You know you’re a rallyist if…

You know you're a rallyist if...

by Jen Imai,  Jan 2012


Amazing things to keep cars going, make it to rallies.

You’ve had to decide between paying the phone bill and an entry fee.

You fly into the finish control with your brakes on fire and are more concerned about your stage time.

You gain Superhuman strength to remove a car that’s blocking the stage.

Every tool is a hammer except a screwdriver, it’s a chisel.

You see every random bolt, washer or other metal object as “something you might need”.

When you embrace that “unique” rally car smell.

You’ve learned to take your car to the “Spray and Wash” immediately following a rally… especially Prescott.

You set the toe 1/16” in knowing that the first jump will align it perfectly.

You inhale near racing fuel because you love the smell.

You always crash on the co-driver's side.

You scan the parking lot for potential parts cars.

You’re on a first name basis with the DMV employee that issues one day moving passes.

You think that the first window at a McDonald's is the ATC, and the second window is the Start.

You treat residential neighborhoods as quiet zones.

You’ve used your "Craftsman lifetime guarantee" more than ten times.

You have car parts under your desk at work.

You are considering tearing out the living room to double your garage space.

You think $150 for a tire that lasts 200 miles is a good deal.

You daydream about dirt roads.

You schedule your vacation time around rallies.

You get full insurance coverage when you rent a car.

If you think Duct tape, RTV, safety wire and PoxyLube are good Christmas presents.

If your idea of a fun date is going to a WRC event.

You’ve left a bumper, windshield, or light pod on stage.

You’ve used your last bottle of water to refill your radiator.

Used an extension and hose clamps to repair a broken tie rod.

Enjoyed Marie Boyd’s tea at service.

Signed El Blendaro Log Book.

Waited for a table at the Mexican restaurant at Gorman.

Watched a sunset at First View.

Your kitchen sink doubles as a solvent tank.

You are saddened when see the flying finish sign on the last stage of a rally.

You are convinced that the rally car is making catastrophic noises on the transit to the final MTC.

Carry spares so that you won’t need them.

You’ve shared tequila with Tony Chavez…. Before a rally.

“Borrowed” your Mom’s bathroom scale to measure your spring rates.

You’ve missed multiple the Super Bowl parties because you were working on the rally car.

If Lon Petersen bought rally parts from you and sold them back 25 years later.

You give directions in meters.

You know that a pair of pantyhose works as a fanbelt.

If your work schedule is changed and you file an inquiry.

When you walk up to random white trailers looking for scores.

Driving through the Angeles National Forest brings back wonderful memories.

You curse Nicky Grist for a late call on playstation.

When at a stoplight you ask the motorist in front if you can go ahead since you’re faster.

You think nothing of flying down a stage with a flat tire.

You’ve stolen parts off your rally car to get your tow vehicle home.


by Jen Imai, Jan 2011


1st time I saw a car on fire it was exciting.. Not that unusual now.

You know every guy that can “do Smog” within a 50 mile radius.

When giving directions you say things like “in 20, L3”.

You’ve parked your car on a hill so that you could push start it for the stage.

You know Moby Dick.

You have overcome the laws of Physics and regulation on a transit to make your minute.

The numbers for Pep boys, Kragen and Auto Zone are in your favorite 5.

You’ve driven a car with cardboard doors.

Your rally or service car has a name.

You’ve enjoyed the stories of Bruce Brown at a turn-around stage.

You’ve stabbed your car with a screwdriver.

You’ve taken an obscene picture with Lon Peterson.

You’ve evaded the police by driving your rally car through a bicycle gate at the park.

You have a car or 2 parked on the lawn.

You’ve mooned other rallyists after you DNFed.

You’ve bartered with locals for items such as tires or pantyhose.

You have AAA Plus because you get 4 free tows of 100 miles per year.

You’ve danced down the freeway with lots of other naked people.

You own stock in duck tape and zip ties.

You secretly wish that someday you’ll be involved in a car chase on the Rim roads so that you’ll have helicopter coverage on national television.

You’ve left a jack on stage while frantically changing a tire.

You’ve put a shell on your rally truck to disguise it from the police.

Every street sweeping day is a fire drill to move cars.

Your favorite tool is a BFH.

You’ve siphoned gas from spectator cars to finish a stage.

Every road you see is a possible stage.

Your favorite landmark in Prescott is the Drinkin’ Tree.

Your idea of a hot date is the junkyard on half price day.

You’ve plugged a busted brake line with a rock and a hole in the oil pan with a rubber glove.

You’ve drag raced your trailer against other drunken rallyists.

You’ve had to trust some random local with your service vehicle.

You’ve stood in front of a broken tail light to prevent a tech inspector from seeing it.

You look for the “OK” sign when you see a wreck on the freeway.

You’ve drag raced a bunch of drunk locals on a stage in Ensenada.

You’ve finished a stage and been given a beer for the transit home.

You know the aisles of Pep Boys blindfolded.

You speak “car”.

You’ve drag raced your rally car the night before a rally… and lost horribly.

You’ve burned white sage around your car to exercise its evil demons.

You’ve duck taped a control arm together.

You look longingly at the grown over course near the old Holiday Inn in Lancaster whenever you pass it on the 14.

You’ve arm wrestled your driver for a half eaten, mud covered Snickers bar that’s been rolling around on the floor of the rally car for 2 days.

You’ve removed the transmission a day before a rally.

You’ve used your Dad’s SUV and a tow rope to straighten out a control arm.

You’ve passed a bunch of motorcyclists on the Angeles Crest.

Your car has spewed 10 gallons of gas out of the filler cap on a 6 mile stage.

You’ve used a coke can, bailing wire, or zip ties to repair your car.

You count down from 5 at stop lights.