February 4, 2026
By: John DiGennaro
Team #5 felt morally obligated to share our perspective on the 2026 Ohio Winter Rally — a day in which we learned that snow, physics, and hubris form a powerful trilogy.
The last SCCA rally I did was sometime during the Clinton administration, when “online registration” meant owning a pen, and we met under a checkered flag outside a Hardee’s in Monroeville, PA. We mailed in our entry with a stamp. A stamp. The 90s were wild.
My navigator, Shane, and I have always wanted to do something like this, and we’re incredibly grateful to Greg, Ken, and everyone who planned the rally. We are Novices, literally and spiritually.
My 1987 Porsche 924S was dragged from its winter slumber and fitted with snow meats and a pair of non‑working rally lights that contributed absolutely nothing except aesthetic confidence. The start was uneventful as we launched into the snow with excellent traction and the decision‑making skills of two men who had not done this since Blockbuster existed. We racked up “30s,” our term for “we’re doing fine, probably,” while careening across the course with the confidence of people who hadn’t yet made a catastrophic mistake.
That changed at the “Green Plastic Mailbox” Flying Start.
We did not see, notice, or even consider asking CAR 4, TEAM BLUE 2020 SUBARU, why they were stopped. Naturally, we assumed they were taking a break or arguing. So we blasted past them with the righteous fury of people who are absolutely, unequivocally wrong.
Moments later, we caught up to CAR 2, TEAM 1993 EAGLE TALON, and realized we had made a mistake so obvious it should be printed on a T‑shirt. After some mutual finger‑pointing, we decided to pull over and “restart,” which is not how TSD rallies work, but optimism is free.
I pulled over on what was objectively the straightest, flattest, most well‑maintained snowy road in Ohio — and the Porsche immediately slid into the ditch like it was magnetically attracted to humiliation. After some rocking that strained a nearly 40‑year‑old transmission (and my soul), it became clear we were axle‑deep. Shane was pinned in place as snow rose past the navigator‑side window like a slow‑moving avalanche of shame.
Then, like an angel, CAR 3, TEAM 2012 WHITE HYUNDAI ACCENT arrived. Tom hopped out and produced a tow strap he had clearly packed to save himself, not two strangers in a low‑slung German sports car. We found our “tow points,” which is generous phrasing, and the Angel Team attempted to extract us. All 1.6-liters (138 HP) of TEAM 2012 HYUNDAI ACCENT screamed to redline. The Porsche’s elderly 2.5‑liter wheezed in solidarity. Nothing happened.
But then — salvation. Our newest “Orange Angel,” CAR 6, TEAM 2022 FORD BRONCO, appeared with ground clearance, tires, engine displacement, and tow points that were all VERY APPROPRIATE. A couple of tugs later, we were free. Fist pump. Arms to the heavens. Dignity at 40%. No time allowances entered.
From the warmth of the seats, heater blasting, we conducted a highly scientific “inspection” of the undercarriage by simply sitting there and deciding everything was fine. Then we peeled away to continue racking up 30s like nothing had happened.
At McDonald’s, while inhaling nuggs, we casually mentioned to Ken that we slid off the road. He pointed to a Google map of historical rallyist poor decisions and asked where we added our contribution. I described the location. He looked at me and said, “That’s a flat, straight road.”
Yes, Ken. Yes, it is.
Back on course and now completely out of order, we found ourselves behind CAR 8, TEAM 2016 WHITE AUDI A6, whom we call “Team SpaceX.” We were held up, passed our first buggy (without marking any time allowances, naturally), and encountered a stuck horse trailer — clearly a rallyist who had made even poorer decisions than we had. We turned around, rejoined the route, and waved to Greg, who was taking stock of the chaos like a man who has seen things.
We kept Team SpaceX in sight until they launched from a stop. I turned to Shane and said, “They just used launch control…” More on that later.
The rest of the rally remained lively. We narrowly avoided a small “dog” playing chicken with us — possibly a corgi, possibly a fox, possibly a coyote, possibly a hallucination. Then came a more alarming moment: traveling “35ish,” we encountered what may have been Sasquatch walking down the middle of the road in all black, which is extremely non‑reflective and extremely unhelpful. We didn’t come close to hitting the creature, but it was jarring, and a worse sight line could have resulted in a Porsche/Tree meet.
We finished at the Auburn Inn, relieved to see Team SpaceX at the bar. They confirmed their strategy: “We just used launch control…” I’m glad they didn’t achieve orbit, though I suspect they could have.
We enjoyed a great meal and breathed a sigh of relief when CAR 13 (appropriate) TEAM 1977 MERCURY COUGAR walked in. Despite not being driver’s permit holders in the 70s or 80s, they did an incredible job and learned what all of us “more seasoned” drivers learned at sixteen: you can drive a rear‑wheel‑drive car with terrible tires, in the snow, up a hill, into a turn, using the gas pedal as an extension of the steering wheel. Yes, you can.
Huge thanks to Greg, Ken, and the entire SCCA team for putting this on. Absolutely fantastic event.
More pictures can be found here!
