Three-wide and charging to...
Three-wide and charging to the front, John makes a move on two cars as the trio races through Turn 3 at Linn County Speedway. June Boone
"The team is something you put your heart into," adds Jeff Fehr, also a veteran crew member. "I do it because it is something I can put a lot of work into and share in the success. You work hard and see the direct result."
Three hours later, John is again behind the wheel of the Freightliner. His sons are asleep in the overhead bunk, and his crew rests on the sofas as the headlights show the way home.
It's a long, subdued drive back to Chanute.
John is still going over what went wrong. And he blames himself.
"It's my fault," he says. "It was just one of those racing accidents, but I should have anticipated something like that. The guy we were lapping, it was his first time on the track. I think he saw all those cars coming up behind him, just panicked and lifted. I shouldn't have been there."
At 2 a.m., he backs the rig into the shop parking lot. The diesel shuts down with a shudder. Tomorrow's not another day. It's the same day. And it begins in a few hours.
Saturday
By 9 a.m., the orange car is out of the trailer and sitting on the shop floor. John assesses the damage-it's slight-and turns his attention to the blue No. 89 he'll use at Linn County Speedway tonight.
Dave owns the Friday night car; the Saturday chassis is John's. Other than gear ratios and suspension settings, the cars are essentially identical.
"With two cars we can spread the work out over more days," he says. "We can get both cars ready during the week, instead of coming home Friday night and having to thrash all day Saturday to get it ready for a second race.
"The workload is the same, but it just isn't as compressed. It also means we can take our time, and that helps cut down mistakes."
After more than two decades...
After more than two decades racing ovals, John feels right at home on his local dirt tracks. "I still love it," he says. June Boone
For the first few hours he works alone. He has shaken off the disappointment of the night before and is focused on the race before him.
Although the store is closed, customers know he'll be in the shop, so there's a steady flow of drivers and owners stopping by to pick up parts or just talk about the night before.
They give John a report on how things went at the local speedway. Who ran well. Who broke. Who wrecked.
Crew members drift in throughout the morning, and by noontime there are enough in the shop to require a three-pizza lunch.
A few of the guys work on the Friday night car, repairing damage to the suspension and bodywork. They'll tow it to Linn County Speedway just in case 20 cars show up to race.
NASCAR pays a points bonus anytime the field hits 21 cars, so John brings the spare chassis and unloads it only if he can bump the field to that number.
"We don't unload it if there are 19 cars or 21 cars," says Steve. "It only comes off the trailer if there are 20. Most of the time we just haul it out and haul it back."
At 2:30 p.m., both cars are ready to load.
"This ain't right," John says with a chuckle. "We're never ready early. We're supposed to be in a panic."
Linn County Speedway is a track in transition.