World Speed Record

Ed & Linda Van Scoy: Entry # 128
Reprinted with permission from the Author.

As a kid growing up in a small town in west Alabama, I was exposed to hot rodding at a very early age. After all, moonshine was king and it had to be transported in fast cars – cars faster than the Revenuers that chased them. I was fascinated by the multi-carbed, full-race flathead motors usually found under the hood of such cars, and the roar of straight pipes running flat out through the night (often ahead of a siren) was sweet music indeed. The "good old boys" would get together on Saturdays on crude dirt oval tracks to show us all just how fast they were. These races, largely unorganized and unsanctioned, settled bets, silenced braggarts, and created local heroes. A few years later, an enterprising person saw some entertainment value in this craziness and created an organized racing body that even had a few rules. They called it NASCAR.

Meanwhile, the sport of hot rodding was exploding in a place called California. My only link to this growing phenomenon was the magazine rack at the only drug store in town. The stories and photos of stripped-down roadsters and chopped-top Mercury cruisers were almost sensory over-load for a kid growing up hundreds of miles from the nearest chrome shop. Particularly fascinating were the reports and pictures from the dry lakes. People were running outrageous speeds across the lakes in cigar-shaped vehicles, some made from airplane belly tanks, and often equipped with more than one engine. This was backyard engineering at it’s best and fastest. The engine of choice was the venerable Ford flathead, converted to a hemi combustion chamber using Ardun heads developed by a young Ford engineer named Zora Arkus-Duntov.

As the speeds got faster accidents increased and the public began to turn sour to the sport of hot rodding. The lakes racers got permission to use a safer salt-covered lake bed in Utah and accidents were reduced. Meanwhile, Wally Parks and his newly-founded organization, NHRA, attempted to mend the public image by promoting safety.

I couldn't’t have found Bonneville on a map for you, but I knew I had to go there.

The 50’s gave way to the 60’s and I found myself in Tempe, Arizona. Elvis gave way to the Beach Boys and my leather jacket & boots gave way to tee shirts & tennies. By this time I was into custom motorcycles and drag racing. I had the fastest car in school and 21 traffic tickets to prove it. I was still fascinated by the lakes racers and Mickey Thompson , Craig Breedlove,Art Arfons and the Summers brothers were my current heroes. All had (or would soon) hit speeds in excess of 400 mph on the salt. In early 1964, a friend took me to a beat-up metal garage on Washington Street in Phoenix to show me a very unusual car that was under construction. It was the Challenger I streamliner. I took one look at the 4 Pontiac engines (one for each wheel) and I knew I was getting a sneak peak at history. The car set a record at over 400 mph in 1965 with Mickey Thompson driving.

High school graduation came all too quickly. Along with the usual high school senior awards, a number of "gag" awards were voted on by the soon-to-be-graduates. Ironically, my open-header 100-yard burn-outs during class hours earned me the award for The Parking Lot Land Speed Record, and Linda was voted Girl Most Likely To Be Impressed With A Guy’s Car.

Three decades later (1992), Linda and I were sitting in a coffee shop in Ely Nevada, killing time. We were in town for the Silver State Classic, a cannonball-style race run on 90 miles of public highway. For no particular reason, I suggested we drive up to the salt flats, 120 miles way, just to take a look. Two hours later we were standing at the end of the access road, over-looking a lake covering a vast expanse of bright white salt. That was all it took, and we began to make plans to come back as soon as the water dried. I had to drive on the surface that was considered the center of the universe for hot rodders.

In September of 1993, the Silver State race was run on a Sunday, and the World of Speed started at Bonneville on the following Tuesday. The sponsors, Utah Salt Flat Racers Association, had two classes that my modified street car, a 1985 Corvette, could compete in. The 130 MPH Club and the 150 MPH Club are open to any street-legal, licensed vehicles, with a few safety additions. My education was about to begin.

After running the Silver State (Average speed 155mph), we made the trek to Utah for the World Of Speed. When we arrived at the salt flats we felt like we were on the moon. The vast expanse of bright white looked like snow, but it was very warm. Very confusing to the senses. Given the ’85 Vette’s top end speed of 175 mph, I figured the 150 club would be a piece of cake. The rules are simple; make a run from a standing start for two miles, and the average speed for the next ¼ mile had to be between 150-160 mph. If you did it once, you had to back up the run with a speed in excess of 150 by the end of the day. After two days of thrashing that poor car, the fastest speed I could get out of it was 141 mph. There is a lot of difference between running on pavement and salt. The rolling resistance of the salt surface had never entered my calculations, and the wide tires that made my Vette ideal for road racing were now acting like snowplows. I should have suspected that there was more to that game than appeared, as to that point, nobody had ever made the 150 Club.I was humbled but hooked.

Next year we returned with a different 1985 Corvette. It had been built to run the Silver State races in the Unlimited Class and had considerably more power. Even so, it was still street legal & licensed. Running on race tires, the car clicked off a 159 mph blast on it’s third try. A few hours later, I backed up the run with a 151 mph pass, and became the first member of the 150 Club.

The hook had been set and I now wanted a world record and membership in the Bonneville 200 MPH Club. The most obvious choice would be class C/GT. This class was for stock-body sports cars (hood scoop allowed) with full interior, lights etc., with an engine between 306-372 CID. In short, it is a class for stock sports cars with mildly modified engines. The current record had been set in 1981 by a Ford powered Pantera, at 201.213 mph.

1995 was spent converting a beautiful street car into a race car. The Greenwood ground effects and spoiler had to come off (stock body, remember), and numerous safety additions had to be made. Many items had to be fabricated as there is little or no "aftermarket" for Corvette land-speed parts.

In September of 1995, I made my inaugural pass with the "new" car and promptly blew the engine at 185mph. Two rods found their way through the side of the block and the oil fire earned me a car wash by the fire truck .

It was a long trip home.

1996 saw a new engine sporting 372 CID, along with a number of smaller changes. I had my "C" license (150-175 mph) from my 150 Club days, but I now needed to make license passes for a "B" (175-200mph) and "A" license (200-250 mph). I got the "B" run out of the way with an easy 171 mph pass. Since the record was so close to 200 mph (speed needed for an "A" license, I figured I would just make a full throttle pass through the three mile marker, and hope for a record breaking pass. The car pulled hard through the third mile, and as the parachute slowed the Vette, I was pretty sure I was close to the record. As it turned out, close was no cigar – I had run an average through the third mile at 201.071 mph, 142 one-thousandths off the record! The good news was I had my "A" license, and my exit speed at the end of the third mile was 207 mph, exactly as my computer had predicted. This pass had also qualified me to run the "long course", being the entire 5 miles. I was pretty excited because my computer calculations showed a speed of 207 mph entering mile 4, and an exit speed of 213 mph. I could smell a record.

We arrived before sunrise the next morning and set about pre-run prep-aerations on the Vette. By sun up, we were on the start line and ready to run. We were to be the first car off the line.

All went well through the first three miles and the "372" never missed a beat. I entered mile 4 at 7600 RPM , right on schedule at 207 MPH. A half-mile later, the engine came apart with a bang heard for miles, and all I smelled was an oil fire instead of a record. I was getting to know the Emergency crew on a first-name basis, and got another car wash. Another long drive home.

1997 was a year of engine repairs and small changes to the car. We were ready but mother nature wasn't’t cooperating. The first meet was rained out and a schedule conflict kept us away from the August meet (Speed Week). In September, we left home for the two-day trek to the World Of Speed, knowing that the salt was wet. We spent Tuesday in tech inspection and setting up camp. The course was still wet. Wednesday dawned bright and sunny, but the course was still wet. Rumor had it that we would be able to run on Thursday, so we set about making all final preparations. I was putting the final tune on the engine when officials called a drivers’meeting. The bad news was that Miles 1 & 2 were under water, but the good news was they were going to allow runs from mile 2 through 5. Although our Vette is geared to hit max top-end at 20,000 feet (3.8 miles). I was excited that I was going to at least get a warm up run.

I was the 5^th car off the line that afternoon, and the warm-up run turned out to be pretty hot. It took a long time for Linda to get to me but she had good news in hand – a timing slip showing an average speed of 204.603 mph through the third mile, 3.390 mph over the existing record! We now had an hour to get to the impound area to be certified for a return run.

We checked in at impound, and were informed that we had two hours to prepare the car for the back-up run. We were a blur re-fueling, packing the chute, checking the engine, etc. At the appointed time, the impound steward led us up to the start line. As Linda belted me in I kept going over everything in my mind, and telling myself THERE WOULD BE NO EXCUSES!! It was time to go.

I picked a poor line through the first mile, getting myself into some wet salt and wasting precious time and real estate trying to keep the front and rear ends from swapping places. I laid into it at mile two and at the end of the third mile, my tach told me I just barely made it, but I needed to hear it from a human. As I rolled to a stop, the driver of the emergency truck opened the door and said "let me be the first to congratulate you on a new world record!" Linda arrived soon after and we had a long-awaited hug & hurrah! My 2^nd pass with an average of 201.850 mph made a new two-way record average of 203.226mph! We didn't’t have time to waste, as again, we had an hour to get back to impound.

As we entered impound, we were met by a number of members of the Bonneville 200 MPH Club, and the famous Red Hat was planted on my head amidst hand shakes and back-slaps. It had taken 5 years, two cars and three engines to get here, and it finally all kinda hit me at once. I was exhausted, mentally and physically and it had been 24 hours since we had eaten . The job wasn't’t finished as the engine and body still had to be certified before the record was official.

The Chief Inspector explained our options:A), have the engine "sealed" and I could run again tomorrow, or B) tear it down for measurement right there. I chose A, a cold beer, and headed for the hotel. I would go faster in the morning.

Land speed racers are addicted to the weather channel, and I flipped it on when we got back to the room. I couldn't’t believe what I saw – a hurricane was moving in and they predicted 100% chance of rain!

The next morning dawned gray & ominous. Knowing that I had to get the car certified before the end of the meet, I gave up on the notion of driving again and hit the toolbox. I pulled a head for the inspector and he measured the bore & stroke. The engine was within specs, as was the body. It was official. I threw the engine back together, and within an hour it began raining and the meet was over. I was going to enjoy the drive home for a change.

Bonneville is no longer the salt flats of my boyhood dreams. Once several feet thick, the salt is now only an inch or two cover over a mud base. Bonneville will never again know the roar of the jet and rocket powered cars as the track length is inadequate for their needs. If you want to see this place of beauty and history, I advise you to hurry before it is gone forever. I waited almost forty years to make the trip; if your child waits that long, it may be gone.