Politics takes grandstand seat

Monday, June 26, 2006 | 7:11 a.m.

FALLON - The Rattlesnake Raceway sits up on a hill like some ancient temple or medieval castle. The '80s-era Monte Carlos - rebuilt to be race cars - slide around the small dirt track going a hundred before they inevitably slam into each other.

If you want to understand what it's like to watch this gorgeous spectacle from the bleachers, stand next to an airplane engine and have a friend throw sand and dirt in your face, while breathing in the fumes of leaded gasoline. Move your head constantly in a circular motion.

Good times.

In fact, for Secretary of State Dean Heller, "It doesn't get any better than this," he said at Saturday's race, echoing the old beer slogan. (He is a Mormon, but he was also a fraternity brother at the University of Southern California.)

Heller, a Republican from Carson City, is running for Congress to replace Rep. Jim Gibbons, R-Nevada, who's running for governor. Heller's opponents in the Republican primary are Jim Gibbons' wife Dawn Gibbons and Assemblywoman Sharron Angle. The winner will take on Democrat Jill Derby.

This night at the races is not a campaign stop for Heller, though. It's a hobby. He works on his cars, which his brother and son race, and comes to the track to get away from the campaign, he says. Some people know him and sometimes lobby him, usually about an impending criminal trial or child-custody matter, he says, laughing. But most people leave him alone and admire him more because of his good-looking cars than for his political stature.

Wahoo! A four-car crash and a rollover! After some noise, the crowd gets respectfully quiet until it's clear everyone's OK.

Heller offers advice about what to do when the car is on its roof. "See, when you're upside down like that, I always tell them, 'Don't unbuckle my seat belt, because I'll just fall on my head.' Roll the car over first."

He inherited the hobby, which has cost him now more than $100,000 of his own money, from his father and began racing at 15.

"The first time I raced, I felt so refreshed," he says, using a word most people associate with, say, fresh orange juice, rather than screaming around a dusty track at 100 miles per hour.

Even spectators wear goggles to shield the dust from their eyes. The cars are modified to run on leaded gasoline or alcohol. At first, the engines emit a pleasant smell, almost like barbecue. After awhile, it's just noxious.

A piece of a car's exhaust pipe flies into the fence. THWONK!

Matt Collier is one of Heller's oldest friends, and they have a garage together to work on their cars. In his race, he'll come in fourth in an old Honda Prelude. Heller's brother Jack, racing in a 1976 Toyota Celica, finishes behind him.

Race officials inspect the top four cars to be sure there haven't been unfair modifications made. Collier mischievously tells Heller that they checked the tires, and didn't flag him. Certain tires are prohibited because they provide better traction on the dirt track, which is slippery like a snowy road.

Going for every advantage, to put it delicately, seems to be a running joke among racers.

"If you're not cheating, you're not trying hard enough," Collier says with a laugh.

Once the racers are barreling around the track, it's hard to know who is ahead because the cars are spread out and the scoreboard is broken.

"It's impossible to tell who's winning until there's a crash," Heller says with a big laugh. (After a crash, drivers must slow down until the wreck is cleared. They cannot change their positions in the race but can close the gaps between cars. That allows the crowd to see who is in first, second and so on.)

Laughing at himself seems to be one of Heller's hobbies. He does it with self-knowing irony. There's a lot of figurative winking and nodding in his repertoire.

"And, make sure you get this down for the record: I also hunt and fish," he says, again laughing.

The race resumes, only to slow again from another crash. Nobody is hurt. With helmets and special modifications to the cars, the drivers aren't at much risk, which is a good thing because crashes are so common that a race can last 45 minutes even though the cars make just 25 laps around a track less than three-eighths of a mile long.

That can make for a frustrating spectator sport, but there's something refreshingly there's that word again retro about the races. They recall a time when people left their homes and their widescreen televisions for some unplugged fun with their neighbors on a Saturday night.

"I got into racing long before I got into politics," Heller says. "And I'll be into racing long after I leave politics."