As soon as I moved to California, I headed for Buena Park to meet the heroes of my youth at the Checkpoint. That is to say, to meet John Cukras.
John was openly friendly, and generous to a fault. Through the several races I attended, the number of hands he shook was uncountable. Always smiling, happy to be alive, happy to share a moment with “you.” He accepted your fan-based adoration, humbly. And in the quietest moments it was his voice you heard, holding an audience in the pit area about the past glories, the current setup, or a future HO release.
No, we did not get to know each other well. But there was this one heat where I was fortunate enough to be a lane away, and side-by-side, pulling down the straight and through the bank; learning where the real breakpoint for the deadman is. Shooting the finger and the dogleg; keeping up through the finger only to find out I will never time the lead-on correctly. I know I was not keeping up but he had the graciousness to let me think I was.
My moment of glory came when introduced as the next qualifier, he spoke up, telling those assembled, "He tests the walls harder than anyone I've ever seen.”
No more track calls John. Power on!
Ô¿Ô bob chaney :: slot car hobbyist
.. how's it going? too early to tell, too late to do anything about it :: Q>
.. it will always be easier to create penalties for violation, than reason for conscience
.. one thing's for certain, nothing's for sure .. everything is possible, nothing is likely
.. (early advice from HT) .. don't just write there, say something!
.. if it wasn't this, it would just be something else .. no good deed goes unpunished
.. we are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us .. damn bukowski