Thank you sir, may I have another...?!

This weekend I watched as a grown man, in good shape, with a lot of driving experience climbed out of the car in front of me, leaned on the car he was navigating, heaved and swayed a bit, looked back at me, and groaned, "codriving is fucking hard."

This weekend, it was.  It was hard.  Everything about it from the sleep deprivation to the heat and dust.  From the terrifying "drops on outside" to the parade of incompetence and error that led to yet another heartbreaking DNF for our aptly named, (although maybe not for long,) Just About Right Racing Team.  I simply wasn't on...nothing was, and yet, I'm ready to go again.  Was ready to go, and would have gone, in a much bigger and faster car had I received the call from Thompson Racing Fabrication requesting my assistance just an hour earlier the day after our retirement.  Because, as they say, "that's rally."  It's heartbreaking, and exhausting, and frustrating...its fucking hard.  But you wake up in the morning, (depending on whether or not you actually had time to sleep,) and you ask for another whack.

Here is the story of the Southern Ohio Forest Rally.  It's not a short story.  It doesn't have a happy ending, but it will eventually.

On Thursday, the Thursday before the rally, exactly one week from Recce, I receive a text as I'm siting at my desk at school.

"It's not done."

I almost drop the F-bomb in front of a bunch of 7th graders but manage to restrain myself.  I call Jimmy after school and he tells me that the dogbox, for a number of reasons outside of our control, is not put back together.  Now, I am admittedly a terrible mechanic.  If I take it apart I can usually put it back together, and I can logically interpret how most mechanical pieces work if I see them in action.  However, I know that bearings are very important to making a transmission go vroom vroom, and I know that we don't have any. But the shop has promised Jimmy that it can be done on Monday.

And so, Jimmy heads north, sans transmission, (which we had planned to install and test over the weekend.)  We drive the 323GTX into the trailer on it's notchy, (so they tell me,) stock trans, pack up all of the rally materials; spare parts, wrenches, zip ties, duct tape.  (My white board by my back door reminds me still today to grab the "clutch, sledge hammer, and large adjustable wrench,") and Jimmy turns around and heads back to Detroit, where ever so graciously Paul at Team Illuminata Motorsports has agreed to host and hoist the car for the transmission swap.

It's Monday.  I receive a text as I'm sitting at my desk at school eating lunch.

"The bearings didn't ship.  Something fucked up."

I audibly drop the F-bomb and my heart sinks.

"So...now what?" I ask.

"Well, I called and they have been sent out.  They will be at the transmission shop tomorrow."

Tomorrow.  Tuesday.  We should be leaving for Ohio on Wednesday.  The engine is out.  The entry fee is paid.  The trailer is packed and is half way there.  And we have no transmission.

Tuesday.  2:000pm.   The transmission shop calls Jimmy to ask where the bearings are.  Jimmy replies that they were delivered at 10:30am.

They were indeed.  To the neighboring business rather than the transmission shop.

I am not telling every detail of this story.  Let's just say that when Jimmy told me that at this point that if he were at all religious or superstitious we would not be going,  I was inclined to agree.

The transmission gets finished at about 8:00pm on Tuesday.  The boys at TIM work until about 2:30am as I understand it, and finally call it quits on the install.  There are just a few last bolts to tighten and wires to connect before the car is, theoretically, ready to roll.

I arrive in Detroit at around 4:00pm on Wednesday.  We go to TIM and finish the install.  There are several other indications that our trials and tribulations are not yet over, but they are hard to describe and will be boring to read.  At around 12:30am on Thursday we drive the car into the trailer...shiny rebuilt dogbox and all, and begin driving.   We have to hustle if we're going to make it to recce at this point;  we'll just have to take turns sleeping in the car on the way there.

And then, of course, I get pulled over.  I have been pulled over in Ohio before; it was not a pleasant experience.  However, this officer simply wanted to let me know that my trailer lights were not on.  Didn't hold us up, didn't even take my license and registration, just wished us luck and sent us on our way with our now functioning running lights.

I would like to tell you that arriving in Ohio, of all places, was a bitter disappointment.  It was, in fact, perhaps the only non-disappointing portion of the journey.  Chillicothe and the surrounding hills are incredibly beautiful, and watching the sunrise as we navigated our way to the first stage of recce brought a sense of hope to the adventure.  In addition, the amazing team with whom we stayed had selected an equally amazing cabin on a small creek that couldn't have been more comfortable or convenient.  Things were looking up.

We got through recce, made some decent notes considering we were both  delirious from lack of sleep, (well, except for the super-special because I fell asleep in transit and was worthless by the time we got there...didn't much matter in the end I suppose.).  And then, after some minor prep to the car and some tabbing and preparation of the stage notes, we slept.

The car breezed through scrutineering and seemed to be running like a champ.  We arrived at parc expose on time, relaxed, and ready to go.  The SOFR media team did an interview of all of the female competitors, asking us where we were from, how we got into rally, etc.  As much as I hate the "girl power" type stuff, this was a positive, funny, and bonding experience.  It's great to hear that so many women share the story and love of rally.  Its fantastic to know that they too get lost, scared, and frustrated, but to see how resilient we all are regardless is inspiring.  Some are drivers, some are mechanics, others welders or engineers or codrivers.  Some are all of the above.  Most, however, fell into a car somewhat by mistake, and work hard to learn and improve at every event.  There IS a rally family, and the greatest thing about being a female in the sport is that, as one competitor said, we're not looked at as "girls" (for the most part.)  We're held accountable, expected to perform, encouraged, supported, congratulated for our successes and coached through our failures.  We're just racers, and part of a family.  It's a crazy, often dysfunctional, part time family, but it still represents the amazing environment that has been created by rally organizers, fans, and all of the male competitors.  I was proud to stand with that group of women from all over the country and beyond.

When we finally pulled out and headed for the first stage, normal nerves aside, I think its safe to say Jimmy and I were both excited and feeling rally ready.  However, my calling of the notes wasn't great...I was reading too fast and couldn't seem to find my rhythm.  Jimmy commented that the car felt funny and that we needed to find time to adjust the suspension...something easily overlooked when you have no time to test.  Things continued to get rough as I began suffering from heat stroke, we misjudged a R3 after a bridge and blew a tire.  We came in for a short service and although it felt rushed we managed to get back on stage without penalty.

Then, on stage 7, as I was finally getting my wits about me and starting to get in the groove, the car started making a shitty noise.  I say shitty because we both knew what it was and couldn't believe it.  We stopped before 8, drove the car around, and it sounded like someone shaking nails in a coffee can every time Jimmy put it in 3rd.

I was crying but was too dehydrated to make tears.  Jimmy looked resigned; simply stating, "well...now I'm really done."

Codriving is fucking hard.  Rally is fucking hard; its expensive, dangerous, exhausting, frustrating, dirty, hot, cold, wet, painful.  It's also challenging, rewarding, thrilling, exciting, and a tremendous bonding experience.  If you can survive rally as a team, let alone as a rally couple, there is something to be said for that.  I'm not sure what that something is...it may simply be what so many people say to me..."you all are crazy."  I'll take it.

On the way home, we complained, reassured, swore, laughed, and eventually made a decision to regroup and reassess.  Over drinks later that evening, we came up with a new team motto;   "Hopelessly Persistent, Foolishly Optimistic."  Or something like that.

There will be more rally, although maybe not in the little red Mazda.  There will be more codriving for me as I build some confidence after this trying and  heartbreaking trip though the hills of Chillicothe, Ohio.  I hope everyone who wrecked, heat stroked, broke, or just retired are doing well and regrouping themselves.  There are too many thank yous to even mention, but big ones go to the Pelizzari's, because I love them all.  Adam and Paul for dog duty.  Marianna and Nathan for being great people, amazing hosts, and inspiringly fast rally car drivers, Paul Eddleston at Team Illuminata and Sue Cindrich.  My mom and Julie for not telling me I'm crazy for doing this.  Dan Hutchinson for crewing even when he's not there and Ted Andkilde for actually crewing.


I've made it through my initiation, and have reached a point where I think I'm a pretty good novice codriver.  Now, I'm ready to learn and do more...way more.  I look forward to learning how to feel the car better and know when I can push my driver vs when I maybe need to reign him in a bit, (or try anyway...)  I'm ready to work on consistent pacing and volume.  I'm ready for more scorching heat and freezing cold and dusty tire changes in the poison ivy with no gloves or boots. (Thank you sir...may I have another...)  Bring on the next adventure.  Keep me locked in this crazy "Animal House" they call rally...until next time.