Tag Archives: stock car racing

Ah, ’tis the season for racing fans (and the ones who love them)

In honor of attending my first race night of the season at the local stock car racing track, I’m sharing the post I wrote at the end of the season when my Beloved and his brother raced every weekend (and I cheered in the dirt-covered stands)…

9 things I learned by watching stock car races every weekend and 1 thing I still don’t understand

Put the race car in park. Permanently.

Sweetness died.

The sweet little 1991 Olds Toronada with a lot of spunk and body damage took a header into the wall last night at the Sycamore Speedway. The engine dislodged from its moorings (such as they were in a lightweight 1991 model), and the air bag deployed (“I didn’t know we had an air bag!”).

My Beloved was driving it while his brother and I cheered him on, and he was making a move to pass around the corner. But, due to some undiagnosed problem from a previous race, he never actually turned. Bang! Tyler survived, thankfully, with only a sprained wrist. And a nasty seatbelt burn across his neck and chest. These are the battle scars of which a race car driver boasts, not complains.

That little car has accomplished 17 races this young season, and despite a number of hard knocks and one disqualification for an abundance of leakage, it’s always left the track under its own power. Not last night. When the race was over, the tow truck tried to push it  off the track (“Put it in neutral!” “It is in neutral!”). No dice. Sweetness had to be towed. The only things salvageable were three tires (the one on the corner that hit the wall was, um, not worth removing).

It had its greatest moment last weekend when Tyler drove it to a second place finish, getting beaten by the 325-horse-powered cop car. With flashing roof lights. Yeah, we think he’s a show-off, too.

Anyway, you’d think that would put an end to this whole stock car racing nonsense.

But you’d be wrong.

My Beloved and his brother were on the trail this afternoon already for a bigger, faster replacement. The 1971 Caddie that smelled like raccoon excrement would have made an excellent replacement, except for the raccoon droppings. And it wouldn’t start. Picky, picky.

So if you know of a fast little number that might look good with a coat of orange and navy, please let me know.

Wait, what am I saying?