The Sani-Hut Shuffle - The REAL Competition at Reno
by Curt Graham

Many people go to Reno NCAR to watch the graceful tracings in the sky by some of the best performers in the world: Delmar in his Gee Bee, Lefty with the lightning and the absolute master of the art, R.A. "Bob" Hoover! (nice to see you back, Bob!)

But most go to see the racers: the incomparable spectacle of the Unlimited's, the close battles of the T-6 class, the sheer audacity of the Formula-1 class daring to go faster than an Indy car for less than they spend on hats for the sponsors.

However, the race course is not where the greatest competition or strategy is hatched. Where is the tightest competition? The one place where strategy has been honed to the finest edge? No need to look far, this most carefully choreographed competition is right under your nose (literally)! The real competition is fought over a very short distance, namely about 20 feet - the distance from one side of the street to the other, the gap between the queue and the objective. The object of this competition is: who's next in line for the porta-potty!!!!!!

Everyone knows the drill: you have had your fourth can of your favorite uh, beverage, two Allsport's plus the unforgettable mystery "Sertoma-burger" all before opening ceremonies. Add in dinner and drinks from last night's revelry to the mix and what you have is the perfect recipe to put you in the next heat for the jaunt to the john!

You make your way to the nearest location for your upcoming heat - better put on your walking shoes, its about a $10 taxi ride to the cluster of relief stations barely visible on the horizon. The Sani-Hut logistics engineers, in their infinite wisdom, install a vast number of units in a few concentrated spots, despite the fact that the grandstands, static displays and pits are scattered over about two miles of ramp. Still, compared to your average NFL game or other major sporting event this part is easy.

As you get to the starting line you eye the competition for this heat: the old lady, no challenge even if she gets a better start you know you will have her before the yellow line; the kid with the baggy pants and untied shoe laces will be lucky if he makes it off the curb before he cuts a pylon.

To your right you see your main competition. This guy looks like an extra from "Bay Watch" - solid legs, bulging biceps and a chest measurement that would make Linda Vaughn jealous! You consider your strategy: a fast jump off the line, or the tried and true pass on the inside, catching him at the flag?

You eye the finish line to see what you have to look forward to: to the left there's a group of the new "blue bombers" with the oversize vent stack, definitely the cream of the crop (but how did it pass tech inspection?); to the right beckons a row of the standard porta-johns, familiar and faithful, but the last 3 people coming out have all been just a little greener than when they went in (not the normal chipper bounce and perky tilt to the head that you see on your usual fiber therapy commercial).

You select your target - just another in the long lineup, nondescript but definitely where you need to be at this moment. The door opens and you start your sprint - you come off the line like the Bearcat with the "special system" (aka nitrous) stuck on warp speed.

Dumping your drink in front of grandma's walker was a last moment stroke of genius, the traffic congestion slowed Jethro just enough to pass him as you make the final three feet to the door and reach for the handle. You make it through the door by a mile and there at last is your prize! The throne!

But all is not ready yet. The door lock is broken! what do you do now? Try to wedge your foot into the corner and hope the "In Use" sign does some good. Re-adjusting your camera straps and fanny pack you settle down for your ultimate objective...

Just as you start to relax you tune in to P.A. system where Sandy Sanders has just announced the start of another Unlimited heat, and all the big boys are ready to rumble! You realize too late that you have grossly mis-timed your pit stop. Now the approaching sound of six race engines totally wicked up and pushing the red line splits into the familiar growl of the Rare Bear and the banshee screams of Dago Red and Strega as they go by in front of you, now somewhat out of view!

You detect a strange tone in Sanders' voice just a little higher in pitch than usual (is that possible?) and there is a murmur from the crowd as you hear the racers scream down the front stretch - definitely the Bear in the lead by the way the flies scatter off the ventilation screens at the top of your plastic enclosure. Then you hear Sanders proclaim that the Bear has turned the first racing lap in history at 500 mph and the crowd breaks into cheers!

As you ponder your options, figuring you just might make it out to the deadline before the end of the race (if you HURRY!), you console yourself with the notion that Sunday's finals will hold the real excitement. Then you suddenly hear the collective "Ohhh..." from the crowd as first one, then another racer calls "Mayday!" and pulls up over the course, trailing smoke. You hear Sanders announcing their safe return (with blown engines) as the reality begins to set in - it will be replacements and back-up motors from here, and any hope of more speed records this year fades into the perfumed chemicals beneath you. Once again you realize the profundity of the statement so often heard in racing: "its all in the timing!"


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