Three years ago, I volunteered some time selling raffle tickets for the United Way at the Kansas Speedway. Not because I'm all that civic-minded, but because I got into the races that weekend for free.
I'm no fan of motor sports. I like the physics of it, and the amount of faith it takes to believe someone as cute as Danica Patrick could drive what amounts to a glorified go-cart 212 mph on tires thinner than a credit card.
And I know racing isn't just for rednecks, but the rednecks are sure what jump out at me. I can occasionally forget the sunscreen, but you see a lot of dudes who have either never heard of it or mistakenly think double-sized cans of Busch Light have some sort of SPF factor.
I can imagine asking these dudes, 'No earplugs?'
'Come again?'
Still, it's a spectacle. And when I saw, awhile back, that the ARCA race today was going to be free to the public, I took note.
That other time I was there, it was ARCA, IRL & Craftsman trucks. And the place was packed. With people who paid $50 for the cheap seats. I figured free door (and free parking) would mean a more than full house.
I took off work early so I could pick the girls up when school let out. Parking opened at noon, the gates at 2:00, and it was a 4:00 race. We'd get there right about starting time, and I prepped Mo for the reversal if it turned out to be full up and turning folks away.
We got there and it wasn't even heavy traffic. Got parking that qualifies as close for this place (it's a vast facility, 1500 acres). The wind was brutal and the temperature was cold and dropping. It could have easily passed for February 25.
I never planned to stay for the whole race. I don't know any of the racers, so I can't imagine caring who wins. Barring a spectacular crash, there's nothing there for me.
Come to think of it, the motor sport I truly enjoy is demolition derby.
Em was ready to leave days ago. Mo was a trooper, but after a few minutes, I asked if they were ready to go. They couldn't possibly have heard me, the pack had spread out enough that there were always a couple of unmuffled cars, minimum, blazing by at 180 mph. The noise, like the smell of molten rubber, was general.
By the time we got to the car, Em had told me about how there's nothing that would make her go back in there, ever again. Millions of dollars, the chance to flirt with the Jonas brothers, to be Hannah Montana, nothing would be worth it.
Mo, on the other hand, did not declare the scene 'lame.' That's been the default with her lately, but she indirectly described it as 'fun' and 'cool.' However, when I asked her if she wanted to go back in and squander the remainder of her hearing, she said, 'NOOOO!'
We walked in the gate at 4:10 and were going through the gate designated for rednecks about to pass out by 4:20. It was loud for me even with earplugs. Em claimed she couldn't get her ear plugs in, and Mo has a track record of eating ear plugs rather than wearing them, so I was fine with getting them out of that concrete bowl while they could still theoretically hear a nuclear test in a Tool concert.
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