A long, fun day at the races and, oh, the winner was Jonathan Spinney

By Whit Griswold - April 20, 2006

From the get-go, Sunday's second annual gravity race got people feeling good - whether they'd started months ago to dream about building a car, or just decided on a whim to take a Sunday spin up to Gay Head to see what was going on. In the tradition of the Thanksgiving horse races from 30 years ago, and the Crunch demolition derbies 20 years back, there's now Moshup's Challenge, a soapbox derby for the new century.

Spa Tharpe hatched the idea, and his energy and determination kept it on track, but hundreds of others pitched in, from the town fathers and mothers of Aquinnah, to the resourceful mechanics, carpenters, welders, painters, and upholsterers who created the start ramp and the cars that rambled down it, to the kids who helped pick up hay bales deep in the evening as the sun slid off toward some hiding place the other side of Block Island. A spirit of cooperation fueled the fun and ruled the day.

By the time all 28 entries had been registered and inspected and the first two racers were let loose to freewheel down a gradual slope on an almost perfect early spring day, it was well past the scheduled 1:30 start time. There was a ripple of impatience here and there, but most observers seemed happy to let the day come to them: why fight so much upbeat energy?

In a yellow jumpsuit that looked like it might have once been used by Red Adair to fight oil rig fires, Spa climbed half way up the ramp and grabbed a microphone to proclaim: "First of all, I guess it's just like... Wow!" Eloquent it wasn't, maybe, but the crowd went wild anyway. And he settled in quickly, first thanking the town of Aquinnah, its selectmen and woman, and police, then all the people who had helped organize the event, and finally the "entire Island of Martha's Vineyard for supporting the race and giving us the opportunity to have fun."

Then he reminded the spectators, who numbered at least 1,500, that safety came first. Some of the cars would reach over 30 miles per hour, and their steering and braking might not be up to Massachusetts DMV inspection standards. "So if you see a car coming at you, get ready to jump. And even before anything happens, look around you for a nice soft bush to jump into, OK?" Easier said than done for those who'd settled into beach chairs around a grill and a cooler.

Seven tribe members then sang and drummed the Wampanoag Honor Song, and Aretha Witham followed with the Star Spangled Banner, a cappella.

Race manager Ovid Ward then called the proceedings to order. Danny Bryant let off a two-blast black powder salute somewhere off in the puckerbrush, and the first two racers were hauled to the top of the13-foot-high start ramp. Mechanics scuttled up the slope to tighten or tape some last-minute loose ends, and the drivers squirmed into their cockpits. Thumbs went up, smiles expanded, and the crowd whooped and whistled as the first two cars rattled down the plywood ramp, shuddered a bit when they hit the road, then settled in for a nice long ride down to Philbin Beach.

And that's the way it worked over the next three hours: two by two, cars that ranged from the futuristic to the nostalgic, from ingenious to spontaneous, shook, rattled, and rolled for a third of a mile down Moshup Trail. There were a few false starts and a couple of cars self-destructed before they got a good roll on, but most of the entrants made at least one successful run down the course.

The format was match racing - two cars at a time, with the winner moving on to the next round. Some "experts" grumbled that the cars should be timed, others thought they should have been seeded, but the former was too complicated, and the latter would have required the former, and was even more complicated.

As the goofier creations reminded skeptics, at least half the point was to have fun. Why else would five adults - led by Nancy and Jimmy Benoit - spend the afternoon sweltering inside stinky bunny costumes that they'd found on E-bay, and one of them, Jeff Vajac, tuck himself under an inverted mattress pad to steer the ridiculous - and fabulous - Carrot Car wherever its root might lead?

At the other end of the spectrum, cars raced by John Belain, Matt Merry, Spa himself, and defending champ Jonathan Spinney were all business. Spinney had been working on the Superthunderstingcar for days, off and on, and off-Island to boot. Some parts of the fuselage were fabricated near New London, Conn., it was rumored. Did he have a connection at General Dynamics, where they build submarines? Most touts had Spinney and Spa in the final, with Merry and Belain at slightly longer odds.

But there was also room for low-tech invention. Isaac Taylor based his Mullet Over on three or four feet of pressure-treated two by ten, wheels that looked like they'd been liberated from a couple of golf caddies, and what looked like the handle from a come-along that served as the steering or the brake, or maybe both. When Isaac tucked himself into position, he looked like a jockey atop a thoroughbred, butt back on his heels and chin nestled between his knees. It looked ludicrous at first, and dangerous, but it was fast: on one run Isaac clocked 35 mph on one of those automated speed displays that police deploy on the outskirts of town: Speed Limit 25 - Your Speed 43, 41, 38, etc. as you try to slow down fast, without jamming on the brakes.

Isaac started working on his car the day before the race. "I think I had about three solid hours into it," he said.

There was also room for women at the wheel this year. Kirsten Gannon, Robin Smith, and Emily Bramhall all strapped on helmets and took a ride. For Robin, it ended all too quickly, when one of her rear wheels buckled when the rubber met the road, and her buggy veered into a hay bale a few feet off the ramp. Emily Bramhall went to the race as a spectator, but made the fortuitous mistake of hanging around pit row long enough to get drafted to drive Ovid Ward's 1959 soapbox car, still in mint condition, though it looks like it should be in the Smithsonian. After a 20-yard test run she said to herself, "OK, I can do this." At the top of the ramp, she wasn't so sure. "I looked out there and it was a little overwhelming. Then I took two deep breaths, and I thought, this is just so much fun."

Kirsten Gannon had second thoughts too, when she hopped aboard the Gannon and Benjamin entry. "If I could have gotten out of the car at the top of the ramp without looking like a fool, I would have. But when they let me go, before I got to the end of the ramp, I knew this is where I wanted to be. I think I hooted and hollered all the way down." Her message to other women who might be tempted to drive in the future? "Every girl should do it, and it helps to have a great team behind you."

After winning their first races, Kirsten and Emily were paired against each other. Both cars ran well, but Kirsten's had more speed, and she prevailed.

Kirsten was finally eliminated by Isaac Taylor in one semifinal. Spinney and Tharpe met in the other semifinal - the most anticipated contest of the day. Again both cars ran fine, but Spinney's rolled more freely over the lower, flatter section of the course where he pulled ahead to stay. That set up the final between Spinney and Taylor, between high and low tech. Mullet Over got off the ramp first but Isaac couldn't hold the lead for long. High tech prevailed, so the winner, and still champion, is Jonathan Spinney, who was quick to credit his colleagues at Crushco, the up-Island adventure outfitters. "I couldn't have done it by myself. All along, I had help from so many people, especially Tim Vitalis."

As the last of the crowd melted into the evening there was talk about where to meet for dinner, where to party later. Spa Tharpe was already talking about next year's race, about challenging professional gravity racers in California, about more speed, and more fun.

The last person I spoke to in the parking lot was John Henry Patterson, the master mechanic who'd helped design and fabricate Tharpe's car. After the final, he'd hopped in the car, without its body, for a run down the course. I asked him if he'd had a good ride. "We can get five more miles out of that car," he said. "I know we can."