The stories behind the story were there, sometimes hidden behind a wall of slush through the corners.
I found Tunk Berry, who lost a wheel on his race car, a dune buggy-looking thing with a wing on top. I found Kasey Coulstring, a high school student who’s loving her “girl power” role these days.
I found Jack Cook, a founding-father of the Lakes Region Ice Racing Club and the face of the sport, held on winter Sundays at Berry and Lees ponds in Moultonborough. I found his sister-in-law, Linda Cook, an authoritative figure who chomped on gum and barked instructions to spectators and drivers alike, keeping everyone safe and the schedule running on time.
I found a tradition. A winter tradition. A small-town tradition. A tradition of camaraderie, competition, quirky characters, commitment and caring.
Donations, fees and a summer fund raiser keep racing in six divisions coming each winter, while contributing to local people who might need a boost. Dollars are funneled to cancer patients who need cash for transportation. There’s a scholarship fund for local students.
And on the two lakes, there’s racing. Sunday, with temperatures in the 50s and the sun free to shine, puddles of melted snow created a sloppy day. Racing was nearly postponed.
But the softer ice made for some good traction, and a small pond like Lees means thick ice below, not the treacherous conditions that were found recently on giant Lake Winnipesaukee nearby.
There, three people died while snowmobiling two weeks ago. And while that famous lake is just a few miles away and shares a region with Lees known for its waterways, Lees had its own, isolated feel of safety, spirit and family.
Jack Cook, the club’s founder, personified this with his win in the 4-cylinder four-wheel drive class. He drove his granddaughter’s car, with its dents and crumpled hood, because she moved to North Carolina. His grandson, Chris Taylor, finished second.
“Words can’t describe what it’s like to compete against my grandson,” Cook told me after his race. “A great feeling.”
Cook, a foreman for a Meredith construction company, is 64. Nearly 40 years ago, he and several other local race fans gathered in his kitchen and drew up plans for the Lakes Region Ice Racing Club.
Since then, fathers have raced and watched their sons race, and those sons have become fathers and watched their sons race, too. The family affair is now firmly entrenched in the charm of the area.
Just listen to Cook’s grandson: “My relationship with him is like no other relationship in my life,” Taylor, who’s 19, told me after finishing second to his grandfather. “I used to come out here as an infant and I watched him later as a little kid.”
Cook is a legend in this community, the oldest active competitor. His sister-in-law is highly visible as well, even without driving. If you move too close to the one-third-of-a-mile oval to take photos, or if you’re standing near the path of a car trying to move on or off the track, or if you want to chat with her while the action is happening, forget it.
“Don’t have time to talk right now,” she told me, shortly after the roar of sprint cars, which hit speeds of 75 miles per hour, hit the warm air at noon. “I’m running this whole thing.”
Cook’s organizational skills made the day flow. This is a highly-organized spectator sport, featuring summer meetings, a board of directors and cars and snowmobiles lined up in parking areas near the oval.
Characters like Seabrook’s Sam Montoya paid the $10-per-load fee to watch. He wore a T-shirt that read, “I’m right 97% of the time. . . who cares about the other 4%?” He had an earring, a narrow pony tail, a sense of humor and a can of beer. He’s gone to the Daytona 500 three times, but this was his first time at the Lakes Region event.
“I’ve been watching racing since I was knee-high to a grasshopper,” Montoya told me.
He saw drivers of all ages. He saw loggers and garage-door equipment installers and construction business owners and landscapers. He saw people from a racing community who were part of something greater than themselves.
Like Tunk Berry, a 44-year-old auto parts store manager from Conway. His parents named him John, but that changed to Tunk shortly after he began playing with Tonka trucks. He ran in the first race of the day, in the Sprint Class, which showed the racing style that was to follow: cars sliding through turns, back ends drifting outward, front ends pushing inward, slush and snow and water spraying, cars disappearing for a moment or two.
Berry lost his front right left tire, forcing his car to limp from the track and back to his parking area. I’ve covered NASCAR and spoken to drivers shortly after being forced from a race. They’ve shouted at me, so how would this driver, soaked to the core, react?
With a smile and a sense of appreciation for simply being involved. He’s been doing this, off and on, since 1989, when he was 16.
“Of course I want to win, but with the track conditions, you have to expect this,” Berry told me. “You have to drive by feel. You’re in deep water and don’t even know it because of the slush kicking up at you. Now I’d like to get into some dry clothes.”
Kasey Coulstring began racing at age 13. Back then, she says the boys told her, “You can’t race; you’e a girl.”
Now 15 and a student at Inter-Lakes Regional High School, the bumper of her car reads, “You just got passed by a girl.” She finished third in the Juniors Class, for drivers 13 to 16.
Happy, Kasey?
“No,” she told me. “I was first the past three weeks. I want to win.”
Taylor began in the Junior Class as well. At 19, he now races against Jack Cook, the legend, the founder, his grandfather.
“It’s been a dream to race next to him,” Taylor said. “And to beat him? I’ve beaten him eight or nine times.
“But he’s beaten me a lot, too.”