 or 175 mph cl*** with it, and stepping up once we're comfy there.

Cam has run the race with other navigators, but has never finished as well as he did with me. I don't know if these other guys don't take it as seriously, or if they cannot do the ath on the fly (you have to add and subtract the times very quickly to keep the driver informed) or if we just have a "sync" that keeps us close to the top. I don't know what it is, but we've always been more than a little compe***ive when we go.

The 200 mph thing scares the **** out of me, but I find myself getting wood simultaneously. People have died on this course too, and while I have no intention of meeting my maker anytime soon, I have concluded that should it be my time, this may be the way I'd choose to go...at high speed in an American car.

Scotch!~

 

Oh - With regard to my personal car..it IS being built to challenge the Silver State, and no, I'm not talking about the '50 Buick. That's a custom, but I'm building a '65 GTO too. Here's the rendering, the car is coming together slowly but surely, and YES...it's Pontiac powered.

For you engine guys, it'll be the largest true (pre-1980) Pontiac engine ever built at 601 cubic inches. For you metric guys, it's 10 liters...which might not sound big until you consider how quick the 5.0 Mustangs were...this is like having 2 of 'em...on juice.

The colors are off on this, as the orange will actually be closer to 1970 Pontiac GTO Judge Orbit Orange.

The 'gl*** fenders, hood, decklid, and bumpers are being fitted now, then it'll be sprayed. The suspension is road racy, and the trans is a 4L80-E.

 

man your killen me 65 GTO out****enstanding!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!years ago I was building a 66 GTO sport coupe to do the same thing. it had a trans am front clip-9"-cage-big sway bars-16"rally twos.........never got it done a frend just had to have it so I sold it. he went in USAF and I never saw him or the GTO again. good luck with your 65. do you know this guy? pontiacheaven.org looks like a true pontiac nut.

 

That is one incredible story! Y'almost have a Hunter S. Thompson quality to it, at least with the vibrant descriptions. Thanks for taking us along for the ride.

 

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this post! I blasted down some of those roads, on my way from Wendover to 'Vegas by way of Ely. I've been interested in learning more about that race ever since. Thanx for giving some great insight to the challenge and letting me ride along. I'm really digging your Pontiac too. (duh)

I shared this post with all the other car guys at work, and they all enjoyed it too... even the fast and furious dude. I just want to say thanks for an excellent read.

Bil