Six Years of The Orange Cone

It was July 29, 2011 when I brought The Orange Cone to Twitter. Six years ago. Where has the time gone?

The Cone started as a joke at The Rumble in Ft Waybe in December, 2005 and eventually found it's way to MySpace in 2006. Sometime around 2008, the Cone went dormant and stayed that way for a few years until Carl Edwards hit the commitment cone at Lucas Oil Raceway in the final Nationwide Series race at that venue.

I remember with great joy what it was like when I hit 1,000 followers. I thought I was Big Time. I did a lot right. I had no idea how Twitter really worked but I engaged, dropped mentions as frequently as I could, and built a pretty solid foundation. But I made a lot of mistakes then, with some mean-spirited and frankly unfunny comments. Hell, sometimes I still do. Take the good with the bad, right?

But never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined what this would lead to. A ton of new friends, ranging from multiple-time Cup Series champions and Indy 500 winners to hobby stock drivers, to event promoters, journalists, broadcasters, series executives and officials, and best of all, thousands upon thousands of race fans.

At the end of the day, I am a fan. I always will be, too. I get excited every time they say "drivers start your engines", whether it's Cup, IndyCar, IMSA, ARCA, World of Outlaws, USAC, or some unsanctioned event at some dusty short track in middle America. Racing is a way of life, and anyone who chooses that life is okay with me.

Yeah, I get that we'll disagree from time to time. There's things I've learned not to discuss, including politics and religion. I still do, from time to time, but I've made the conscious effort to not go down those roads. I get we'll disagree on things we see on the racetrack too. That's part of the fun. I really work on trying to disagree without being disagreeable. It's not always easy, and I am sure I don't always pull it off, but it's the goal.

One of the things I've learned over the last six years, mostly over the past couple, is that the follower count doesn't matter. It's neat to say you have thousands of followers, but at the end of the day it doesn't really matter at all. What does matter is the quality of your interactions. I am fortunate to interact with a lot of people all day long.

Here's some unsolicited advice to those who want to know how to build their Twitter presence. Have an opinion. Be vocal. But don't make it personal. I hope everyone knows I love NASCAR. Seriously, I think I am the luckiest guy in the world to do this and get to be involved, even tangentially. There are things they do that I really love, and a few things they do I really dislike.

When I see something I don't like, I say I don't like it but I try not to get personal with anything. Decisions are made by people I know and like, and even if they're things I disagree with, I still like the people who make those calls. I hope they understand my goal isn't to question them or their intelligence, as so many others do, but rather give an alternative point of view.

How much longer will this go? Who knows. It started as a way to entertain myself. That anyone else found it entertaining was a nice bonus, and I am still having fun and apparently a few of you still are too. So we'll keep on going with the same tired jokes and the same insipid commentary.

Thanks for hitting that follow button. It meant a lot to me when you did and it means a lot to me now. Here's to another six years...at least.

How to end races safety but under green

Friday night's Truck Series race is another in a long list of examples of why NASCAR needs to revamp its procedures for caution flags on the last lap of a race. Rather than ending the race at a pre-determined point on the track, the start-finish line, the race ended at some random point on the track when the caution came out on the final lap. 

In theory, NASCAR's overtime procedure is there to give fans "unlimited" attempts at a green flag finish. In execution, NASCAR's overtime procedure all but ensures if there is an incident on the final lap of a race the fans will not see a green flag finish, And in this humble cone's opinion, if you say you're going to give the fans a green flag finish, well, we need to give the fans a green flag finish.

So how do we do it but do it safely?

Well, first, we need to ensure we aren't racing back through an accident zone. Some fans think we should race back to the checkered flag regardless, and I used to think that way, but that's not a possibility anymore. So no racing back to the checkered when the yellow comes out on the last lap.

That doesn't mean we end under yellow though. But the solution is really simple. If the caution comes out any time in the final two laps, including on the last lap before the checkered flag, we need to freeze the field, clear the track, line them back up and do it all over again. As many times as it takes. Yes, UNLIMITED attempts at a Green-White-Checkered finish.

The overtime line can still be used to determine a clean restart. Call it "the restart line" and if they wreck before the cross that line, realign the field in the positions they were in and do it again. But in my opinion it should have no bearing in when the race finishes.

There is always the "but, what if we're there until Tuesday night trying to get a finish?" Yeah, what if? How about we look at history and let that guide us instead of nonsense.

Only once in the Truck Series' nine-year history of unlimited GWC attempts was there more than three attempts. The last race before unlimited attempts were outlawed by rule was at Gateway in 2004 and it had an unbelievable four attempts, and every fan there that night and those watching on TV still talk about the finish of that race.

If we aren't going to finish under green, that's also fine. Just end the race at the advertised distance every time. I am 100% okay with that too. But if we say we are going to finish under green, we need to finish under green. And races need to finish at the same place each and every week, at the start-finish line. If we don't disqualify "winners" for failing post-race tech because the fans deserve to leave the track knowing who won, then they also deserve to know where on the track those winners will be determined.

Yes, I am a buffoon but I do take driver safety seriously

Passion drives motorsports. Whether it's the drive to win, the desire to cheer for - or against - a driver, or the desire to make things safer, passion is always there.

So when we see a massive crash, as we did in Sunday's Indianapolis 500, passionate commentary on social media comes to the forefront. Some of it carries weight and moves the narrative forward. Some of it is uninformed and does nothing but give some instant gratification for the poster.

The safety debate is a mysterious one to me, because I've yet to find anyone in the sport who thinks it's "too safe." There are people whose job, 24 hours a day seven days a week, is to make things safer. The drivers, whose asses are strapped into these 200 mph rocketships, want to know when they go barreling off into the turn that they're going to come out the other side, even if things go askew before they get to the next straightaway. And me, an unemployed former motorsports journalist without an editor, well, I know thousands of racecar drivers. Literally thousands. I want each and every one of them to race, and occasionally crash, and go home to their wives, their husbands, their boyfriends, their girlfriends, their children, their dog or their cat, and their friends each and every weekend. 

But I know that's not always going to be the case.

Yes, this is a dangerous sport. Sadly, there will inevitably a driver that pays the ultimate price behind the wheel of a racecar. No matter what safety advances we make, it's going to happen. Containment seats, headrests, HANS devices, SAFER barriers, energy-dissipating zones built into the chassis, improved helmets, you name it, it all works wonders. And at some point, it's not going to be enough. There will be some set of unforeseen circumstances that conspire to take away one of our heroes.

And it sucks. 

We should learn all we can from every accident, whether it involves injury or not. Maybe lessons learned in some seemingly meaningless incident will help someone down the road in a more significant incident. That's how it should, and truthfully does, work.

So when Scott Dixon sailed over Jay Howard and flew the length of a football field into the catch fencing, landing in top of the wall with the side of the tub, it was no real surprise that many watching said Indycar racing is just too dangerous and we need to do something to make it safer for the drivers.

Paul Dana perished in a crash at Homestead in 2006

Is Indycar racing dangerous? Sure it is. The cars are 230 mph rocketships racing between concrete walls on a track that was designed and built when cars could barely break 80 mph. While NASCAR has had an unprecedented streak of good fortune when it comes to driver fatalities since 2001, Indycar has lost four drivers in accidents over that same span (Tony Renna, Paul Dana, Dan Wheldon, and Justin Wilson). 

Wilson's death at Pocono may be the one that causes the most consternation, and honestly it should. He was not involved in a crash, he was merely passing by an accident scene when the nose cone of another car literally fell out of the sky and hit him in the head, causing fatal head injuries. Many observers say that is the accident that proves we need canopies on these cars, to ensure that never happens again.

I must make this clear: I am not opposed to canopies. I have seen designs with canopies incorporated and many of them look really cool. But here's my concern: what happens when the car flips and lands with the canopy wedged next to the wall and is fully engulfed in fire? What happens if there's a fuel spill and the cockpit fills with methanol and it ignites? I can think of many more instances where a canopy becomes a hindrance that could cost a driver his or her life.

And here's the puzzling thing: I've yet to see one active Indycar driver who has come out completely in favor of enclosing the cockpits. Maybe they're all buffoons, as I apparently am. But one would think the opinion of the men and women who do this, whose lives are on the line, would mean something.

Yes, many drivers were opposed to head and neck restrains back in 2001. NASCAR drivers were outspoken about full-face helmets in that era too. But safety wasn't the priority back then as it is now. Drivers are much more informed about their own personal safety and the risks involved than they were then. So when no Indycar driver will go on record saying he or she won't compete unless and until the cockpits are enclosed, that carries some weight with me.

Racing is a dangerous game. The risks are high, but so are the rewards. Why do these Indycar drivers risk it all? Everyone has their own reasons, but the will to win and have their likeness forever etched onto the Borg-Warner Trophy is surely a driving factor. Many of them (not all, I know) have achieved great personal wealth too. For others, it's chasing a dream. In any case, to them, those rewards make the risks acceptable. 

Sometimes people do things that make no sense, and that's okay.

Why do people walk on tightropes over the Grand Canyon? Why do people jump out of airplanes? Why do people climb Mt. Everest? Why do people tie a bungee cord to their ankles and jump off a bridge? Who knows, but no one forces any of them to do it. Same thing with driving racecars. I have yet to meet a single racecar driver who is there against his or her will. They know the unique risks their chosen thrill carries, and they have accepted them. They make the choice to do it. 

Whether you're a journalist covering the sport, a mechanic building the cars, or a fan with a Twitter account, your concern for their safety indeed carries weight, but the drivers know the risks and do it anyhow. I, for one, respect that choice. It doesn't mean I don't want to see it be as safe as it can be, not by a long shot.Scott Dixon is very lucky to walk away from an accident that could have easily had a much worse outcome. It's a game of inches, and the inches were in his favor. Had anything else been different, we could be saying goodbye to another of our heroes. But I could also say that had anything else been different at Pocono in 2015, Justin Wilson would have been racing on Sunday. The inches, sadly, were not in his favor and we're all the poorer for it to this day. 

So what is the answer to driver safety? Well, there isn't one. It's never going to be "safe." And that's okay. If the human body was designed to go 230 mph, we wouldn't need a car to do it. So we use the safety apparatus that is available now. We continue to learn and to innovate, and continue to make gains when and were we can. Maybe one day there will be a canopy that achieves everything we need it to achieve without compromising safety in other areas. I don't think there's a single driver that would be opposed to that.

I know this may not be a popular opinion, and that's okay. I may be a buffoon, and that's okay too. But what I am not is someone that hasn't spent time pondering this and developing my opinion on this through experience. It's the product of 44 years of being around racing. It's the product of conversations with thousands of racecar drivers, seeing millions of laps in thousands of races at hundreds of racetracks. Call me names if you must, just don't call me someone who doesn't care and doesn't put a lot of time and energy and thought into this sport. 

Why racers shouldn't be negative on social media

While most normal people were celebrating or getting ready to celebrate the New Year, I found myself embroiled in yet another unbelievably stupid Twitter argument. Of all of the stupid Twitter wars I have started and engaged in, this one is probably right there at the top.

It wasn't about Dale Jr.'s chances of ever winning a Cup championship or restart zones or tandem drafting or which make of racecar is the best. Those are actually worthy topics of debate. No, it was whether or not racers should make negative comments through social media about their local tracks.

I have said for years that racers are their own worst enemies. When it comes to spending, they most certainly are. Racers will bitch about how much tires cost, or how much fuel costs, or how much their engine bill is but then go and spend extravagant money on haulers or pay someone to write press releases that my 12 year old could run circles around.

But now racers are their own worst enemy in the public domain.

Some tracks are now enacting policies that state racers can be fined or suspended for critical comments against the track via social media. And true to form, there's been immediate push-back by some because despite it being against their own self interests, they don't like anyone telling them what they should and shouldn't or could and couldn't say.

Racers being critical of the sport they profess to love through social media channels goes against every public relations principle they'd be taught at any college in the country. The analogy used by Michigan International Speedway track president Roger Curtis is 100 percent correct: why would anyone want to come to a restaurant if the wait staff tells everyone the food is horrible? Why would fans come to the track if the racers are saying it's a horrible place run unprofessionally with horrible food and dirty bathrooms?

Two racers from somewhere in the Midwest spent hours telling me it's their right to say "the track is junk" when one of their local dirt tracks is rougher than their preference. It is their right, and while "the track is junk" is something I readily understand, what happens when some family looking into going to the races for the first time the next week sees that comment and doesn't fully understand the racer's lingo? Why would that fan want to come to a track that a racer says is junk?

If you're a racer and you have an issue with a track promoter over anything from track conditions to the purse to the food to the cleanliness of the bathrooms, do yourself the favor and search the promoter out for a private conversation.

Maybe race night isn't the time or place for that conversation. Just like when you get dumped racing for the lead, you may not be in the mood for a chat after the conclusion of the night's activities. Give the guy running your track the same consideration if he's had a rough night. Wait a day or two and pick up the phone. Have a conversation. And if you're going to give him a list of complaints, particularly about track conditions or how the facility is run, make sure you have a list of suggestions to make things better.

Someone else told me that it's okay to make such negative comments through social media because it's okay to point out that some tracks are poorly run and those tracks deserve to close.

I can't even wrap my brain around that one. Conversely, would it be okay if the track promoter told your sponsor they should leave you on a night that you have car problems and finish sixth in the B-main and don't make the feature?

We're supposed to be in this together. Racers need a place to race. Tracks need racers to put on a show. Both entities are taking a huge financial risk and in this era racers and tracks alike are going out of business at an alarming rate. If that trend continues, short track racing as we know it will be a thing of the past, like drive-in movies.

Sure, some places in this country have multiple short tracks to choose from. I live in one of those areas where I have a dozen tracks within 90 minutes. Some are run really well. Some a run poorly. But I don't want any of them to close. Even the ones that have a promoter or employees I don't personally like.

Then there's the whole "but it's not my job to promote your track" argument. And while that is technically correct, any racer that has a sponsor on the side of his racecar has an obligation to promote that sponsor. That company spent money with you wanting positive impressions through motorsports. The more people who see your racecar, the more value that sponsor gets and the more likely that sponsor comes back to sponsor you again. You know, so you can race some more. Something you supposedly enjoy doing.

Being negative on social media isn't "got wrecked by so-and-so" or "can't believe the officials put me to the back". It's "this place needs to get its shit together" and "I'm never coming back to this shithole because the idiots who run it put me to the back for spinning that asshole out". It's not blowing off steam, but rather the stuff that makes the entire sport look bad.

And before you go and say "but Cone, you make fun of everyone and everything in racing, what's the difference," understand that while I might be critical of a call or an incident on track, I don't say "I hate NASCAR" or "I hate this track" or "I am never watching again" or anything else like that. Futhermore, if I go to a track and have a bad experience the first time, I understand what many of these tracks are up against and I'll give the benefit of the doubt that they'll get it right the next time.

I don't like dirty bathrooms, but I also know if I use the facilities at the end of the show it's not going to be as clean as it was before hot laps started. I don't like shows that run long, but I also understand sometimes you have one of those nights. I don't like dusty or rough dirt tracks but I also know the millions of factors that go into track prep and how hard it can be to get it right, especially when weather is so changeable in the heat and humidity of the summer.

Social media interaction helps build an interpersonal connection. Seriously, there are 72,000 people that follow a orange traffic cone! Why? Because I work hard to interact with people. Granted, many short track promoters do not have the time to spend doing that the way I do.

If you run a short track, spend a little time checking your interactions. Respond to people. Find a positive way to respond to critical interactions. Turn negatives into positives. If you don't have the time, or even the communicative skill, to do it, find someone who does. It works.

Chapter Four - The Hardy Boys and the Case of Team Xtreme's Missing Racecar

Frank and Joe walked down the driveway to where Chet, Biff and Tony were working on the jalopy. Just as the Hardys approached, Chet put the hood down.

“Looks like we're just in time,” Frank said. “Is she road worthy?”

“Better than ever!” Chet exclaimed. “I was just about to take her for a spin.”

Joe explained to the three boys that they needed to make a trip to Elmira to look at a racecar that was just put up for sale. Chet quickly volunteered to drive, and Tony volunteered to stay behind in case the Hardys needed someone to do some online research while they were gone.

Frank, Joe, Chet and Biff quickly headed down the state highway, past the Seneca Lodge where Mr. Cohen was staying, and towards Elmira. Chet opened it up a little and let the new carburetor under the hood bring the old jalopy well in excess of the speed limit.

“Easy there big fella,” Joe said. “This isn't the backstretch at The Glen! Let's leave the speed for the professionals!”

“Good idea,” Chet said and he backed the speed down to the legal limit. After a few more minutes, Chet noticed a motorcyle quickly approaching from behind. Before the boys knew it, the motorcycle was alongside and the rider was peering over at them through his full-face helmet. He reached into his leather jacket and in an instant a loud bang was heard and the jalopy was out of control!

Chet fought for control as the motorcyle sped off into the distance. The mysterious rider had shot out the front tire of the jalopy and Chet nearly found himself in the same ditch the Hardys ended up in just a few hours earlier.

“Did you get the license number on that motorcycle Joe?” Frank said as he struggled to catch his breath. “I couldn't get it. All I know is that was some sort of foreign motorcycle.”

“I didn't get the license either, Frank. We need to report this to the local police. I am afraid we've gotten ourselves into something we might not be able to get out of.”

Chet had climbed out of the jalopy and was visibly shaken. He trembled as he looked at the tire that was now torn to shreds under the front fender.

“Chet, that was some dandy driving right there,” Joe said reassuringly. “I don't know many men outside of a professional racecar driver that could have saved that. Maybe you have a new career in front of you.”

The Hardys quickly got the jack out of the trunk and Biff and Chet quickly changed the tire. In less than ten minutes, the boys were back on the road to Elmira.

The followed the directions on their GPS down a narrow lane to a small ramshackle house. In the driveway was parked a blue pickup truck that was nearly as old as Chet's jalopy. It hardly looked like the place a valuable racecar would be kept, even if it was stolen.

They knocked on the door and were met by a gray-haired gentleman that appeared to be several years older than their father.

“You the boys I spoke to on the phone?” he said gruffly. “You want to look at the racecar?” 

“Sure thing,” Joe said. “We're working with a man from New York that wants to enter a car in the race this weekend.”

“Let's go out to the barn and I'll show you what I have.”

The four boys walked to the barn with the older gentleman, who had yet to offer his name. 

“I am Frank Hardy, this is my brother Joe and our friends Chet and Biff,” Frank said. “May we ask your name?”

The man kept walking toward the barn at the back of the property. The boys started feeling nervous since their strange host offered no response to their query.

As they reached the barn, Frank noticed the door was ajar. Just as the old gentleman went to reach for it, the door opened quickly from the inside! The man was knocked backwards and a man wearing a motorcycle helmet and leather jacket sprinted past him and dashed into the woods!

Joe took off into the woods after him without giving any thought to what the rider had done to the front tire of Chet's jalopy just a few minutes earlier. Joe, a star on the Bayport High School track team, quickly caught up to his adversary and attempted to tackle him. 

But before Joe could subdue him, the man swung and connected to Joe's jaw with a solid right hook! Joe fought back and landed a solid jab to the man's ribs, but the helmet meant for protection on the road meant Joe had no chance. The man swung Joe around and took one more wild swing, connecting solidly into Joe's solar plexus!

Joe crumpled to the ground and the man disappeared into the woods. Frank arrived on the scene and helped his brother to his feet. They walked the short distance back to the barn where Chet and Biff were assisting the old gentleman with a slight cut to his forehead.

“This is Oma Kimbrough,” Chet said. “He owns a racecar that he keeps here in the barn.”

“And I don't have my hearing aids in boys, so that's why I didn't hear you as we were walking to the barn. Many years of being around these loud racecars have cost me much of my hearing I'm afraid.”

“Hear that Chet,” Joe said. 

“He does now, ask him again in fifteen years!” Frank laughed.

“In any case, the years have finally caught up to me and maintaining a racecar is just not something I can do so I decided to put it up for sale since many racers are going to be in the area this week. Chet here told me you were thinking this might be Mr. Cohen's stolen racecar but I have all the paperwork inside. I am glad to show you if you'd like.”

“That won't be necessary Mr. Kimbrough,” Frank said. “We'll take you on your word. Besides, if you're car was the stolen one, why would someone be trying to steal it for the second time today?”

Frank and Joe filled Mr. Kimbrough in on the details of the theft earlier in the day, and then discussed the theory that a ring of racecar thieves was operating in the area. 

“I don't come out to the barn as often as I used to, but I have noticed some of my things have come up missing lately,” Kimbrough said. “Nothing major, but a tool here or a piece of equipment there. I figured I loaned it to someone and just didn't remember but now that you're saying there are thieves in the area it's putting me on edge.”

“Mr. Kimbrough, we're relieved you're okay,” Joe said. “Thank you for your time, you've been a lot of help.”

“And if you don't mind, maybe I could come back tomorrow and look under the hood of that beast in there,” Chet said. 

“Actually, that is a great idea Chet,” Frank said. “Now that we know that car is a target, having at least one of us here is smart.”

Kimbrough and Chet agreed to meet again the next day and the boys climbed back into the jalopy for the ride back to the Hardy lake house. 

Frank called Tony Prito from the back seat.

“Tony, have you seen anything from our dad come in via email?” he asked.

“No, I haven't. No word at all. But Mr. Cohen is here. He said there is a new development in the case. You should get back here as quick as possible.”

The boys said their goodbyes to Mr. Kimbrough and Chet agreed to come back the next day to tinker on the car. They made their way back to the lake house as quickly as Chet could get them there, all the while keeping a leery eye out for any trouble.

“The last two times we've been on this road, we've ended up in a ditch and been shot at,” Joe said. “Let's hope we get home in one piece!”

The ride passed uneventfully and they eventually swung onto the long, winding driveway to the Hardy lake house. When the car came to a stop, the first person to greet them was Mr. Cohen. He was breathless when he arrived at the car.

“Boys! They found the pickup truck!” he said as the boys climbed out of the jalopy. “It was abandoned in a field just north of here. Nothing was taken from it from what I can tell.”

“Interesting that they'd ditch the pickup truck,” Frank said. “Maybe it's the one thing that would be the most easily tracked by the authorities.”

“We should definitely debrief with the police,” Joe said. “We also need to tell them about our little run-in with the mystery motorcyle rider, both on the road and at Mr. Kimbrough's farm.”

The Hardys updated Mr. Cohen on the near accident on the road and the fight at the farm with the motorcycle rider. 

“Have you ever done any business with anyone that rides a foreign motorcycle?” Frank asked.

“Not that I can remember, but I live in New York City,” Cohen said. “Most people take a taxi when they're in the city so it's possible that someone I know has just such a motorcycle and I don't know about it.”

The boys said their goodbyes to Cohen and then headed to the local police department. There they met with Chief Tom Rotsell, and they filled him in on their brush with the motorcyclist.

“We have heard there was a chance a violent ring of racecar thieves would follow the circuit up here to New York,” Chief Rotsell said. “We have been in touch with some other jurisdictions around the country, and it sounds like their M.O. Sorry that you boys have borne the brunt of their violence to this point. We'll do whatever we can to help you find Mr. Cohen's missing car and to keep you boys safe.”

The boys headed back to the lake house following their talk with Chief Rotsell. On the way back, Frank decided to stop by the Seneca Lodge to follow up with Mr. Cohen on the recovery of the pickup truck.

When they pulled into the parking lot, they immediately saw the black dually at the back of the lot, covered nose to tail in mud.

“It looks like they did some off-roading with this pickup,” Joe surmised.

“They did,” Cohen said, as he approached them as the boys inspected the truck. “This truck isn't designed for that at all. It's meant to pull. I am surprised they were able to get it off road at all.”

“Joe, look at this, the mud on the sides looks like it's all been scratched off by brush,” Frank said. “Wherever they took this truck, the path lining the road was shrouded by trees or other small bushes.”

“I wouldn't at all be surprised if wherever that road is, it leads straight to a large stash of stolen racing equipment,” Joe said.

Cohen said he had been in touch with a few of the other team owners on the circuit and they too had discovered missing equipment. “Maybe not a complete racecar, but many of them have lost spare engines, wheels, tires, other equipment that could go missing without raising eyebrows,” he said. 

The boys said their goodbyes to Cohen and said they would be in touch with him soon. They finished their drive back to the lake house. The sun was setting and they had wanted to spend some time on the lake before dark.

“Call Tony and have him get the Sleuth ready,” Frank said to Joe.

When they got back, all five boys headed out onto the lake. They found a secluded cove and spent an hour swimming off the bow of the boat. The boys started the engine to head back to the lake house just as the sun was setting. As the Sleuth started to pick up speed and rounded a point to head out of the cove, a speedboat suddenly aimed right towards them!

“Frank, look out!” Joe screamed over the sound of the engine and the waves.

Frank cranked the helm to the left. The speeding boat passed but the Sleuth was tossed violently in the wake.

“Is everyone okay,” Frank asked after regaining control of the boat.

No one answered.

Chapter Three - The Case of Team Xtreme's Missing Racecar

Frank and Joe walked down the driveway to where Chet, Biff and Tony were working on the jalopy. Just as the Hardys approached, Chet put the hood down.

“Looks like we're just in time,” Frank said. “Is she road worthy?”

“Better than ever!” Chet exclaimed. “I was just about to take her for a spin.”

Joe explained to the three boys that they needed to make a trip to Elmira to look at a racecar that was just put up for sale. Chet quickly volunteered to drive, and Tony volunteered to stay behind in case the Hardys needed someone to do some online research while they were gone.

Frank, Joe, Chet and Biff quickly headed down the state highway, past the Seneca Lodge where Mr. Cohen was staying, and towards Elmira. Chet opened it up a little and let the new carburetor under the hood bring the old jalopy well in excess of the speed limit.

“Easy there big fella,” Joe said. “This isn't the backstretch at The Glen! Let's leave the speed for the professionals!”

“Good idea,” Chet said and he backed the speed down to the legal limit. After a few more minutes, Chet noticed a motorcyle quickly approaching from behind. Before the boys knew it, the motorcycle was alongside and the rider was peering over at them through his full-face helmet. He reached into his leather jacket and in an instant a loud bang was heard and the jalopy was out of control!

Chet fought for control as the motorcyle sped off into the distance. The mysterious rider had shot out the front tire of the jalopy and Chet nearly found himself in the same ditch the Hardys ended up in just a few hours earlier.

“Did you get the license number on that motorcycle Joe?” Frank said as he struggled to catch his breath. “I couldn't get it. All I know is that was some sort of foreign motorcycle.”

“I didn't get the license either, Frank. We need to report this to the local police. I am afraid we've gotten outselves into something we might not be able to get out of.”

Chet had climbed out of the jalopy and was visibly shaken. He trembled as he looked at the tire that was now torn to shreds under the front fender.

“Chet, that was some dandy driving right there,” Joe said reassuringly. “I don't know many men outside of a professional racecar driver that could have saved that. Maybe you have a new career in front of you.”

The Hardys quickly got the jack out of the trunk and Biff and Chet quickly changed the tire. In less than ten minutes, the boys were back on the road to Elmira.

The followed the directions on their GPS down a narrow lane to a small ramshackle house. In the driveway was parked a blue pickup truck that was nearly as old as Chet's jalopy. It hardly looked like the place a valuable racecar would be kept, even if it was stolen.

They knocked on the door and were met by a gray-haired gentleman that appeared to be several years older than their father.

“You the boys I spoke to on the phone?” he said gruffly. “You want to look at the racecar?” 

“Sure thing,” Joe said. “We're working with a man from New York that wants to enter a car in the race this weekend.”

“Let's go out to the barn and I'll show you what I have.”

The four boys walked to the barn with the older gentleman, who had yet to offer his name. 

“I am Frank Hardy, this is my brother Joe and our friends Chet and Biff,” Frank said. “May we ask your name?”

The man kept walking toward the barn at the back of the property. The boys started feeling nervous since their strange host offered no response to their query.

As they reached the barn, Frank noticed the door was ajar. Just as the old gentleman went to reach for it, the door opened quickly from the inside! The man was knocked backwards and a man wearing a motorcycle helmet and leather jacket sprinted past him and dashed into the woods!

Joe took off into the woods after him without giving any thought to what the rider had done to the front tire of Chet's jalopy just a few minutes earlier. Joe, a star on the Bayport High School track team, quickly caught up to his adversary and attempted to tackle him. 

But before Joe could subdue him, the man swung and connected to Joe's jaw with a solid right hook! Joe fought back and landed a solid jab to the man's ribs, but the helmet meant for protection on the road meant Joe had no chance. The man swung Joe around and took one more wild swing, connecting solidly into Joe's solar plexus!

Joe crumpled to the ground and the man disappeared into the woods. Frank arrived on the scene and helped his brother to his feet. They walked the short distance back to the barn where Chet and Biff were assisting the old gentleman with a slight cut to his forehead.

“This is Oma Kimbrough,” Chet said. “He owns a racecar that he keeps here in the barn.”

“And I don't have my hearing aids in boys, so that's why I didn't hear you as we were walking to the barn. Many years of being around these loud racecars have cost me much of my hearing I'm afraid.”

“Hear that Chet,” Joe said. 

“He does now, ask him again in fifteen years!” Frank laughed.

“In any case, the years have finally caught up to me and maintaining a racecar is just not something I can do so I decided to put it up for sale since many racers are going to be in the area this week. Chet here told me you were thinking this might be Mr. Cohen's stolen racecar but I have all the paperwork inside. I am glad to show you if you'd like.”

“That won't be necessary Mr. Kimbrough,” Frank said. “We'll take you on your word. Besides, if your car was the stolen one, why would someone be trying to steal it for the second time today?”

Frank and Joe filled Mr. Kimbrough in on the details of the theft earlier in the day, and then discussed the theory that a ring of racecar thieves was operating in the area. 

“I don't come out to the barn as often as I used to, but I have noticed some of my things have come up missing lately,” Kimbrough said. “Nothing major, but a tool here or a piece of equipment there. I figured I loaned it to someone and just didn't remember but now that you're saying there are thieves in the area it's putting me on edge.”

“Mr. Kimbrough, we're relieved you're okay,” Joe said. “Thank you for your time, you've been a lot of help.”

“And if you don't mind, maybe I could come back tomorrow and look under the hood of that beast in there,” Chet said. 

“Actually, that is a great idea Chet,” Frank said. “Now that we know that car is a target, having at least one of us here is smart.”

Kimbrough and Chet agreed to meet again the next day and the boys climbed back into the jalopy for the ride back to the Hardy lake house. 

Frank called Tony Prito from the back seat.

“Tony, have you seen anything from our dad come in via email?” he asked.

“No, I haven't. No word at all. But Mr. Cohen is here. He said there is a new development in the case. You should get back here as quick as possible.”

Chapter Two - The Case of Team Xtreme's Missing Racecar

        With Cohen trailing behind, Frank and Joe dashed out the front door and down the long tree-lined  driveway to the street. When they reached the end, they found Chet under the hood of his yellow jalopy. Two other boys, Biff Hooper and Tony Prito, were also there.
“Chet! Is all that noise coming your car?” Frank asked breathlessly.
“Of course!” Chet said with a smile. “Biff and Tony were on their way through town and they met a man that sold them this carburetor. I've been reading up on ways to soup up the old jalopy and it was an easy switch. It sounds just like a racecar now doesn't it?”
As the boys listened to the sound from Chet's jalopy reverberate through the woods, Mr. Cohen finally made his way to the end of the long driveway. He peered under the hood and a shocked look appeared on his face.
“Boys, where did you get that?” he asked, pointing to the new carburetor that sat atop the jalopy's engine.
“We stopped for some chow just outside of town and a stranger saw us decked out in our racing garb and struck up a conversation with us,” Biff said. “We told him we were headed to the races this weekend. We made some small talk and mentioned that one of our friends, you Chet, had taken up shade-tree mechanics as a hobby. We told him what kind of car you have and he asked if we'd be interested in buying a carburetor to give the car some more horsepower. It wasn't a lot of money so we bought it from him.”
Mr. Cohen looked dismayed.
“Just as I feared. Boys, that carburetor is yours to keep. Consider it part of my fee. But that came from the trailer that was stolen from me earlier today. It seems like a ring of thieves has stolen my racecar and equipment and is selling it for money.”
Chet looked as though he had seen a ghost. His cheeks, normally red with color, were as white as a sheet.
“We had no idea,” he said. “We thought it was just too good to be true. Unfortunately it was.”
Frank and Joe stepped back from the car.
“Biff, do you remember anything about the man who sold you this carburetor?” Joe asked.
“Well sure,” Biff said. “He wasn't very tall, but very heavy set. He had a thin moustache and wore dark sunglasses. He had on a dark shirt and blue jeans. We thought it was a little odd because he even wore those sunglasses when he was indoors.”
“Interesting,” Joe said pensively. “It seems like whoever sold you Mr. Cohen's carburetor doesn't want anyone to get a good look at him.”
Meanwhile, Chet looked to Mr. Cohen apologetically.
“I'm mighty sorry we caused so much fuss. We had no idea. Honest. All we wanted to do was give the old girl a little more pep in her step.”
“No harm done, at least not by you boys,” Mr. Cohen said. “But I am afraid it just means we have to find whoever did this quickly, otherwise whatever was in that trailer will be sold on the black market.”
Reassured, Chet, Biff and Tony went back under the raised hood of the yellow jalopy and finished tuning up the engine. Mr. Cohen walked back to the front porch of the lake house with the Hardys.
“It's just as I feared boys. If the right buyers are found, everything in that trailer could be sold within days and I would be out of business.”
The Hardys were amazed. “We didn't realize there was a market for race equipment other than for actual race cars. We never would have guessed a racing carburetor could be used on an old jalopy like Chet's.”
“Oh yes, there are many people who use racing equipment on their cars,” Mr. Cohen said. “Many find their parts and pieces from legitimate sources, but there is a growing segment that has moved underground. There has been a ring of thieves that has stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars of racing equipment that has never been recovered. I fear that we won't be able to find it and my time in racing will be over. I am a man of some means, if you can solve this case before the race this weekend I will make it worth your while.”
“We don't charge for our sleuthing services,” Joe said.
Mr. Cohen was astonished. “You solve your cases for nothing?”
“If we are able to help you find your racecar, it will be on that basis,” Frank said reassuringly.
“Wow, no one in racing does anything for nothing. How refreshing. Boys, somehow I will make this worth your while.”
He again explained the urgency, then told the boys he was staying at the Seneca Lodge just down the state highway from Hardy lake house, and he could be reached there if anything should develop.
Mr. Cohen then excused himself and made his way back to his vehicle, eventually disappearing from sight down the long wooded driveway. Frank and Joe went inside and immediately called Chief Collig to see if he had any additional details on the case. Chief Collig often assisted them on their cases, and listened intently as Frank described being run off the road by the out-of-control pickup truck.
“This sounds serious, boys,” Chief Collig said. “I'll notify the state police to keep an eye out for a black dually pickup like you described. I doubt he would be driving around with the trailer still attached so I will have them keep an eye open for pickups with and without.”
The boys thanked Chief Collig and hung up. As they walked back onto the front porch of the lake house they saw Chet, Biff and Tony still tinkering under the hood of the yellow jalopy and the sound of horsepower rumbling through the woods.
“Looks like we are back in business,” Joe said. “Let's take on the case.”
Frank looked worried.
“This isn't just any ring of thieves,” he said. “Otherwise, why run us off the road and into the ditch? We could have been seriously injured, or worse. I am afraid we're going to have to be extra careful on this one. We could be dealing with some real desperadoes.”
“It would be fun to find a racecar and help him get into the race this weekend,” Joe said. “Time is of the essence.”
The boys went into the house, and wandered into the kitchen. There they were greeted by their petite mother and their tall, angular Aunt Gertrude. She was Mr. Hardy's sister, who lived with the Hardys. When she heard of the Mr. Cohen's offer and the boys being forced off the road and into a ditch, she exclaimed:
“Another case and more danger! There's always something underhanded about these cases! This one sounds too dangerous! Mark my words!”
Mrs. Hardy also had a look of worry on her face.
“I wish your father was here instead of in Mexico,” she said.
“Dad!” Frank exclaimed. “We could have dad look up any known criminal activity in the racing world!”
Mrs. Hardy reminded the boys that their father was on a big case in Mexico and would only be able to be contacted via e-mail but because cellphone service was very spotty.
“We might not get a response for several days,” Joe said. “We don't have a lot of time to wait. Let's send dad the details we know and get started. We may have to go it alone without him on this one. But maybe he can get back to us and offer us some guidance.”
“I'll call Cohen and let him know,” Frank said. He dialed the Seneca Lodge. Cohen was not in so he left a message with the desk clerk.
“Let's get online and start checking to see if we can find some websites that have used racing equipment for sale,” Joe said.
“Maybe Aunt Gertrude can help us,” Joe said. “She sells her pies all over the country through some of these websites. She can definitely help us with which ones are legit and which ones are a waste of time.”
Aunt Gertrude spoke with the boys and gave them the name of several websites to look at. After  nearly an hour of browsing, the boys found a lead. A new listing for a used racecar caught their eye. And it was listed in nearby Elmira.
The boys called the contact number. A gruff voice answered and set a time to meet in just over an hour. That gave the boys enough time to make the drive to see the racecar.