Stranger in a Strange Land of Salt

I don’t keep a “bucket list.” Mainly because too many new and interesting opportunities pop up for me to ever focus or dream on one thing for too long. I just get introduced to far too many cool people and events to ever keep and manage a list of everything fun I’d like to do. That said, one event has never left my brain or faded from my curiosity: Bonneville Speed Week.

The hook was set from afar with the help of movies like World’s Fastest Indian and television shows like Speed Capitol of the World: Bonneville, which featured the story of the 1969 Barracuda from Rad Rides by Troy named “Blowfish.” The speed challenge was enticing, and conceptually familiar, but the environment of the salt flats in northwestern Utah was something that my brain struggled to comprehend: A 30,000-acre expanse of near-flat calcium chloride crust left from an evaporated lake, surrounded by mountains that appear so close in photos yet are miles away. I knew I wouldn’t “get it” until I was standing on the starting line, and thus began to scheme how I could get there and experience Speed Week for myself.

This year, I finally got my chance, by offering to help fellow editor Brandan Gillogly cover the 2024 Speed Week festivities. Even a layover in O’Hare couldn’t dampen my enthusiasm to get out to the wide-open spaces and see what Bonneville was all about.

No matter how many times I’ve been told what the flats look or feel like, there was simply no way to prepare for the painfully blue sky meeting the endless off-white salt. The horizon line was nearly infinite, and would have been tidy if not for the heat mirages that fuzz the far-off mountains, the only reference point you might have. Nature abhors a straight line. Even after three days under the scorching sun, my brain still could not grasp the perfection of this massive area and how truly unchanging the landscape was. The wind would blow and nothing would move. It was unsettling at first to not have visual reference of motion.

When people say the salt flats are, well, flat, just know that is a relative term. After the opening drivers meeting on Saturday morning, anyone who wanted to was allowed to take a “lap” on the two five-mile courses. Even restricted to the 45 mph speed that is enforced for the chase road, the suspension of our rental Nissan Rogue still communicated the cracks and splits in the delicate crust of the lake bed. Large changes in elevation might be non-existent, but flat does not mean smooth. There is also far less traction than one might expect at first glance. The salt is not slick, per se, but enthusiastic application of throttle was met with a flash of the traction control light, even with the paltry 225 pound-feet of torque served through Nissan’s CVT to the crossover’s all-season tires. Streamliners with magnitudes more power and far less tread on their tires proved multiple times that power alone was not the solution to going fast on the salt.

Traction is only one thing that can ruin a run within seconds. Knowing this fact, one thing that was a welcome surprise was how amiable the vast majority of the racers and crews were. The process of making a run seemed as though it would put a person in a bad mood all day: Arrive just after dawn from your campsite or hotel (no one is allowed to camp or overnight in the pits), briefly unpack, and rush for the staging lanes just to wait for hours—I talked to one team who waited six hours in the high-horsepower conga line just to make one run. And that run could sour before you ever go through a timing light.

As an example, Hot Rod Garage host Alex Taylor was out on the salt this year in the hope of joining the 200-mph club (it’s a real thing) using Keith Turk’s second-generation Chevrolet Camaro. Even with the shorter queues for the long course, a wealth of experience, and a well-prepared team, the rear-mounted electrical disconnect vibrated loose during push-off and cut power to the car seconds after the team pulled off and she put the throttle down. She couldn’t do anything but coast to the side, where the team could diagnose and rectify the problem, then get back in line and hope the seven bags of ice they had packed into the charge cooler didn’t melt before the next run.

You might expect to walk the staging lanes and find a parade of covered cars and people staring into the distance, focused on the task they would be tackling once they reached the front. Instead, as various lines progressed at different rates, the people around each waiting team rotated and refreshed each other, bringing new conversations, stories, and humor to each group they visited.

2024 was a hot year, with temps breaking into the triple digits most of the day on Sunday and Monday. On Sunday afternoon, someone pointed out to me that the salt was not actually hot. Bending over to touch my hand to the ground, I expected the searing touch of an asphalt parking lot or drag strip. The salt was nearly cool to the touch. It naturally reflects solar rays rather than absorbing them. This might be the root of the myth about getting sunburns on the inside of one’s nose, or worse, up one’s shorts. I can confirm those are indeed myths though, as my legs and lower body survived just fine even though I chose shorts rather than sweat it out in long pants. A long-sleeved sun shirt, wide-brimmed hat, and a hydration plan that was the closest to drowning I’ve ever felt were all great choices, though, and they kept me from withering away while spectating.

Bonneville Speed Week is a form of racing unlike any other. The challenges it presents are unique, from the highly corrosive surface conspiring to wreak havoc on electrical connections to the impossibility of replicating the environmental conditions for a testing or tuning session at another point in the year. The degree of “hurry up and wait” is unmatched, the rulebook complicated, and just getting there is inconvenient for just about everyone.

I fully expect to be back.