A friend of mine was running a pair of McCulloughs on a light frame with alcohol. He was in the groove on about the 15th lap at a contoured asphalt raceway when he went to sleep breathing the exhaust off the leading cart’s alcohol engines. They caught him on tape as his front wheel climbed onto the lead car, he flipped end-over-end through the hay bales and slid to a stop upside down. They thought he was dead because his body was limp while the cart was tumbling. A little fresh air and he awoke from his nap, wondering why everybody was standing around him and why he wasn’t on his cart
