January 7, 1998
At $500 apiece, these aren't your father's slot car racers
By Garret Leiva
Herald staff writer
It is a Friday night at Bobo's, which can only mean one thing: racing. Gearings have been adjusted, tires changed. Porches and Corvettes crowd the start line. A command is given and eight cars barrel down into turn one. Suddenly a car gets loose and ends up off the track. A young boy reaches over the wall and puts the vehicle back in its proper lane. Racing resumes.
Welcome to race night at Bobo's Slot Car Hut in Traverse City.
Located on Woodmere Avenue, Bobo's features everything from stock cars to rail dragsters. But don't let the scaled-down size fool you. This is not your "Tyco-snap-together-track" slot car racing. Motors can break the posted speed limit on I-75. Chassis are comprised of a lightweight material called "Lexan." Tires are treated in fish oil for better grip.
Racers here put the enthusiasm in enthusiast.
Enthusiasm also accurately describes Bob Conklin, owner and operator of Bobo's Slot Car Hut. At 44 years old, he still gets excited when talking about cars that you can carry in a tool box. But being a kid, or at least a kid-at-heart, is the reason why Conklin got into the hobby business in the first place.
"It gives kids a place to vent off," said Conklin, whose sons Bobby, 17, Ted, 14, and Jeff, 12, and wife, Nancy, spend time track side helping run the family business.
While half of the customers that come into Conklin's store are children, don't think that what goes on inside is just kids' stuff. The technology behind and underneath the hood of these cars goes far beyond the term "toy."
First there is the motor. While unassuming in size, these 12-volt power plants can turn an Open Class racer around the track in two seconds - a noteworthy time when the track is 155 feet in length, one of five of its kind in the state of Michigan. The $11,000 banked oval at Bobo's Slot Car Hut is hardly what you'd find in your average basement raceway.
Chassis and tires are other examples of how technology pushes limits and expectations. Conklin noted that many car bodies are made of Lexan, a compound lighter than traditional hard plastic.
Tires are still made of sculpted foam, but something about today's wheels does seem fishy. "Most good racers have fish compound tires that help grab the track at high speeds. In the old days, the tires were treated with a peppermint extract. Back then the place smelled great," said Conklin, who still owns his first slot car "La Cucaracha," a 1966 open-cab car styled after a 908 Porsche.
Car classes also have changed since Conklin first took hold of a controller at age 13. Much like their full scale counterparts, slot cars are divided up into several classifications. The 16 D "stock class" is considered to be the entry level, race-ready machine at $36 dollars off the shelf. Group 12, 15 and 27, along with Open Class cars, are for those with good hand-eye coordination and deep pockets. Putting down $500 for an Open Class racer is not unheard of, Conklin said.
For those who believe the fastest way between two points is a straight line, slot car racing is not limited to a circular motion.
Drag racing, minus the smoking tires, features 80 feet of serious speed. Conklin said that last year a rail dragster set a national speed record of 119 miles per hour. And just how do you stop a slot car at that speed? No, not a parachute - just a lot of glue at the end of the line.
As with any racing circuit, the competition can seem anything but friendly. Slot car racing is a contact sport where wily veterans use twists and turns to bump off the upstart in the adjacent lane.
Conklin said that some competitors even resort to the oldest trick in the book: cheating. Racers have tried everything from drilling out holes in the frame to bending the back end in hopes of fooling the race overseer. Each car must make certain weight and height restrictions before it can race.
While Dan Ramoie has never taken competition to that extreme, he has seen his fair share of fender benders.
"Most car bodies don't last more than a year. I've had to throw chassis out after one race," said Ramoie, a machine builder with Elk Rapids Engineering and a slot car racer since the 1960s. "Anymore I like creating the cars more than running them."
Despite the increasing speeds, stiff competition and occasional crackup, slot car racing remains a sport for the kid and the kid-at-heart. What else would one expect at a place nearly named "Bobo's Slot Car Hut and Taco Stand."
"The only things that gets wounded is someone's pride when his car comes off the track," Conklin said with a wry smile.