Figure 8s: Where racing and danger meet in the middle
Crashes and close calls are part of the entertainment
SLINGER – Racing on the oval is finished for this Sunday night. The trophy queen and flag man have taken cover.
Safety equipment is cleared from the Slinger Speedway infield, and the area smack dab in the middle — which for most of the evening has served as victory lane — turns into the most dangerous intersection in Washington County.
“It’s TIIIIME …,” track announcer Todd Behling bellows as the veins protrude from his neck, “… for the figure 8s.”
The meat-and-potatoes part of the night’s action is over. For those still in their seats, this is a double caramel banana split with cotton candy topping, a completely decadent guilty pleasure.
“People like to see (stuff) get wrecked,” track promoter Todd Thelen says.
A racer himself, Thelen has for decades fought the perception that fans only watch racing for the crashes. The figure 8s are a notable exception; for this he has no retort.
“It’s that All-Star Wrestling mentality,” Thelen says. “It’s one of those things, the Evel Knievel, the excitement, the unknown, that’s what the figure-8s are about.
“They’re racing, just like everybody else. But the fans are here hoping to see one of those guys get whacked in the X.”
A figure 8 race is exactly what it sounds like. The field of a half dozen to a dozen cars winds around one end of the track and turns sharply to cut across the infield. Then competitors do the same thing — in the opposite direction — on the other end.
Stragglers soon find themselves in the path of the leaders, and vice-versa.
“We had a wreck in 2011, the hit was so hard the motor came out of the car,” reigning champion Ryan Lovald says excitedly.
A competitor in one of the most unconventional forms of motorsports — and an unabashed cheerleader for it — the 28-year-old repo man from Muskego builds figure 8 cars, races them and passionately recruits friends to join him.
The crashes are just a part of the entertainment.
“Some guys are real careful about it. They’re watching all the time,” says Lovald, a 12-year racing veteran. “And then there’s a couple of us that it’s (all) out. The fans want to see a show. So you want to make it as close as you can.
“It’s fun to win, but it’s great to put on a show, too.”
First-year competitor Patrick Wardlaw races
a Chevrolet Monte Carlo that dates to the mid-’70s; he’s not sure exactly when. A roll cage was added in the ’90s. Wardlaw has been told he’s the fifth or sixth owner, and the grungy, hoodless machine shows the scars from each.
Wardlaw, 31, who lives in Lannon, had attended a few races as a kid growing up in California but was never a fanatic.
“Ryan, I met him quite a few years ago, and last year I helped him out,” Wardlaw says. “Told him hell or high water I’d be in a car. So here we are.
“I felt very comfortable (from the start). I had the biggest smile on my face you can’t smack off of me when I was out there.”
Nick Ostberg grew up in a racing family. His father, Duane, competed, as did his late brother, Dustin, whom he followed into Slinger’s beginner fourcylinder class. Nick had planned to move into the sportsman division but then drifted into figure 8s instead.
“This is probably about the most fun I’ve had in racing,” Ostberg says. “Besides the blowing up the motors.”
He nods in the direction of his wounded car.
“That would be my fourth motor now in three years. This is my second motor this year.”
Putting an engine together — or back together — is mostly a matter of time and effort. These are derived largely from junkyard parts, unlike the purebred racing engines used in the premier super-late models that can go for $25,000 or more.
This is a class in which costs are frequently measured in double digits.
To start the race pays $65. It costs $35 for a pit pass and a few bucks for gas to get to the track. Tires are castoffs from the late models.
“If you don’t wreck nothing, you can get away breaking even,” Lovald says.
An initial investment may range from $2,500 to $10,000, Lovald estimates. Then there’s time consumed by the hobby.
Ostberg, an industrial electrician, estimates he spends an average of 20 hours a week on racing, working on his own car or someone else’s.
“If somebody calls me to help, I’ll go help them,” says Ostberg, who grew up in Slinger and lives in West Bend. “Or if I can talk to them on the phone or on Facebook and see what I know and help them get through stuff.
“The figure 8s are a very close-knit group, just because, yeah, there’s only so many of us.”
Ostberg says he’s never been hit in the X nor hit anyone else — he’d knock wood if there were any nearby — but he’s had plenty of close calls and enjoyed many an adrenaline rush.
“When you’re out there it’s instinct. You see a car and either you go or stop,” he says. “And that’s probably what gets me the most. As soon as you learn what your car can do and where it can go, it’s so much fun. Like … oh, I can make that.”
Carl Benn, a 30-year-old diesel mechanic and fabricator from Lisbon, is a veteran of four-cylinder, sportsman and the defunct Thunderstox class but a rookie in figure 8s. Goaded by friends to try figure 8s, he started the season in a borrowed car until he finished building his own.
Preparing the car and himself to turn both left and right was a challenge. Convincing himself to stand on the gas and speed through the intersection wasn’t.
“I got a few screws loose,” Benn says, “but everybody knows that.”