Hard-Core Soap Box Racers

***Ed Blown Vert*** · 01-18-2008, 05:10 PM

Hard-Core Soap Box Racers

Southern California's thickly populated San Fernando Valley seems awfullonely at 5:30 on an August Sunday morning. The streets are empty, theonly place open is Circle K, and the only going industry seems to be theLos Angeles Times home delivery. But here are lanky Arizona Stateundergrads Brad Nielsen, 20, and Kyle Jones, 19, standing next to theirwhite Toyota pickup in an otherwise empty strip-mall parking lot in thecity of West Hills along the Valley's northwest rim. They have justpulled a seven-hour overnight haul from Phoenix to get to that lonelyspot. They had to in order to be on time to run their newly built soapbox racer with the sort of famous--on the Internet at least--San FernandoValley Illegal Soap Box Federation (S.F.V.I.S.B.F.).
"We read about it on the H.A.M.B.," one of them says, referencing TheJalopy Journal's online message board. Which one said it? Who cares?What's important here is that two young guys--members of the Sinners rodclub in Arizona--read about the S.F.V.I.S.B.F. on the Internet, saw the mayhem-heavy online videos of previous events on www.sfvisbf.com,and were so gobsmacked by the idea that they built a soap box car,loaded it up, and drove 400 miles through the dead of night to be at thenext event.
"I've been doing dumb and dangerous stuff for years," Paul de Valera,36, said with a strange sort of exasperated enthusiasm during aconversation a few days earlier at his one-man Atomic Cycles bicycleshop in Van Nuys. Paul and his friend Tick One (it's a name he chose)are the S.F.V.I.S.B.F.'s co-instigators and currently act as the group'shalf-serious organizers and fun-first spiritual advisors. "It'sstupidity," Paul added, "and it infects all of us."
This isn't soap box racing the way it's practiced at the All-AmericanSoap Box Derby--where squeaky-clean preteens line up in cars built bytheir fathers and a gaggle of aerospace engineers to race down asanitized hill in proscribed, arrow-straight lanes. In theS.F.V.I.S.B.F., adults in makeshift gravity-powered jalopiesclandestinely sneak out early on the second Sunday of each month fromMarch through December to meet and then barrel through unsuspectingsuburban neighborhoods or over dirt fire roads with plenty ofcollisions, corners, and comeuppances.
Soap box racing has been around at least as long as cars and likelylonger. Four wheels and gravity did, after all, pre-exist internalcombustion. There are other adult soap box races out there--some seriousand legal, many goofy and clandestine--in cities like Portland, Oregon,and it doesn't take much to get going. The S.F.V.I.S.B.F. started lastyear at Tick's whimsical suggestion and as an offshoot of theChoppercabras bicycle-based mayhem loosely organized around Paul's shop.
These are cars in the sense that they have four wheels and roll. Theyare hot rods in the sense that they've been built according to theirowners' own hunches, taste, talent, wherewithal, and training. And theyare racing in the sense that whoever gets past the finish line firstwins some glory and a trophy they bring back to the next race afterhaving welded another decoration onto it.
Sitting under an Arizona flag in that Toyota's bed, Brad Nielsen andKyle Jones' soaper is sort of a distilled beginner's version of anS.F.V.I.S.B.F. car--not much more than a few pieces of square mild steelstock welded together and riding on four wheels bought cheap from HarborFreight. The steering system came off of a kiddie car they found onCraigslist.org for $3, while the friction brake isn't much more than asteel rod hinged to rub up against one of the rear tires. The oneconcession to style is a Tiki idol shift knob made by Kyle's owncompany, Aloha Wood (www.alohawood tikis.com).
By 6 a.m. the other racers begin pouring into the strip-mall parkinglot. Ceppie Maes, 40, came down from Modesto with his car stuffed intothe back of a rented white Dodge Caravan. Jim "Mad Dog" Kirkpatrick fromnearby Woodland Hills showed up with this miniature hot rod in the backof a primer-and-attitude '46 Chevy pickup. By 6:30 the lot is dang-nearfull of white pickups, stalker vans, and the occasional trailer carryinga riot of intuitively engineered gravity racers. The dress code for theday is a T-shirt of some sort, work pants of some sort, andindividualism of every sort.
"In the world of soap box cars," explains former schoolteacher andcurrent guiding light Paul de Valera, "we think $500 is a lot to spend."Most of the cars are based on junk the owner had lying around his shop,yard, or dumpster. The rules more or less enforced by the S.F.V.I.S.B.F.are pretty straightforward. Well, "rules" might be an overstatement.They're more like guidelines.
"First," Paul says, "the cars have to fit in a pickup truck. We don'twant the cars getting so big or heavy that they can't be lifted out of atruck by a couple of guys." Of course they have to have four or morewheels, and those wheels can't be arranged as outriggers--essentiallybanning bicycles with training wheels and similar contraptions. Therecan't be any weaponry like spears or Ben Hur-spec hub spikes. Clever,subversive "spy car" stuff is banned. There has to be a braking systemof some sort, and that system has to act on the wheels, not the ground."There's also a general no-B.S. rule," concludes Paul. "If someone showsup with something unsafe we won't let him run."
The S.F.V.I.S.B.F. doesn't try to ensure close competition, but to keepthe events from degenerating into a bloody chaos. "Rubbing is racing,"Paul has decreed. "You have to use your own discretion. At high speedit's dangerous and discouraged. At low speed, well, it's fun. Youhave to wear a helmet and should wear eye protection. It's funny if theycrash and don't get hurt. I don't want there to be blood and stuff. Oncebrushing your teeth becomes a chore, there's no fun left."
At 7 a.m. all the 26 racers have shown up, and Tick and Paul begingathering the group around one of the trucks to start the move over tothe morning's (until then) mostly secret race location. With his wildblack hair in full insurrection, Paul is easy to pick out of a crowd,and he seems like Patton organizing a haphazard military operation. Thisrace, billed as "Home Invasion," will be storming neighboring CanogaPark, where the cars in the driveways of the million-dollar housestend toward new crossovers and freshly leased BMWs. It's the sort ofplace where everyone has paid for peace and quiet, and sleeping in onSunday morning is an expected luxury. "If you see anyone," Paul advises,"smile and wave. It disarms them."
The S.F.V.I.S.B.F. conga line of about 35 support vehicles brings withit about 60 or 70 total drivers and spectators. It's pretty muchimpossible for that many people to move silently, and as the linepasses, lights are going on in houses that were slumbering moments ago.There is in fact a good chance that these groggy neighbors will be inneed of disarming. "It's their own damned fault," one racer says withjoshing friendliness, "for buying a house on such a perfect hill."
Lined up in the street the racers look somewhat motley and thoroughlysilly. The cars range from modified hand trucks, repurposed wheelchairs,a mutated Jet Ski, and transmogrified supermarket kiddie carts topurpose-built bullets with handlaid fiberglass bodies and disc brakes.There they are, 27 full-grown adult men acting like 8-year-oldboys--it's kind of glorious.
The start of the race comes after a countdown from Paul . . . and thenthe cars slowly start to roll and bash into one another. The quickracers are seasoned competitors who know how to get the most from theircars, and they almost immediately pull ahead into a pack of their own.The guys out for a good time run in a pack behind them. And then way atthe tail is Brad Nielsen and Kyle Jones' Arizona rookie machine.
Just as that first race goes off, out comes a homeowner in chino shortsand a polo shirt sputtering in indignation. "Where are you all from?" heasks me, subsequently adding that he is a member of the homeownersassociation board. I explain that I am a journalist wholly withoutcomplicity in the conspiracy. "Well, I'm going to call the police!"
With the course only running about 6/10 of a mile, by the time thehomeowner can pull his cell phone out of his pocket the race is alreadyover. By the time he can dial 911, the soap box cars are already loadedup and headed back for heat 2. Actually I don't think the cops were evercalled, and they never showed up. Soap box racing may be illegal, butit's hardly a major crime.
Postrace, back at the strip mall, what is immediately apparent is thatthis soap box stuff is at this very moment in the sweet spot of its SanFernando Valley existence. No one there is taking it so seriously thatfights are going to break out over who won. There is a lot more goofballcamaraderie going on than grim competition. But sweet spots don't lastforever.
Ceppie Maes used to run soap box cars in San Francisco back in the early'90s, and his experience shows. His car's frame may have started as aclothing rack, but his ingenious combination of that with 16-inchbicycle wheels, double-wishbone independent front suspension, a rearaxle riding on mountain-bike shocks, disc brakes from pocket bikes, anda fiberglass body give some indication of where all this can lead. "It'sall trial and error," Ceppie says about his car's evolution. "I've gotabout $500 or $600 into it. The fiberglass cost more than half the 500bucks." In short, Ceppie's car is still well within the spirit of thisnonserious series, but it's close to getting serious.
"When I started there were 12 cars and the speeds were about 45 mph,"explains Mad Dog Kirkpatrick. "Now there are 26 cars and the speeds areabout 70 mph." And Mad Dog, having been a professional inventor and racecar fabricator for decades, knew that his "Blow and Go" highboy carwasn't competitive at speeds like that. So he sold it. "I know what ittakes to be competitive. And I'm going to build something with all thetricks and everything. I'm in secret development of something worthy of70 mph. If you're going that fast, you need to know that stuff or you'regoing to die."
How long can the S.F.V.I.S.B.F. resist the inevitable tendency for theracers and races to grow more serious? How long before someone builds a$1,000 car? Then $5,000? $10,000? How long before someone gets hurt? RedBull is already sponsoring a nationwide soap box series of its own--willall this be co-opted by corporations?
In a world where the AMBR award is a check-writing contest, the NHRAsells itself as a brand-marketing company, and every quarter-famous rodbuilder gets his own clipboard-throwing reality show on cable, theS.F.V.I.S.B.F. is a reminder of the core values of true, old-school hotrodding. These aren't guys buying parts out of a catalog and then hiringa shop to assemble them. They're taking what they have, what they canscrounge, and what they can afford, fabricating the hell out of it, andthen going out and having big stupid fun with friends. That's hotrodding. So let's hope it lasts.
Becoming an S.V.F.I.S.B.F. Driver
It's unreasonably early on a Sunday after a long work week. Mostsensible folk are still snug in bed, but here I am loading acobbled-together gravity jalopy into the back of my truck. What on earthother than a good car show or race provides an excuse for this? It's mynewest fix: soap box racing. I've raced everything from motocross toautocross (neither professionally, nor all that well), but I have to saythis is one of the most fun types of racing I've ever attempted. Themoney invested is minuscule: a '70s metalflake helmet, $35; some chromesunglasses, $10; and a freebie black jacket with the HOT ROD logo tapedto it are my only safety gear. The Gravity Special itself is nothingmore than scrap metal melded with some go-kart and wheelbarrow parts.It's ingenuity over expenditure. Sure it looks like a blast from thesidewalk as the cars race by, but you'll never really understand ituntil you do it. The key is to let yourself go and just be 11 again.You're in the streets with a bunch of hooligan buddies having good,clean, slightly mischievous fun that makes the stuffy, starched-collarneighbors shake their heads and wag their fingers. It's an absoluterelease from the realities of being a responsible adult for a fewfleeting moments. It occupies that section of life just outside themainstream where hot rodders used to dwell. Maybe that's part of themagic too. Of course, it's not for everyone. Some people just won't getit, and that's fine. It just keeps the hills more open for the rest ofus.
We know there weren't enough photos in the Hard Core Soap feature, but hey there are only so many pages in the magazine. Besides, you gotta watch the videos to get a real feel for the action. Cut and paste the links into your browser. See ya on the hills!
First, get to know the S.F.V.I.S.B.F.
www.sfvisbf.com
Then, join in the insanity.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=E1-oUVdTUgk

Photo Gallery: Illegal and Dangerous Soap Box Racing - Hot Rod Magazine

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