You Know You Are a Racer When*...

You feel compelled on a road trip to beat your previous time.

You are happiest when your street car’s tires are worn to "racing depth"

When something falls off your car you wonder how much weight you just saved.

When you hear "overcooked it" instead of food you think "off the track"

You change engine oil every other week.

You sometimes hear little noises from passengers when you get on the throttle right after turning in.

Your racing budget is one of the big three---mortgage, car payments and maintenance.

Your e-mail address refers to your race car rather than you.

You walk "proper lines" through the grocery store.

You’ve paid $6.00 a gallon for gasoline without complaining.

You buy new parts because you can’t remember where you put the spares.

You find that you need a new house because you’ve outgrown your garage and the neighbors are threatening violence if you park one more vehicle in your driveway or in the front yard.

The requirements you give your real estate agent are (in order of importance):

o 8-car climate controlled garage with an attached shop.

o outside parking for six cars, a motor home, a crew cab dualie, a 28 foot enclosed trailer, 3phase 220V outlets in the garage for your welder.

o A grease pit.

o Conveniently close to a hazardous waste disposal site.

o Deaf neighbors.

o Across the street from a paint and body shop.

o Some sort of house with a working toilet and shower on the property or a hookup for the motor home.




You measure all family acquisitions in terms of the number of race tires that could have been bought.

You sit in your racecar in the dark garage and make car noises and shift and practice your heel and toe, while waiting for your motor to get back from the machine shop.

You look at the purchase of tools as a long-term investment.

Your wife says " if you purchase another set of tires, I’m getting a new mink"

Your garage holds more cars than your house has bedrooms.

You have enough spare parts to build another car.

More than one racer supply house recognizes your voice and greets you by name when you call.

You think the last line of the Star Spangled Banner is " racers start your engines".

You’re registered for birthday gifts at Pegasus and Racer’s Wholesale.

Your Christmas list begins with "another set of Hoosier TD’S and aluminum rods" and your significant other knows what these are.

After you answer to "what did you do this weekend?" the next question is always "and you do this for fun? Right?"

You have a separate drawer for garage clothes.

Your reading material in the bathroom consists of auto parts and racing supply catalogues. Several books written by famous drivers, none of which have centerfolds.

People know you by your class letter car number and car color.

People know you by your "offs". "oh you’re the one stuck in the button bog last weekend".

Your first date involves asking her to crew for you.

Your criteria for selecting a significant other includes auto repair skills, tools optional.

Your friends don’t recognize you without a helmet and driver’s suit.

You plan all significant events around the race schedule.

You astound the clerk at Sears by bringing in a snapped Craftsman breaker bar every other week or so.

You remember the dates and details of every race you’ve ever been in but can’t remember your phone number.

Your family brings the couch into the garage so they can spend some time with you.

You complain that cars in front of you on the highway off ramp don’t hold the racing line, causing your exit speed to drop.

A neighbor asks if you have any oil, to which you query, "Synthetic or regular" to which they reply "vegetable or corn".

You refer to the corner down the street from your house as turn one.

You look at the fire hydrant on that corner and see an apex marker.

You always late apex the intersection and try to pass a few cars coming out.

Everywhere you go you always try to find the fastest line through the turn.

You always do a heel toe downshift while your passengers give you a real funny look.

You think that traction control and ABS are for those who can’t drive.

You save broken car parts as mementos.

Your last several highway forays included just brushing the curbs as you apexed the on ramps perfectly.

You’ve found that your lawnmower runs pretty good on 108-octane gas, but doesn’t care for alcohol.

The local tire shop manger won’t honor the tread life warranty on any car that you have been within 50 yards of.

The local police and highway patrol have a picture of your car taped to the dashboard.

You spend more time polishing you exhaust tips every day than you do bathing.

Instead of pictures in your wallet you have qualifying times.

You would choose a roll bar over air conditioning if it were an option.

You consider the redline on your tachometer as a "conservative’ suggestion and your rev limiter as a "fun" limiter.

You spend more on insurance premiums than on food.

Your idea of a good time is sitting around figuring out gear ratios and the ideal final drive ratio for a given situation.

When someone asks you where you went to school you reply "Skip Barber".

You have racing shops programmed on your speed dialer.

You own five cars and only one of them is street legal.

You know the ¼ mile times and skid pad numbers of you rider mower and you want to improve them.

You’ve started looking for sponsors for your daily commute.

After you tell your wife where you would like to go on your vacation she replies "why.. is there a race there?

Excerpted from VSCDA Newsletter January 2002