Sometimes in life you have opportunities to do things; things you might not necessarily list in your favorite things to do, but things that you feel like you should do anyway, just for the experience. So when Lane and Skye told us earlier this week that their neighbors Danny and Tina were going to the NASCAR race in Kansas City on Sunday and that we were welcome to sit and party at their Winnebago, I knew I was in for one of those situations.
So apparently here's how these things work: everyone who is either going to the race (roughly 95,000 people) or just tailgating (probably another few thousand) gets there by about 7 or 8 am. Then you booze until about noon, and if you are attending the race, you start making your way to the track. Pretty standard. The cast of characters:
Myself, Alex, Lane, Skye...
Danny and Tina- wonderful neighbors of the Leedahls and NASCAR enthusiasts...
Brenda and Bob the Cop- a friendly couple who like to talk shit; Bob the Cop bears a striking resemblance to Jeff Garcia...
And other various people wandering in and out of the campsite.
Here is a rough breakdown of our day:
5 am: Alarm clock goes off. Someone remind me why we are doing this again?
6:15 am: I make the first bad decision of the day when, trying to break up a chunk of ice, I puncture a can of pop and a beer and watch it spray all over the cooler. I'm climbing into the Bucket of Suck reaaaaalllll early.
7:05 am: We arrive at the campsite outside the track. Pleasantries and how-do-you-dos are exchanged.
7:08 am: First beer is cracked.
8:30 am: First call to Bergman is made. Bergman is the only person any of us know who would come remotely close to appreciating this, and we plan on capitalizing on this by calling him repeatedly to make him jealous.
9:45 am: Lane and I have each finished off six beers, and breakfast is made and eaten. I'm beginning to realize this is an awesome idea.
A common sight throughout the day: me with a beer can to my mouth, Lane clutching a rolled-up plate of chicken wings.
11 am: St. Aubyn calls, and apologizes, knowing that I like to sleep in til almost noon and then watch football on Sundays. I tell him it's ok, that I'm at the NASCAR race, and that I'm already 10 beers deep into my block heater (30 pack) of Miller Lite. To which he simply replies, "Jesus Christ." Not much else to say, really.
12:30 pm: We walk up to the track to buy shit and listen to the "Drivers, start your engines!!!!!" Which is, without a doubt, the biggest disappointment of the day. Due to the wind and the deep bowl that the track lies in, it really was not an impressive roar. Or a roar at all. However, it did lead to an encounter with one of the biggest dogs I've ever seen.
I don't care what stories those kids from the Sandlot tell, the Beast is OK with me.
2 pm: We return to the Winnebago to drink, eat, and watch the race/football/golf on TV. We're beginning to crash a little bit.
4 pm: A gigantic rainstorm hits, and we watch from inside the warm confines of the Winnebago while everyone sprints back to their respective campsites, completely drenched. This includes Danny, Tina, Brenda, and Bob the Cop.
Lane and I spend the next hour cooking hot dogs and brats, and making up fake announcements to all the stragglers returning from the track that "the dryers are on the track, clear skies are heading this way, the race is restarting in 40 minutes!" This is not going over so well with the diehards that want nothing more than that to be true. An hour later, however, as about 1/5th of the crowd is leaving the grounds, this joke becomes reality, and Lane and I soon begin peddling our hot dogs to people in exchange for their ticket stubs, so we could get in. We are only successful with two people. Two! Who wouldn't trade a shitty, wet, worthless ticket stub for a juicy, delicious hot dog?
6 pm: Everything dies down and the rain delay is over, and we decide to see if we can just get in for free. And lo and behold....
We end up sitting together, all 8 of us, in ridiculously good seats. If Future Jim would've sent me a message last week saying "At 6:30 pm next Sunday you will be in the 20th row at the Kansas City Speedway watching NASCAR" I would've told him he was crazy. Then I would've told him to find Biff Tannen and steal his book that holds the results of every sporting event for the next 50 years.
So the entire day was a great success. Beer was consumed, laughs were shared, engines were started, and horizons were expanded. I won't be actively following the chase for the Nextel Cup or anything, but I do have a newfound respect for the sport of auto racing. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go back to nursing this hangover like I'm Florence Nightingale.
