At the 2001 Toyota Grand Prix of Long Beach (street circuit), I rode in a racecar going 170 mph around the track. WOW. What could top that? I wanted to be trackside again, surrounded by the sweet smell of methanol, with the earth vibrating as racecars jockeyed for first place.
My mother often told me, “If you want to meet interesting people, volunteer at fun and interesting events.” Inspired, I called Sports Car Club of America, which provided race workers for the 2002 Long Beach Grand Prix. Happy to sign me up for the two-day event (qualifying and race day), the voice on the phone said, “You’ll have to be there early.”
“No problem.”
“You’ll flag then,” he said. “Wear white.”
At 5:45A.M., I joined a crowd of over 200 volunteers wearing white pants and bright shirts. In the coffee line, a woman explained that shirt color defined the job. Flaggers (white) communicated course conditions to drivers through flags. Observers (black/white) controlled communications between corners and Race Control. Red was emergency.
Everyone wore gray “worker” vests. “Don’t lose it,” said the registration volunteer, whose table was stacked with insurance forms and waivers. “It’ll get you everywhere. Except the pits when they’re hot.”
“Hot?” I said.
“Only people wearing fireproof suits are allowed in the pits during a race. Methanol fuel burns without a visible flame, and without a protective Nomex suit, you’d be toast.”
A fleet of Toyota trucks delivered the volunteers to each workstation. I jumped out at Turn 10 and met my teammates; Turn Marshall Smith, Communicator Edick, three others and Evans, another newcomer.
“The only way to learn is to do,” said Smith as he thrust flags at Evans and me. “You’ll be Yellow,” he nodded to me, “for the Formula Atlantic cars (open-wheeled).” My stomach lurched. I looked at my teammates, who flashed reassuring grins. We then powered through a crash course on the types of flags; Information and Command. Flaggers work in teams of two. Blue Flagger watches traffic coming into the turn and Yellow Flagger watches cars go through the turn. The stress job, Blue, is responsible for all flags except Yellow, which indicates caution, a dangerous condition, usually a crashed or spun car, and tells cars to slow down.
We were quickly taught hand-signals. Talking was impossible with cars screaming by. Just when I was confident with Yellow, Smith rotated us. I was Blue for the CART cars (Championship Auto Racing Teams), the big boys, and didn’t rest for the next hour. Fast cars passed slow cars, I flashed Blue to let a slow car know a faster vehicle was approaching. Emergency trucks hauled off disabled cars, I waved White (slow moving vehicle ahead). A car spun toward me. I grabbed my teammate, we dashed for safety, then hustled back to wave Green.
We rotated and I became “Response.” I helped clear the track after Michael Andretti careened into the wall, picking up bits of his car from the pavement. By the day’s end, I was exhausted but happy.
Congratulating our teamwork, Smith mapped out the race rotation. “You’ll be Blue for the CART tomorrow,” he told me. I jumped for joy, it was THE big race. Teammate Cook laughed. “The actual race is different than qualifying,” he warned. “You wave the Blue passing flag at cars overtaking slower cars, not at cars jockeying for position.”
Huh? “You mean I’m to keep track of every car? Figure out who’s overtaking, who made pit stops, who’s in first, who’s in last?” With cars traveling the speed of light, I couldn’t tell one from another, let alone keep track of them. What was a girl to do? Truly frightened, I took home a program and studied it until midnight, memorizing car, helmet and even roll bar colors. By 6A.M., I was nervous as hell, but prepared.
As the CART race began, I plugged in my earplugs and stood at my station ready to wave — or not to wave — Blue. My teammates quizzed me and I identified all 20 racecars as they blasted past. Ninety laps later, after numerous crashes and spin out, not one car overtook a slower moving car at Turn 10. I didn’t wave Blue once.
It didn’t matter. What mattered was, I was in the action, and although I couldn’t identify the winner by name, I did know his blue and white car and he wore a silver helmet. (Michael Andretti for the win!)
What is a girl to do? Sign up for another Grand Prix!
To volunteer with the SCCA, check http://sfrscca.org/volunteers/
Lucy Llewellyn Byard is currently a columnist for the Record-Bee. To contact her, email lucywgtd@gmail.com
