The Del Sol Tragedy, Based on a True Story

Travis Paterson, OP Contributor

To my friends ST, TC, & KD

When I arrived, Paul was watching TV,
mumbling something about “anything to
get his mind off it’ We talked about it
for a little while and then focused on one
of his favourite TV shows, but we both
kept coming back to it. His mind would
circle on any topic until it returned to
Greg. Aside from his pain, and from his
sympathy for the family, he is upset
about the fact that Greg was racing when
he crashed, and that Greg was driving
the del Sol.

Before we saw it, we heard about it.
In Paul’s own words, the del Sol was
“mint.” I went out in the del Sol when
Paul first bought it back in 98, and we
did the Barnet at 200kph. At the time, I
loved it, and Paul lived it. At 200kph, two
things stood out. First, that this del Sol
stood out. She handled like a Porsche
911, and she made a milk run out of the
blurred and weaving lines of the high-
way. Second, I had to bend forward
below the windshield because the wind
resistance was heavy on my eyes. I guess
Paul was wearing sunglasses. By the next
stoplight, my hair was a mess.

The del Sol lived a story in itself, kick-
ing around our circle of friends for years.
During the two years that Paul owned her,
he tweaked everything outside of the
block, and by the time he sold her to
Keanan, she was one of the gang.
Keanan, another friend of ours, was driv-
ing Paul’s first car when Paul announced
his plans to trade the del Sol in on a
Cherokee. Like Paul’s first car, another
Honda, the del Sol kicked around
Keanan’s family for years. When Keanan
up and left for Europe, his parents had to
cover the payments on the loan they had
once co-signed in what I can only assume
was an act of love.

Over the years we grew up (a little),
and while the del Sol held her identity
among our circle of friends, she had lost
some of the lustre that made us want to
be the only passenger. The front bumper
and body kit were cracked and dangling;
her engine didn’t purr the way it used to.
But when Paul’s newest buddy, Greg, pur-
chased the del Sol, she bounced back as
hot as ever with a new metallic-green
paint job and a silver mesh grill in the
front end of the body kit. He gave her
life, he gave her a supercharger, and she
regained her respect as the “dope whip”
that she was. She was sexy again. She was
definitely a racer, and she was a mean
bitch with nitrous included. Greg loved

March 23/2005

her, but in his first year with her he ran the
engine so hard that it ground to a halt. So
he stuck a new engine in her, the block
from a Honda CRV. Paul re-fitted it with
all the after-market gadgets Greg could
afford.

By this time, Paul was a practicing
mechanic with his.own shop, making
engine replacements and installing after-
market parts onto Honda motors. Paul
spent the better part of his summers
working on his third Honda, a Civic
hatchback with a modest body kit, hiding
an Acura “Type R” engine with bored-out
cylinders that he had stripped, polished,
and rebuilt from scratch. Probably as fast
as any around without a nitrous kit, Paul’s
hatchback has a turbo. He’s done so much
work on the car that he doesn’t even drive
it between September and May. It is a “hot
rod,’ a “dope whip,” or whatever you
want to call it. His fourth Civic is a four-
door sedan that used to be his mom’s. It
has no after-market work and is strictly
for commuting purposes. Paul was a lucky
guy, many of us are. When he raced, he
got away with it. And that’s not to say he
was a smart racer. I don’t think the term
exists.

I believe, as with anything, that the
more a person street races the better they
get at it. But I don’t believe it’s right that
they use the same streets to race on that I
use to walk my dog. Yet, in the adventur-
ous part of my mind, I still enjoy the
thought of a drag race on farm roads. I
still feel the romanticism and excitement
of two “modded” cars streaking through

the city at night, their metallic paint-jobs
shimmering under the sparkle of street-
lights. Can’t they do this? There should be
a drag strip in every town where you can
just sign a waiver clearing the responsibil-
ity from anyone else, and let loose on the
throttle. Anyone who has a fist can fight,
but not everyone will, and anyone who
has a car can race, but not everyone will,
so give them a boxing ring.

Paul takes his driving seriously and
always has. In his teenage years, that
meant that he was capable of driving
200kph and none of his friends were,
because Paul was self-declared “better at
it.’ Somewhere, in the hundreds upon
hundreds of hours that Paul put into
working on cars, he developed a responsi-
bility with his competitiveness and
attitude about his car. That’s not to say
Paul didn’t spend years burning up the
roads with his first three cars, and maybe
it’s just pure luck that Paul is safe at home
today, mourning the loss of his best
friend. But Paul has been racing responsi-
bly at Mission Raceway since 2002.

When Greg and a friend of his named
Jake died in a street-racing accident, early
in 2005, it was late at night and the condi-
tions were dry. In fact, conditions couldn’t
have been better: it hadn’t rained for
almost two weeks. Though there is no
proof he was racing, witnesses describe
seeing a silver subcompact at the time of
the accident. It stopped, reversed to sur-
vey the outcome, and sped off into a quiet
history. The speeds from the time of acci-
dent are estimated at 140kph. Greg’s car

 

swetved from the left lane across the
meridian into oncoming traffic, and
struck an innocent couple driving their
station wagon. The woman driving the
station wagon died instantly, and her hus-
band was bloodied and broken. Three
more people were injured when two cars
that were following the station wagon
slammed into both the wagon and the del
Sol. Like the woman, Greg and Jake were
found dead on arrival.

Paul and his wife lost a close friend in
this tragic accident. One of the hardest
things to deal with was that Paul had fit
every part on the del Sol. His fingerprints
were all over her, and because of it, the
loss of Greg has affected Paul in many
ways. Since the accident, he often contem-
plates the motives of young men and
women who “mod” their cars with after-
market parts and accessories. I tried to
reassure him by telling him Greg would
have bought a “modded” import anyways,
even if he hadn’t bought Paul’s. He agrees
that he can still be passionate about cars,
but his mind has changed. Since I first
met Paul in high school, he always said he
would be a mechanic. The loss comes at
an already stressful time for him, as he has
sold his house in an effort to finance his
dream, his own garage. Paul is already
promoting the Mission Raceway to his
customers as a positive and safe environ-
ment to test their skills, and get their kicks.
Drive safely.

(The names in this article have been
changed in respect of family and friends.)

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