As promised, I’m finding the time to recap my experience from the weekend when I attended my first NASCAR race.
7:00 am – Departed my house, which is north of Atlanta and headed for the speedway, which is south of Atlanta. Without traffic, this should be a 1 hour trek. I had been advised to depart at 6:00 am if I really wanted to beat the traffic, but I like living on the edge. (and keep in mind the race doesn’t start until 1:15, but I figure seeing the big party in action before the race would be at least half the fun)
7:45 am – The first signs of heavy traffic.
7:50 am – Officially hit gridlock.
9:00 am – Getting pretty edgy by now and my initial interest in peeking in other cars to see just how totally rednecky the occupants were has worn off. I also have to pee.
9:15 am – For no apparent reason my wife urgently tells me to turn off at the first possible place to enter the track parking lot. This is in spite of the fact that we’re meeting some friends at ‘Enterance C’ and these friends repeatedly told us that if we stay on the main road we can’t possibly miss it. I know this, and yet that knee-jerk reaction to take the “obey” part of the marriage vows seriously kicks in and like a dumb*&s I make the turn. There’s something in the Official Woman’s Handbook that says they have to pull this crap at least once on every roadtrip. There’s probably a whole chapter dedicated to it actually.
9:17 am – By now, it’s clear to everyone in the vehicle that this wasn’t the right thing to do. We just passed ‘Enterance M.’ What’s worse, is that about 100,000 people are filing into the area behind me and naturally the street is a one way flow, so there’s no real way to backtrack without 1) pissing off thousands of drunk rednecks 2) getting arrested or 3) pissing off thousands of drunk rednecks and getting arrested.
9:18 am – My dad is even chiming in from the backseat now with his usual pessimism, and I’m feeding off it. You go dad.
9:20 am – There’s nothing left to do but hang the U-ey. It actually turned out alright and I carved out a single lane all the way back to the main road. Once the lane was established, it was smooth sailing since I was the only dumb%*s leaving the race.
9:30 am – Sure enough, there’s ‘Enterance C’ – couldn’t have freakin’ missed it if someone had thrown a vial of acid in my eyes.
9:31 am – Parked the Honda Pilot and said our hellos to our friends. Krista’s uncle Jackie, his wife and their friend had arrived about 7:00 am and had taken the liberty of introducing themselves to Krista’s friends and they had all hit it off.
9:32 am – Took a leak in the woods. Noticed that every tree within sight had been singed up to about eight feet in what must have been a pretty serious fire. I’d bet everything I have that the blaze started on a race weekend and involved alcohol.
9:35 am – Krista’s friends offer food – leftovers from breakfast that they made in their 5th wheel. Breakfast is biscuits with tenderloin steak and it is top notch. I shamelessly scarf down three and in doing so polish off the tenderloin. Things are looking up and the weather is really perfect as well.
9:45 am – By now I have marked my territory by setting up the portable lawn chairs and getting the cooler out of the Pilot. I start with iced tea to fuel up and get some energy.
10:15 am – Ok, after spending 1/2 hour sitting around and making idle chit-chat there’s really no way to avoid cracking open a beer. My stash includes a 12-pack of Coors Light, a 12-pack of Amstel Light and four 25.2 ounce cans of Labatt’s. (a.k.a. “Big Blues”) I’m truly disappointed in my choices. I should have just gone with pure Bud Light in massive quantities or maybe even good old school leaded Budweiser. Two-thirds of my stash is clearly too uppity for the crowd, and the other choice helps funds a major Republican contributor – albeit that too fits with the NASCAR motif and I don’t really have any complaints about Coors Light, except that it is impossible to get drunk on the stuff but that wasn’t even really my main concern and I needed a beer that I could drink non-stop for 6-8 hours in the sun and that one fits the bill if I’ve ever seen one. My dad seemed to want Coors Light too, so that’s how it went down. For the record, I decided to get things primed with a Big Blue. Yum.
11:30 am – Two Big Blues in the tummy now and I’m enjoying life. I’m told it’s time to pack up the plantation and head over to the race. A race official has me move the Pilot to block a possible exit, as folks won’t be allowed to leave from this area until two hours after the race to help control the crowds. I do as I’m told, even though a voice in the back of my head tells me that I just turned my 2004 Honda Pilot into an open invitation to be rammed by a big pick-up truck.
11:50 am- Just spent 20 minutes walking past a never-ending series of trailers, almost all of which had race flags flying and something to burn things in located near the trailer.
11:55 am – Decide I might try to empty out the colon so I enter the restroom.
11:55:01 am – Change my mind after seeing my options.
12:00 – high noon – Enter the track after a quick cooler search.
12:01 pm – My first true epiphany of the day. I almost stop in my tracks when I realize that I was just allowed to enter a major sporting event with no less than 20 cans of my own beer. I think it is the greatest civil liberty I’ve ever been afforded.
12:15 pm – Not much to see in the concessions area actually. Lots of places selling overpriced t-shirts that couldn’t have less appeal to me. I know the whole “When in Rome thing” but lets face it, I’m only taking it so far. I do feel out of place having a collar on my shirt. In fact, I would have felt more in place wearing no shirt at all. I’m not kidding, I’d give more than even money that there were more shirtless people there than there were people wearing shirts with collars. For the record, it was actually a race shirt too. Krista’s brother bought it for me, and it’s a golf shirt for Elliot Sadler, who drives the #38 M&Ms car. Turns out he went to JMU, so my brother-in-law decided he should be “my guy.” Fine by me.
12:30 pm – In our seats now, which are about halfway up the stands right in front of pit row with a clear view of the whole track. Oddly, my first impression is that that the track isn’t as big as I thought it would be. I do note that the turns are banked like crazy, which doesn’t really translate with any justice to tv. I also think I’m going to like being right in front of pit row.
12:45 pm – Crammed in now, but Krista’s uncle comes to get us and bring us over by them where there must be a lot of no-shows because there are many empty seats. That works out well and the people never show up.
1:00 pm – Driver introductions, which consist of the drivers being paraded around in the backs of pick-up trucks and they wave to the crowd. I found this to be pretty gay. Dale Earnhardt Jr. got an insane amount of applause, and I’d estimate that his fans outnumbered any other driver’s fans by about an 8-to-1 ratio. Jeff Gordon was booed intensely. As far as I can tell, he’s disliked because he’s pretty much a normal white guy and not a total hick.
1:05 pm – Lets get this party started. Um, saying a prayer and thanking Jesus Christ over the loudspeaker wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Big demerit for autoracing gets filed away in my head. Did I mention I brought 20 of my own beers in without any hassel about it at all? Do those things cancel each other out, or am I still ahead in the game?
1:06 pm – Fly-over by a B-2 bomber. Pretty cool.
1:07 pm – Fly-over by two attack helicopters, one of which lands and the pace car drives out the back. That’s a pretty nice touch and it draws applause. I bet Krista and I are the only people here that didn’t vote for George Bush.
1:09 pm – Time to stand for the National Anthem. It’s sung by some country singer named John Michael Montgomery, or something like that. The guy definitely had three names and he drew quite a bit of applause himself. He proceeds to butcher the National Anthem unlike anything I’ve ever heard in my life. He’s not really singing, he’s kind of just talking, and getting words wrong, and going painfully slow. I didn’t think it would ever end, and it was an absolute all-timer in terms of unintentional comedy.
1:10 pm – Fly-over by a C130J tanker in action, refueling the helicopters, horribly mistimed well before the National Anthem is over because this guy just can’t get through it.
1:11 pm – The National Anthem is mercifully over. John Michael Montgomery, or whatever the hell his name is, proceeds to try to walk off the makeshift stage, and the drunk bastard literally falls down the stairs and lands face-first on the asphalt. I’m not making this up.
1:15 pm – Gentlemen, start your engines. The ensuing roar appeals to the 12-year old boy in more a little more than I should probably admit.
1:16 pm – It didn’t take long for a major crash. Unfortunately it happened on the other side of the track, so all I could really see was a few nondescript cars spinning around and a lot of smoke. Somehow Krista’s uncle can give me the entire run down on the crash including who caused it and why. I’m impressed.
1:17 pm – The smoke starts to clear to reveal that Jeff Gordon’s car was involved and a great roar of joy is released from the crowd. Rather pitiful, and Jeff drives off the track to the garages to many jeers. Note to self: If I ever want to get my ass kicked, buy some Jeff Gordon gear and head over to Proud Mary’s Dart Bar.
1:30 pm – Things are back underway and I’m actually starting to enjoy this. Like I said, I’m enjoying the noise. I like it the best after a re-start and all the cars are together in a pack because there’s relative quiet while they go around the track and then this really big zoom, zoom..when they all go by. I also can’t help but note how fast they go. Again, hard to tell on tv, and I know this is an obvious statement, but they zip around at an unreal pace.
1:45 pm – Krista’s uncle, along with 50,000 other people, have a scanner that lets one listen in on the different driver radios so one can hear them talk to their pit crews. It comes complete with a guide that shows which frequency each driver is on, along with the option to just scan the airwaves for action. This keeps me entertained for quite some time.
2:00 pm – Uh-oh, picking up some serious action on the scanner as someone is frantically saying “There’s a leak upstairs! We’ve got to get to that thing before it gets down below!” Hell yeah, I’m getting to hear the racing lingo first-hand. Must be a serious oil leak or something.
2:01 pm – I realize I actually picked up some cleaning crew frantically trying to fix an overflowing toilet. No kidding.
2:30 pm – The beer is really starting to go down smooth and fast now. I’m also enjoying peanuts. Every time I open a beer I think about how freakin’ great it was that I got to bring my own beer in with me.
2:35 pm – Jeff Gordon drives back on the track and receives a lot of jeers and laughs, since he’s about 100 laps behind by now.
2:45 pm – I’m not enjoying the fact that smoking is permitted in the stands, but at least I have a solid 15 cans of beer left so I can’t really complain. My dad, on the other hand, seems to be taking a liking to this civil liberty as well. My dad is also almost completely deaf in one ear, and coupled with the extreme noise, it’s almost comical how little he can hear of what is going on around him. It doesn’t seem to bother him a bit though.
3:55 pm – I dabbled in the Amstel Light early, but by now I’m drinking exclusively Coors Light at the rate of about one per ten minutes. This race is pretty long and truth be told, not much is happening. Two cars have clearly dominated all day and on each re-start they fly out ahead of the rest of the pack. I’ll be shocked if one of these cars doesn’t win the race.
4:05 pm – Probably my 4th or 5th trip to the bathroom and it gets more disgusting each time. Trough urinals just aren’t classy and probably 80% of the stalls are clogged and overflowing. I allow myself to think about the logistics and difficulty of human waste disposal for 100,000 drunk people for about ten seconds and then I muster the willpower to purge the thoughts from my head, take care of business, and get the hell out of Dodge.
4:20 pm – I actually run out of beer. I’ve been drinking for nearly 20 years and I still consistently underestimate how many beers I’ll need for an outing. This isn’t quite as bad as the JMU National Championship debacle where we plowed through our entire supply of 30 beers and ended up bumming Natty Light from 20-year olds in the parking lot before kickoff, but it’s still a shameful disgrace. My dad and my wife did their share to help. Once again, Uncle Jackie hooks me up, and with an old school can of Budweiser. Right on.
4:45 pm – Things are winding down now. I’m pretty worked up to see the end of the race, even though I’m almost certain Jimmie Johnson is going to win. Uncle Jackie even apologizes for the lack of drama.
4:50 pm – The last lap, on the last turn, the #99 car driven by Carl Edwards makes a move on the outside and tries to pass Jimmie Johnson on the outside. He pulls ahead by what must be inches as the cross the finish line and wins the race. It was much more exciting than those two sentences might lead you to believe. That guy was sly, lurking the shadows the whole race. He had everyone fooled, not just novices like me. Plus, he’s got the homage to Wayne Gretzky thing going on by using #99. (Ok, so the homage is very likely unintentional) He spins out his car on the infield, gets out, and does a backflip off the read end. That’s worth some style points I guess.
5:00 pm – Leaving the race, well buzzed and a little pumped up from the exciting finish, I’m actually handed a complimentary packet of Tums on the way out. Really. Like a parting gift or something, and a useful one at that. There was literally a girl standing there handing out Tums to everyone who left. Odd things indeed.
5:18 pm – Hey, there’s the Honda Pilot and it doesn’t look trashed or anything. I’ll be damned.
5:20 pm – Back to the camper now and trying to get the Ga. Tech game on the portable Directv setup they have, but finally settle for the radio version. Louisville is kicking their asses. So much for that. Two hours to kill before we can leave, but we’d just be stuck in traffic anyway. One final brewski and then I start to hit the Gatorade hard.
6:00 pm – Three 20 oz. Gatorades later I’m back in the saddle and heading off to the woods to pee about once every four minutes.
6:20 pm – I am fed a delicious ham sandwich.
7:30 pm – Well sober and worn out and time to drive home. Nothing much to report, except that this too took about 2.5 hours, even with sitting around and waiting after the race. If I ever do it again, I’m heading down the day before and staying until Monday.
That is all. This is plenty long for now but I’ll add some more wrap-up thoughts at some point.
