That was the first time I ever went to a stock car race. My best friend at the time's father had a Late Model race car, and Jason always talked about it. Finally, he asked me to go one weekend when we were in the 8th grade. From that night forward, I was hooked. That night we were racing in Stafford Springs, Connecticut. It was one of the biggest racing events of the year. The Modified cars (they look very similar to a go-cart, but with ridiculous amounts of horse power) were running that night. The Busch League North was going to be there for a 300 lap race. Big names in what used to be Winston Cup started off in this series, and some were going to be there again that night, just for old time's sake. If everything went according to plan, we would be racing that afternoon, watch the big races that evening, and be home by midnight. Everything was going great...until the rain showed up. Races got shuffled to accommodate sponsors during breaks in the weather, and by the time the Late Model Stocks could get out on the track, it was ten of midnight. We had to start our race BY midnight, or we wouldn't be able to get on the track because of noise ordinances. It was then that I remembered that I needed to call my dad and let him know where I was, and that I was going to be late...
Once that racing bug bit me, I never stopped watching. President's Day weekend took on a whole new meaning for me (that is when the Daytona 500 is held every year). Every year from April until October, you could guarantee that on any given Thursday night, you would find me at our home track of Thompson International Speedway in Thompson, CT. It was there that we raced the Late Model Stock #69. We all wore black jeans and purple T-Shirts (because those were our car colors), and every single person that went had a job. We all had big purple jackets with a giant gold "69" on the back. My mom wouldn't let me wear mine anywhere but the track and to work...
At first, I just handed Freddie (Jason's dad) and Jason tools to fix the car. As I started learning more and more about the car, the set-up, and racing in general, I got to do more. I learned why racers put "rounds of wedge" in the springs (tightening down on the rear springs), and why a spoiler was so important. Then I learned how to use a pop-rivet gun, and how to use a sledge hammer and two-by-four to "massage" the sheet metal back into place (meaning a lot of cussing and hard work to get the fenders to actually resemble fenders after a wreck). I learned how to adjust tire pressures to make the car handle better, and then became Freddie's "go to gal" to work out tire pressures before racing, and figure out what tires we would use that night.
I was invited to start joining the crew on Monday nights to work on the car at Freddie's garage. It was there that I got to learn more about the people I was spending my Thursdays and the occasional weekend with. My knowledge of engines and racing increased to a point that I was actually useful, and when I left for the Coast Guard I was sorely missed.
When I first started going racing, I remember how exciting I thought crashes were . Then, I saw witnessed my first racing death, up close and personal, when a racer we knew hit the wall at ninety miles an hour. His car disintegrated. To this day I still cringe whenever I hear about crashes.
However, there's nothing like standing in the infield at a race, watching the car that you helped put together run with the field. Every hit your driver gives and takes gives you a little jolt of excitement, but makes you cringe as well as you tally up how much work needs to be done that week.
The feeling of excitement that courses though your body as you stand in your pit box holding your hat in your hand while the National Anthem, waiting for the announcer to say "Gentlemen, Start Your Engines" is like nothing else. You feel it in your chest, as the waves of sound reverberate to your very core. The smell of racing gasoline is like none other...and it is absolutely fantastic.If you couldn't tell from this entry, I miss racing very much. Ironically, I figured that when I move to South Carolina I could get back into it, and maybe hook up with a local team out there. However, when I went looking to see where the nearest racetrack is, I discovered that there are no short tracks within 100 miles of Charleston. I couldn't believe it. Not even a dirt oval.
I guess this gives me more reason to start looking into tickets at the bigger Nextel Cup races...It's a good thing Ben's also a NASCAR fan. Daytona, Darlington, Charlotte, Atlanta,and Talledega, here we come!
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