This Thing Called Bonneville

Bonneville.  It's both a place and an experience.  To the car enthusiasts out there in the world, it means one thing:  SPEED.  It's one of only a few places on the face of the earth where it's possible to go several hundred miles an hour on wheels.  It's not a place for racing, it's a place where a person and their machine can test the limits of speed.  It's a place where records are broken every year during that one week in August called Speed Week.  Here is a video with some good camera footage from both the push vehicle and the race car.  It will give you and idea of what it's like to go airplane speeds on the ground.

Growing up around a dad that was so into cars and racing as mine was, I can't really ever remember not knowing about Bonneville.  It's like it has always been there.  There were always issues of Hot Rod, Car Craft, and Rod & Custom lying around our house, and it seems that every issue had something in it that referenced racing a car against the clock at the Bonneville Salt Flats.  Everything from motorcycles to fenderless street rods to bullet-shaped streamliners--all hand-built with love and attention to detail with one purpose in mind:  To be the fastest person in the world in their class.  To get their name in the record books.  When I was about 12 or so our family made a brief stop at the Bonneville Salt Flats.  I think we were headed to my grandparents' house in Phoenix and purposefully had it coincide with Speed Week that year.  I remember we had no sooner gotten there when I watched a streamlined motorcycle lay down and tumble down the salt at speed.  Apparently, something went drastically wrong when he popped his parachute.  I remember thinking, "Wow, do they all do that?"  We didn't spend a lot of time there so I don't remember much else other than how seedy and rundown the town of Wendover was.

Suzie never knew anything about the Bonneville phenomenon until she watched a movie with me (which has turned out to be one of our favorites) called The World's Fastest Indian.  That movie really captured what it was like for a person to set their sights on seeing what their machine can do when there are no restrictions of any kind.  Then my brother, Denis, went there with a his employer and coworkers to run a car last year.  He posted a bunch of pictures on Facebook and she was immediately interested.  About six months ago I suggested we go to Bonneville this next year and she jumped at the chance.  "We're talking about Wendover, Utah in August.  That's bright white, desert, and it's hot."  Well, there was no long story to make short.  She wanted to go.  We were both imagining the photographic possibilities, and we both like hot weather so it was a no-brainer.  We also travel very well together.  As a matter-of-fact, it's probably when we get along the best together is when we're on a travel adventure.

I don't think Suz really knew what to expect when she saw the Bonneville Salt Flats.  It's hard to feel what it's like until you actually experience it.  When you drive on it and you hear the tires crunching on the crusty salt, you know you're in a strange and unique place.  The expanse of bright white stretches almost as far as the eye can see, and is ringed with jagged, pointed mountains that look like they were taken from the cover of a science-fiction novel.  She was taken by the uniqueness of it.  To stand in a place so unusual seems like it would just feel barren and empty, but in fact, there is a beauty to the place that is hard to convey until you experience it.

We got into town late in the afternoon on Sunday--the first weekend of Speed Week.  After checking into our overpriced motel room, we drove down to investigate the Salt Flats.  We wanted to get a feel for the place and to find out where to go, and when to be there.  Because it was so late in the day, they waved us through the entrance.  The entrance is probably a mile from the beginning of the racing area, and with very few rules or boundaries.  One rule that did make us chuckle were the "SPEED LIMIT 55" sandwich board signs that we saw along the drive toward the track.  The action was still in full swing and there were lots of cars in action.  There were plenty of spectators walking, and driving or riding all sorts of interesting modes of transportation.  After exploring the area by car in air-conditioned comfort, we stopped at the check-in line that marked the entrance to the pit area and I got out and talked to some of the officials.  Nice people!  They told me when would be the best time to get there in the morning.  "Don't miss the sunrise!" one woman told me emphatically, "it's been awesome!"  As I turned to leave, the guy I was talking to said, "If you have any questions, just ask anybody.  This is the friendliest place in the country!"

We did make it for sunrise the following morning, and you know what?  It truly was awesome!  It came up blood-red, no doubt enhanced by wildfires we drove through in parts of Nevada and Oregon that we had driven through on our way there.  We had our sun hats, our SPF-1000 sun block, and lots of water.  We walked around for a while taking pictures of all sorts of things as the sun rose, all of them bathed in a warm glow.  When it came time for breakfast I enjoyed a $5 plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, and hash browns right there trackside (Sue already ate at the motel).  There were several long tables with awnings over them for us to eat at sitting perpendicular to the track.  It was funny--when we would hear the unmistakable whine of a car with its engine screaming, every head under the food tents swiveled to watch the car as it screamed past.  We talked with a couple of guys at our table and one of them had a great assessment of the experience that is Bonneville.  While so many racing events have been ruined by commercialization, fees, crowds, and all sorts of things, Bonneville remains virtually unchanged.  It's the same laid-back, fun-loving, event that is riven with camaraderie that it has always been.  Why?  Because there is no prize money.  It's man against himself--racing the clock to better himself and put him and his machine into the record books.

There was huge presence of people there with machines that seemed to be built just for Bonneville.  Not for racing, but for personal transport back and forth on the salt.  It was like the idea was to see and be seen.  All day long we were struck by cool and unusual vehicles they people were riding on and in.  Rusty cars made from all manner of things, called Rat Rods, dominated the place.  They were cool!  There were two-wheel scooters, carts, buggies, and all sorts of things.  We saw a motorized bar stool, a couple of motorized skateboards, and even a Segway-looking thing that had something like tank tracks it ran on.  Bicycles, umbrellas, floppy hats, and sunglasses were everywhere.  Another thing that set this experience apart from any other automotive event I've been to was the t-shirts.  At most events, black t-shirts tend to dominate, punctuated with bright colors.  At Bonneville, the t-shirt color was 99% white.  Lots of interesting designs on them, but white was the dominant color by far--no doubt to help reflect the sun.  The only negative experience:  The porta-potties.  Not because of smell or cleanliness--because of heat.  They felt like they were 150° inside.  Whew.

One thing about experiencing the Bonneville Salt Flats:  Salt.  Salt sticks to everything.  It is picked up by every tire on every vehicle.  It's clammy and sprays as you drive--coating the wheel wells, bumpers, body panels, and all sorts of voids under our cars.  It also sticks to our shoes, which in turn infests our floor mats.  By the end of the day, every car and shoe is marked with the Bonneville Experience.

I wouldn't have traded it for anything!