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Racing with Spencer

If you have spent any amount of time in the paddock of a PCA event you most likely met Spencer Cox.  He was a larger than life personality normally found bouncing around the paddock with a cigar clutched firmly in his mouth.  He had a restless energy which kept him on the go constantly, a wealth of knowledge which kept him in demand, and a straight-talking no BS personality which earned him the respect of everyone in the paddock.

Everyone has a Spencer story.  If you hung around the paddock long enough you most likely have a whole host of stories.  Many people who have driven HPDE with the Connecticut Valley Region know Spencer from his role as our long-time Chief Instructor.  I would like to share some stories about the “other Spencer.”  The Spencer Cox which only exists during a race weekend.

I learned early on that once the green flag dropped at the start of the race the Spencer Cox you thought you knew ceased to exist.  You were no longer a customer of Speedsport Tuning.  He was no longer the Chief Instructor of CVR.  He wasn’t even your friend anymore.  You were an obstacle – just another driver to be passed.

During a PCA race at Watkins Glen several years ago Spencer caught me just as I was heading into the toe of the boot.  He was in the lead of the race, and lapping me in my slower class car, with several cars close on his tail.  With no way to get around me easily, and my Gen 1 Cayman struggling to find the RPMs to power out of the uphill turn, Spencer and company quickly stacked up behind me, before shooting away as we exited the turn.  The few car lengths of lead Spencer had over his competitors vanished during the time it took to clear my car.

After the race, which he won, Spencer comes over to tell me I was in his way.  I yelled back, “What did you want me to do?!  Evaporate?!”  At this, Spencer starts maniacally laughing, and responds through laughter, “That’s exactly what I want you to do from now on.  If you see me coming, just evaporate!”

Whenever we were strapping on our helmets before a race Spencer would always shout, “Remember to evaporate!”  I would normally acknowledge this request with a single finger which would cause him to cackle with laughter.

All that being said, Spencer, the competitor would rapidly evaporate once the race was over, and his first question was always, “Did you have a good race?”  If you answered that you did his response was always to put a big smile on his face and shout, “Good for you!”  This was usually followed by an in-depth discussion of the race, and more times than not, a session in the motorhome reviewing data and video.  Spencer’s decades of experience provided insight into the race that few others could.

What I learned quickly is that racing is just as much about the competition as it is the friendships you make and the fun you have together.  What I also learned is how quickly grown men and women could descend into the depths of sophomoric humor.  This humor most often manifested itself in juvenile banter, practical jokes, and a heavy dose of trolling.  It became apparent to me early on that it was very easy to get Spencer going, and like a moth to a flame, I just couldn’t help myself.  The simplest of jokes normally provoked the greatest response. 

Pistachio nuts are a favorite snack in the paddock and I can’t think of a race where there weren’t several bags hanging around.  For some evil reason, I decided to drop a handful of empty shells onto Spencer’s race seat just to get him going.  As he was about to get into his car before a race he started screaming “Who put pistachio nutshells on my seat?!”  That was more of a reaction than I was looking for so over the course of the weekend I kept doing dropping shells onto his seat and he kept screaming about it.  I thought this was hilarious.

After this had been going on for a while, I once again dropped some empty shells onto his seat, and as he gathered them up and walked over to the garbage pail, I dropped another handful onto his seat.  I quickly ducked behind a truck, and when he came back and saw another pile of shells, he screamed like a madman.  Behind the truck, I was laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes.  When Spencer finally caught me in the act, he chased me around the paddock screaming his head off! 

Spencer was a master troll himself.  I once had a job where my boss played The Grateful Dead from morning until night which resulted in my having an extreme dislike of their music.  I stupidly shared this information with Spencer, which, of course, caused him to play the Dead more often, and more loudly.  He would park himself next to me and sign along to the music with particular gusto just to get me going.

His masterclass in trolling me also involved diagnosing any problem with my car.  Whenever I brought him over to ask his opinion, he would take a listen, and respond with “sounds like you need a motor” or “sounds expensive” just to make my flesh crawl.  If I needed a part at the track to continue my weekend, he would tell me that part was impossible to get.  A little while later the part would mysteriously appear from the depths of the team trailer, or from another shop in the paddock.  My engine blew up on the out lap of the first day of practice at the PCA Daytona race several years ago and Spencer’s team sourced an engine and installed it overnight to get me back on track for the first race the next day.  Despite his trolling he always delivered!

Early this year Spencer told me about his serious health problems while we were at the track.  I remember being in shock and disbelief but also thinking that despite the grim prognosis Spencer would somehow beat it.  He explained that it was his rain race and that he had never lost a race in the rain.  I drove home crestfallen and with tears in my eyes.

Although Spencer was in the fight of his life he wasn’t going to let a little thing like cancer slow him down or keep him from the track.  At the PCA Watkins Glen race, we celebrated Spencer’s birthday at the Stone Cat and had a nice cake for him in the paddock.  He was in his element and happy but unfortunately, the clouds were starting to gather.

By the time the PCA race at New Jersey Motorsports Park rolled around in August it was obvious to anyone who met Spencer that he was sick.  Several days before the race I called to ask him if he was going to the race because I would love it if he could go over some data before the race.  He replied that he wasn’t feeling well and would not be able to make the drive down to South Jersey.  When I got to the track someone bear-hugged me from behind and when I turned around it was Spencer!  He said, “I’m here!” with a huge smile on his face.

I struggled in the first race, spinning the car hard, and didn’t finish.  After that race, Spencer and I spent a good amount of time going over data and watching videos of past races and it really made a difference to me.   In the next race, I came in second behind a really tough competitor.  When I got out of the car Spencer congratulated me on my race, but in a way, it made me really sad.  In the past, if I had driven a good race, he would say something like, “See what happens when you don’t screw up?!”  Our banter was full of sarcasm and jibes.

In contrast, after this race, he told me how proud he was of me.  He went on about how much I had grown as a driver in a relatively short period of time, and that he was confident that I would win a class championship soon, after coming in second overall twice.  He gave me a hug and I had to walk away because I was so moved by his words.  Spencer knew the rain in his race had started coming down steady and I felt like he was starting to say goodbye already.  We weren’t people who were used to speaking in this manner to each other, so it was all the more emotional.

The last time I communicated with Spencer was on October 26, 2019.   I had sent him a selfie of myself standing in front of a poster of Kimi Raikkonen (the relevance of which is a whole other story) with the words “Kimi and I are thinking about you.”

He responded, “Today is a great day I actually drove some laps and had fun and feel really good today.”

I responded with, “AWESOME that you drove.  Probably the best medicine there is!”  To which he replied with a thumbs up.

That was the last time I heard from Spencer.  Over the next few weeks, I would send him texts telling him I was thinking of him, and when I heard he was in the hospital and was not doing well, I wrote him a letter.  I’m glad he got to hear the contents of that letter before he passed because too often we don’t tell a person how important they are until it is too late.

When I head down to Sebring for the first race of the year it will be an end of an era.  I will miss the brutal honesty and argumentative passion Spencer brought with him to the track.  There are too many phonies in the world and Spencer was never counted among their numbers.  He was one of the most real people I have ever met in my life and I will miss him.

One Comment

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