Are you ready for some NASCAR? Wait, wrong sport. In August, I attended my first Nascar event in Bristol, Tennessee. Up until then, I had never even seen a race on television so when my buddy asked me if I wanted to go on a road trip and drive 700 miles to watch 41 guys and hot girl drive 500 more miles, I didn’t say yes, I said hell yes. Well not immediately. He offered to drive and said attendees of the race would have long hair and be wearing Daisey Dukes and cowboy boots. He didn’t tell me that would be the guys.
I have a Jeep Wrangler and a Toyota Corolla and the Jeep would be too bouncy and the Corolla too practical for such an impratical event which consists of 42 drivers steering gas guzzlers in one perpetual left turn when gas prices are flirting with $4. For the trip I thought we should have a Corvette or a Monte SS or at least a Malibu, or something American made which wouldn't be from any American car company because they're all made in Mexico and Canada now. We drove his four door Honda Civic, made in Ohio and with an automatic, which just seemed wrong until you consider that a Toyota Camry won the race.
I'd never been to a NASCAR race and when I asked my friend what a NASCAR race was, he said it was when a group of people drive in circles for 500 miles. It sounded like looking for a parking space at the mall on Black Friday but I was looking forward to it anyway.
When we arrived in Tennessee, I wanted to whack Darwin with a sock full of nickels as evolution seems to have skipped this particular corner of the south; the whole state seemed to be Larry the Cable Guy clones driving cars painted primer. Clearly tattoos are higher in importance than oral hygiene among NASCAR fans as it took everyone in the entire beer line to get a full set of teeth. This prompts the jokes ‘what do you call a dentist in the south? A tourist.’ and ‘what’s the difference between an alcoholic and a Nascar fan?” One drinks way too much way too often and the other is an alcoholic.’ The guy online behind me introduced me to his wife, his aunt, and his sister which happened to all be the same person. It was then that I should have passed go, collected my $200 and held my breath until I got north of the Mason Dixon. Instead, I decided to give this NASCAR thing a chance.
When we arrived in Tennessee, I wanted to whack Darwin with a sock full of nickels as evolution seems to have skipped this particular corner of the south; the whole state seemed to be Larry the Cable Guy clones driving cars painted primer. Clearly tattoos are higher in importance than oral hygiene among NASCAR fans as it took everyone in the entire beer line to get a full set of teeth. This prompts the jokes ‘what do you call a dentist in the south? A tourist.’ and ‘what’s the difference between an alcoholic and a Nascar fan?” One drinks way too much way too often and the other is an alcoholic.’ The guy online behind me introduced me to his wife, his aunt, and his sister which happened to all be the same person. It was then that I should have passed go, collected my $200 and held my breath until I got north of the Mason Dixon. Instead, I decided to give this NASCAR thing a chance.
We settled into our seats amongst 140,000 rabid NASCAR fans and no amount of research could have prepared me for that day. I've watched the Dukes of Hazard and I've tried hood sliding like Bo Duke with every car I've ever owed and I one had a Fiero with non-working doors so I thought I was more than ready. After watching the cars zip by at 150 mph and having NASCAR whiplash, I wish I was making this up, I scheduled a visit with my chiropractor and thought about how this pastime began. I’ve been on more than enough road trips to know that I suck with directions and even while lost, I plant my foot firmly on the gas and make great time even though I’m going the wrong way passing a string of gas stations at 80.
The first NASCAR events were road races that began in the city, went out of town and up into the hills, and then looped back into town. Events like these typically ended with no one winning because they presumably all got lost, but I’m guessing that Sasquatch could have played a role. To prevent the loss of all of those cars, those things are really expensive, and to make the event more engaging for a bunch of spectators who used to watch a finish line that no one crosses, they put the drivers on an oval track and told them to just keep making lefts for 500 miles. And we know that the drivers would never admit they were lost, especially with a television camera following them, so the pit stop was invented to force the drivers to have to pull over every hundred laps or so just to make sure they’re going the right way even though there’s only one way to go.
Before the race, there were vendors setup outside and I stopped to look at a race car. I hopped in the driver's seat and some random hottie ran up next just as my buddy was about to snap a picture. I wondered why she didn't jump into the passenger seat until I realized there was none. And I think the one seat car is by design. If there was a passenger seat, you know Dale Jr's girlfriend would be right next to him telling him what to do: "you're following too close. And slow down, it's not a race. Pull over and ask directions. It feels like we've been driving in circles for hours. I have to pee."
After attending one race, I wouldn't exactly call myself a NASCAR fan. And I'm sure there are some people who aren't sure if they are. Just in case you're wondering, this is the acid test:
-if you think a guest speaker is when your friend brings over his stereo, you might be a NASCAR fan.
-if the devices you use to listen to the race are worth more than the car you drove to the race, you might be a NASCAR fan.
-if you have a job with your name on your shirt, you might be a NASCAR fan.
-if you're 100 lbs overweight, but have no problem sitting with 140,000 people without a shirt on, you might be a NASCAR fan.
The behaviors of the drivers wasn’t limited to the track. The pit stop technique was used in the bathroom. They'd pull in fast to the first available empty space; there would be an exchange of fluids with some spilling on the outside, and then they'd weave through the others and back on course. As I was walking behind a woman who would be best described as a double wide, I pulled out to pass and she drifted right and stopped short and I, quite accidentally, bumped her from behind and sent her into the wall.
The morning after the race, I woke up with a NASCAR hangover: I had no voice and a headache from yelling, my ears were ringing as if I was front row at a Kiss concert, and my eyes were burning from the bright lights and smoke from the cars. But I can’t wait for the next race.
