Vintage is a fairly loose term these days, with anything from just a few years of age and beyond technically falling under the umbrella,
Racing is also one of these loosely defined words with many possible meanings, contexts and uses.

Combining the above though, vintage racing narrows the scope to a clear and pointed context full of many nostril hair erecting odors, cilia damaging sounds, retina focusing details though. Vintage racing is the most pure form of returning to the automotive ‘good ol days’.

Once a year, Road America in Elkhart lake, WI becomes Mecca for the vintage racing petrol head, drawing vehicles and people alike from all over the country, and usually internationally as well. Down town Elkhart Lake is awash with million plus dollar four wheeled fire-breathers, the tracks entrances are staffed with Tyvek wrist band applying, waiver issuing staff, efficiently metering all who enter the grounds to their weekend home on the grounds of the race track’s huge breadth of grassy expanses interwoven with the race track itself.

Pits and paddocks are immediately filled with seemingly titanic proportion race trailers, many with extended canopies anchored out and covering the weekend racers’ cars. Openly walking through paddocks extending deep in to the horizon, crews work feverishly in to the night to prepare the vehicles, drivers and equipment for what lies ahead on race weekend. Ford GTs interwoven with Bugatti type 35s and McLaren Sennas. All decades of automotive production for the US Market are well represented in their classes or run groups. Old men swapping stories of car control and lap times, while turning wrenches and preparing food over a cold beer or mixed drink.

Musical symphonies can seldom compete with the variety of noises generated in the paddocks of track events like these vintage week-ends. Flat head pre-war V8s idle wetly next door to shrill 10,000-rpm race V8s from the 1980s, 49-cc two stroke pit bikes buzz by and aero V12 engines dating back twice as far as the ages of most racers force combusted gas through open exhaust ports. Aside from a compressed air charge and a liquid fuel, these race vehicles share little in common, but the men and women that pilot each and every one sit side by side in the paddock and in grid with the same automotive passion for old race winning machines and their simplicities or complexities that makes each one uniquely different to operate than a modernequivelant automobile.

Morning of race day breaks, just a peek of sunshine glaring over the tree canopy, illuminating the top section of tents across the turn 8 infield camping area, the high voltage PA speaker squawks in to life with the familiar sounds of an announcer stating run group x to grid in 15 minutes.
Shallow grunting, zipper sounds of tents opening and passing mutual ‘good mornings’ float off between campsites as friends and individuals form their plans for the day on which run groups are at what times, food plans and which corners were best to watch or photograph the weekends dozens of vehicle run groups, with hundreds of now-aged vehicles.

Thin ribbons of tarmac strewn around the grounds of Road America, plugged with spectators driving from one edge to the other, high visibility wearing men and women directing most away from paddock areas and race course entries, spectator parking lots which are ripe with vehicles costing significantly more than several race cars of the weekend. Our group found the one way out on to the main road back in to down town Elkhart Lake, just narrowly beating a fairly significant sky darkening thunderstorm and beelined for a tap room in the lovely little town to wait out the race delays and wet, cold weather that most unwelcome to see moving in.
Run group after aged run group grids up in the pit lane as green flags send racers on their way.

Turn 8, the carousel camping area is where our easy up pop up tent canopies met their maker the night prior with heavy winds and rain, but turn 8 is also home to a perfectly formed even radius corner exiting in to the carousel lead-in. Cars of all classes threshold brake hard and hurl suspension loads from side to side, before hammering full throttle through the apex of turn 8 and firing off to turn 9.

Weather, unfortunately came back around the next day though and stopped grids from green flagging around the track, so these tarp-clad vintage beasts sit idle once again, silent, as mother nature took her sweet time sneezing her last. Hours dragged on and rain, although light was very persistent. Waiting came to and end after a few hours and my group started packing up mangled, soaking wet tents and bedding in to our vehicles just as the rain picked back up again, and we were off, headed back to the cities.

Two Tesla supercharge stops later, we’re back in Minnesota, with bright and sunny weather.

Unpacking the soaked camping gear and letting the sun dry the tents and canopies on a hot bituminous driveway, slicing off track side wrist bands, throwing away days of accumulated camping garbage and recycling. Routines of getting back to the daily grind, basking in the limelight of exhaust fume soaked laundry and hair as the washing machines and showers of developed, modern life scrub evidence of another fabulous petrol-soaked weekend in to the city sewer system.