Aug 7

Aug 7 It's a Gasser (I)

Chicago Tourism, Festivals, Performance, Sports, Street, Things to Do in Chicago

“She’s got a competition clutch with the four on the floor
And she purrs like a kitten till the lake pipes roar
And if that ain’t enough to make you flip your lid
There’s one more thing, I got the pink slip daddy

And comin’ off the line when the light turns green
Well she blows ‘em outta the water like you never seen
I get pushed out of shape and it’s hard to steer
When I get rubber in all four gears

She’s my little deuce coupe
You don’t know what I got
(My little deuce coupe)”

— Little Deuce Coup, The Beach Boys, from Little Deuce Coupe (October 7, 1963)

Before progressive rock took over the Milwaukee airwaves, I, along with everyone else, listened to WOKY and WRIT, where the Top 40 were in nonstop rotation, unless DJs Bob “Beatles” Barry, Craig Roberts, or Mitch Michael decided it was time for a “Memory Maker.” The Beatles, Stones, Supremes, Animals, Zombies, Beach Boys, Box Tops, Smokey Robinson, and countless one-hit wonders were the staples, along with the unforgettable ads for Great Lakes Dragaway in Union Grove, Wisconsin, wherever that was. “Sunday, Sunday, Sunday with Big Daddy Don Garlits, Don Schumacher, Tommy Ivo, Shirley Cha Cha Muldowny, Black Magic, the Chi-town Hustler, Ronnie Socks . . . ”

I never made it to Great Lakes—too far for my bike, no public transportation, and parents who had no interest in much of anything, let alone drag racing. By the time I could drive, my interests were elsewhere.

I imagine if had I gone, I would have walked into the middle of the American Graffiti crowd that George Lucas so lovingly portrayed before he modernized science fiction serials, becoming a billionaire an estimated six-times over along the way. Fortunately, it’s never too late to revisit your young imagination, so today I headed up to Union Grove, Wisconsin, which is just north of Lake Geneva and west of Kenosha. The Dragaway dates back to 1955, when Broadway Bob Metzler purchased 157 acres of farmland to create what is now the oldest drag strip in the United States.

Admission is not cheap—I paid $25, but skipped the additional $22 charge for parking in the lot where the racers prep their cars and bikes. The grass was good enough for my car. Races start sometime around 10 AM and apparently run until 10 PM, so how could I object to the ticket price? It’s a bargain when compared to $125 tickets for Cubs grandstand seats.

Great Lakes is a ramshackle of one-story shacks and buildings, although the restroom housed in a cinderblocks was extremely clean (despite a tip jar on the sink that held only pennies, and not a whole lot of them). The bathroom had both floor- and wall-mounted urinals, which is intriguing when you think about it. There’s also bar known as Torque Alley, a concession stand selling burgers and hot dogs, and a number of food trucks. Don’t look for the gourmet section. Everything is heart-unhealthy. I shouldn’t forget the shop that sells the candy (Good and Plenty, M & Ms, and Kit Kats, but no Dots) that I enjoyed back in the day, t-shirts, posters, and other mementoes.

For just $40, anyone (including me) can race at Great Lakes. My VW Golf is not exactly a drag strip darling, but a surprising number of economy sedans pulled up to the start-line for the burn-in (smoking the tires to improve traction). For example, I saw a rather ordinary-looking Honda Civic pass by the tower holding the track announcer and other officials. But with the modifications under the hood, that car was anything but ordinary.

I particularly enjoyed walking around the lot where crews were working on the cars, permitting a closeup look at the innards. One racer spontaneously told me about the engine in his trusty steed. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I politely nodded. It is surprising that I heard a word he said with the orange foam plugs shoved in my ears. Let me assure you: Earplugs are essential. Throughout the afternoon, the cars emitted M80-like explosive sounds.

I suspect most of the folks racing are the mechanics who work in auto dealerships and repair shops that everyone seeks out when something goes wrong with the family car. If you are going to have car troubles, Great Lakes is probably a good place to have them. Not only do the racers come with crews, but they also bring a bevy of tools—jacks, wrenches, drills, and even laptops to measure engine output.

Racer demographics have probably changed since the Sixties. The majority seemed to be of Latinx/Hispanic origins. I was approached by one guy who was intrigued by the cameras hanging around my neck. He wanted to know whether I monetized my photographs. When I told him “No,” he told me I could make a fortune if I set up shop at Great Lakes. According to him, the Puerto Ricans love to buy photos of themselves and their cars. He then pointed to the little building that housed the track photographer. I’ll have this in mind should I need funds for a new camera.

Undoubtedly, the racers find the chase down the quarter-mile track a thrilling experience. Had I not had cameras with me, I would have been bored after five or so races. Standing in the starting-line grandstands, I could rarely tell who won the race. Having said that, Great Lakes offered great photographic opportunities, and it provided further insight into American car culture. As with any passion, there is an energy in the air when enthusiasts gather to test their skills and equipment, swap stories, and create new tales that will be passed down to their kids, who often catch the fever. Great Lakes definitely has a family vibe to it. Kids are everywhere.

I had planned to stay for the evening races, which I hoped would yield some exciting images showcasing colorful paint jobs and sleek chrome pipes lit by the track’s stadium lighting system. Unfortunately, around 2:30 PM, there was a 45-minute downpour. When the rain finally dissipated, the track announcer informed us that all races were canceled for the remainder of the day. Two and a half hours is just not enough time to capture the vibe. Do you shoot the races at 1/1000 of a second, or do you slow the shutter to 1/8 of a second and pan? Have people sufficiently noticed your presence so that they forget that you are holding a camera? Where are the not-so-obvious photographic delights?

Well, next Saturday, Great Lakes will be hosting the nitro cars, so there is a good chance that I will head back up to Wisconsin. The good news: Those who kept their admission receipt are entitled to return for free because of the rainout. Deep in my pocket under a bunch of orange earplugs and a lens cap, I found my tattered receipt.

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