I went to a dirt track once and to my surprise it was really covered with dirt. Parked the car in the parking lot and stepped in dog do on my way to the ticket window. The girl at the ticket window smiled and took my money and then some police officer at the gate said he needed to look into my cooler. He was very polite and smiled and told me to enjoy the races. I worry about people like that.
Went up into the grandstands and found a seat all by myself. Within minutes all kinds of people started pouring into the facility and sat down all around me. Most of them were friendly and wanted to talk to me, a total stranger. Thought it was rather strange but to each their own.
First up was something called hot laps. Kind of a test for the guys before the big evenings activities. With track turds flying the folks all around started complaining about how the promoter was a bum, allowing this type of thing to happen. Then came qualifying which the folks around me started debating whether they were needed or not. Some like them while other don't. Wears out the track some was saying while the others said that the pill draw was rigged and the little guy suffered.
After the pre race festivities, then came the racin. Heat races up first to see who would tranfer to the A main. The others were sent to something called the hooligan, last chance race or the B main.
In addition they ran other types of racing that a number of fans around me loudly didn't care for. They talked about how many classes they were running that night and how the hour was getting late. About that time they called for an intermission so the Bozo in charge could sell just one more hot dog. A couple of guys came back to their seats with beer that wasn't cold enough and the wrong brand they hollered.
Finally they pushed off the A main, the show for the evening. The drivers were positioned in rows of two, tightly bunched together, waiting for the flagman to drop the green.
When he did all hell broke loose. The cars were flying and so was the dust. Then came the first stoppage of action with the first yellow.
The fans were restless as they said the wreckers were too slow, the track workers had no clue and the announcer was a doofus. With the hour getting later, the fans were even more restless. The final pushoff took place and back to the racing action. The local favorite had already retired so most of the crowd was booing the villian who was leading the show. Called him a bum, no good for nothing. With the white flag waving
the locals were now screaming at the top of their lungs, hollering all kinds of fancy four letter words.
When the checkered flag flew
and the driver took his bow, all the folks hooted and hollered at him. As we walked out to the parking lot I asked one of the guys sitting next to me if he had ever come to this speedway before. He looked at me like I was crazy and told me he came every week for the last 40 some odd years.
That night it dawned on me why all these folks curse and complain, rant and rave,
and just plain can't stand this little thing called racin.
There all hooked
and simply can't get enough.
Me............well this was the best night of my life and I relive it as often as possible. I have been coming back for over 50 years. So if you sit next to me, don't tell me about the dust and dirt, since real racin is when you can "feel" the track.
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