Event Coverage The 2013 H.A.M.B. Drags

I had a thread going about the trials and tribulations of my journey to the drags this year and tried to sum it up as best I could. I tried so hard to make it about the car, but the universe hit me upside the head with a reminder that it is really about the people.

http://www.jalopyjournal.com/forum/showthread.php?t=822271&showall=1

This last post I write from the comfort of my own couch. I always have a tough time expressing what I feel after a road trip, what frame of mind I'm in. And I feel like however I retell my thoughts and experiences, it will never adequately get across the thrust of it. But I continue to try my best.

The #hambdragsorbust idea came about when Moose and I were talking about driving the '50 Chrysler and '54 Ford out, getting a couple friends to join in and share the costs and fun, and to just stretch the legs of the old cars and see the countryside. Moose got inspired to swap out his motor with a freshly rebuilt one, and get it sorted enough before we left to feel comfortable making the trip. He wanted his car to have a little more oomph and the ability to cruise along the highway with ease. He pretty much made that happen, and could have taken the '50. But, a little more than a week before departure, you all know my motor blew up and a mad thrash was on to get the '54 ready to make the trip.

When that didn't happen, I was forced to look at this adventure from a different perspective. It was tough to do. I like driving my old cars best. It is what motivates me to do all the other work. So when that couldn't happen, to me it felt like an incredible failure. I railed against all odds for 9 days to get the car ready, and lost. I ran out of time. Couldn't make it happen. The plan seemed a bust. So many people worked tirelessly, Moose, John, Kevin, Ted, Jim, Andrew, and it still wasn't enough.

But then an idea sparked and the trip had new life. With Moose's hot rod in tow, we'd blast out in air conditioned comfort, and see his childhood home from the windshield of the Model A sedan. A sort of homecoming that gave his memories a different tint. A friend of his from high school even flew out from Joplin at the last minute, just to ride back with us. For a day and a half we tooled around Carthage and Joplin in the hot rod, seeing familiar places and people, discovering new places and seeing new faces. We hitched a ride to Springfield and trekked the familiar hills, looked at over-priced cars, ate some incredible BBQ (Pappy's Place).

Friday afternoon finally arrived and we headed down to Joplin to check in to the host hotel, and look for familiar faces in the crowd. Ryan yelling down from the open window in his room, calling out for us to wait, greeted with a hug. Jay in his Hawaiian Sunday Best with open arms and a grin as wide as his wing span. Angie's quiet smile. T-Squared's Kansas twang. Mike's unbounded energy. Amy's smooth grace and infinite patience. Scott's southern drawl, matter-of-fact attitude about killer miles, generous gifts from home. Norm's infectious presence. Gorgeous weather. Friday did its best to just blend seamlessly into Saturday. Donuts at Ryno's. Burnouts in vacant lots. All the kids with laughs and smiles and swimming and bumming rides on mini bikes. The smell of grass and fuel mixed with the taste of root beer. New t-shirts., marking the day. Thrashing a hot rod and having it hold up, times getting better all day. Finally meeting the coolest hippy artist tomato hating farmers ever. Feeling like new friends are some of your oldest. The tireless Buddha. Saturday's curtain falls with a fight. Rocket cars blast across the tarmac or fizzle with a failed flame. Light in the sky tells us it's bed time. Super secret stashes of awesome hot rods, the legend of the trip continues to grow, and all we have to do is play along. Moose's long pensive sigh at his first sight of Sweet Valley Farm. Sketchy blasts on dirt country roads in the speedster with Sophia. Being forced to watch the most beautiful sunset ever when the radiator blows. Soph's rote reaction to mechanical failure, Eh, no biggie, this happens all the time, let me just tell you about all the fun you miss when you don't come out here for the cookout in April...the slickest 9 year old ever. Amelia seemingly sliding back into the same story she was telling me when I last saw her 3 years ago. Great food to end the day, more great food to start the next. Reluctant departure. Miles accumulated, and marked by more visits with old friends of Moose in KC and Elgin. Seeing my old home in Morris. Rolling into the night to make it back home to my Becky.

Anecdotes and footnotes, pictures flying by too fast to be poetic. Texas and Oklahoma and Arkansas and North Carolina and Colorado and Massachusetts and Kansas and Australia and Michigan and Nebraska and so many others all meet in Missouri to blend together. And what did I tell? Nothing really. If you weren't there, you won't be because of this thread. It barely cuts the skin, just a little blood. But to REALLY get it, you need to bleed with me. You have to hit the road and go. Create your own legend along the way, and meet me at the confluence of all great stories, in Joplin, at the HAMB Drags. Just go. Which is the homecoming, arriving in Joplin or back home in Massachusetts? Both. The sublime letdown at the end of a road trip. Smiles and tears. Pangs of unimaginable gratitude and grief.