Motorsports
Dallas Lewis
High Desert Daredevils
Let’s be honest. Given a chance to pilot your daily driver or favorite hot rod on a paved highway at any speed you choose with total impunity (no tickets, no suspended licenses, no insurance cancellations), you would do it, right? Of course you would.
Here’s the good news—you can.
Twice a year, in May and September, a 90-mile stretch of highway near Ely, Nevada, is closed for a day, except to participants in the Nevada Open Road Challenge/Silver State Classic Challenge. Though reverentially referred to as timed speed challenges, entrants are allowed to press their vehicle’s performance capability to the limit. The events typically attract 150 to 200 ordinary citizens who show up in a cross-section of automobiles ranging from Volvo sedans to Lamborghini Gallardos.
Dallas Lewis
For example, last September, Richard Hille chauffeured his ’96 Camaro down the highway at an average speed of 198.5413 mph. On one long straightaway radar detectors recorded his top speed at 209.9 miles per hour. (Though not an identical comparison, Dario Franchitti won the 2007 Indy 500 with an average speed a shade higher than a buck fifty.)
Hille says his Camaro is “Not exactly street legal. She’s powered by a 409 cubic-inch Chevy small-block that puts out 692 horsepower.”
At the other end of the scale, Ted Bair of Phoenix attempted to trundle down the road at exactly 140 miles per hour. With this writer acting as navigator, the proud owner of the shiny, black 1999 Corvette attempted to cover the 90 miles in exactly 38.34 minutes.
Lazlo Steptoe
In The Beginning
The Genesis of the Classic was a dilemma faced by a group of automobile enthusiasts in the same condition as dead atheists: they were all dressed up with no place to go. They typically satisfied their need for speed at La Carrera Original, a 105-mile race conducted on public roads just south of the US border. However, following several unfortunate incidents involving sporty cars, innocent pedestrians, farm trucks and free range livestock, in 1988 the event was cancelled by the Federales.
Undeterred, Steve Waldman, a Las Vegas casino executive, and a group of co-conspirators developed a plan for a replacement. The target—90 miles of Nevada state highway 318 near Ely.
The road is defined by several three- to five-mile long straight-aways—magnets for high speed that are contrasted by a handful of treacherously off-camber turns and changes in elevation. The most dangerous section is a two-mile long group of nasty, no-room-for-error esses referred to as The Narrows. Competitors overdriving these twisties have ended their day buried windshield deep in sagebrush, or with tires pointed towards the ceiling.
“We picked that stretch because it’s in the middle of farm country, and little used on Sundays when the farmers take a day of rest,” Waldman explained. Plus, locals figured that attracting a group of free-spending car buffs would definitely provide a shot in the arm for the economy. Ely was suffering an economic downturn despite a booming business at one of the few remaining houses of ill repute in Nevada.
Lazlo Steptoe
Only 90 days later the first 50-some entries gathered to christen the new event at a truck stop that doubled as a staging area. Included were a smattering of foreign entries, four Corvettes, and a 1956 Dodge D500. At day’s end, a Ferrari averaging 162 miles per hour was declared the winner, and the event was poised to take a place in the Guinness World Records book.
To broaden the event’s appeal for us Average Joes, and increase safety, participants now compete for trophies by attempting to hit target times in speed brackets ranging between 85 and 170 miles per hour. Most travel with a navigator.
My Hero
Ted Bair is no stranger to the Classic. A mild-mannered car buff whose laid-back composure camouflages a serious racing side, he trailered his Corvette from Phoenix to add a sixth Classic trophy to his collection. With me substituting for his long-time navigator, he felt a long practice session was a necessity.
Lazlo Steptoe
“We’ll make a couple of trial runs down the road to make sure the mile markers are where they’re supposed to be,” he said. But, we would be at half-throttle since the Nevada Highway Patrol feasts on drivers practicing for the event by exceeding the speed limit.
All that’s required of a navigator is alerting the driver to the makeup of the road ahead, predicting the direction and severity of turns and changes in elevation, watching for mile markers, keeping an eye on two stopwatches and recording our elapsed time.
“And don’t forget to turn on the video at the start line,” he added.
No sweat.
The Run
Considering the number of potential obstacles to victory (an attack on Ely by Al Qaeda; monsoon rains in Nevada; an unscheduled solar eclipse), Ted thought we should start the twenty minute drive to the start line at 0530, a mere three hours prior to our anticipated start time.
Dallas Lewis
He wasn’t the only antsy competitor. By 0400 the hallways in the motel echoed with the sounds of showers running, toilets flushing and the buzz of electric razors.
Needless to say, we were wide awake and full of coffee by the time we took our place in the starting grid—the 31st of 154 starters. Headsets were functioning, neck braces were in place, a five-point race harness was producing 3-inch wide indentations in my epidermis, and the video was recording. As we watched a six-foot tall atomic clock count down the seconds to our starting time, Ted revved the engine to 3,000 rpm, eased the clutch and pointed our steed toward the horizon.
It seemed that an eternity passed before we reached 140 miles per hour. Then, since we were minutes behind our target time, Ted pressed the throttle to the floor, pushing the odometer’s needle to around 165. Eyes, shielded by Plexiglas, were glued to the road, and hands covered with fire-retardant gloves deftly massaged the steering wheel. Mile markers and fence posts were blurs as we covered football field length strips of pavement faster than OJ can say “Not guilty.” Thankfully, the front end of the Corvette was glued to the pavement.
“We’re three seconds fast,” the navigator eventually reported.
“So we still need to put a lot of time in the bank.” The strategy was to be at least two minutes ahead of our target time when we arrived at the Narrows so we could slow to 100 to 110 mph.
We were. But, as the black missile rounded a lefthander at a mere 110 mph and the navigator’s body was pressed against the door, he wondered just how far into the desert the car would travel if it left the road.
Bad idea.
Lazlo Steptoe
When Ted began the final ten-mile sprint to the finish, we were 31.06 seconds ahead of our target time. He slowed to 125 and we fell behind, so he accelerated to 145 to catch up. We were two seconds behind schedule with one mile to go, so he accelerated past the finish line.
“I think we were late,” he said.
As it turned out, our average speed was 139.9993. Ted figures we were about 1/16th of a second late.
Still, he has another first place trophy to squeeze into his trophy case—and, so does the navigator.
Mad Dog’s Pantera
Mix car buffs with high speeds and it’s inevitable that there will be issues, though the Silver State Classic Challenge has been remarkably injury free. That said, Dennis ‘Mad Dog’ Antennuci’s Pantera did burn to the ground in 1999. Seems as though a brake caliper overheated, causing a fire in the engine compartment, resulting in the burndown. The car was a pile of ashes relegated to a boneyard in Las Vegas until some of Antennuci’s racing buddies, including Carroll Shelby, took pity on the beast and instigated a rebuild. Back on the road in 2007, the yellow speedster averaged 149-plus miles per hour.