Flip that switch and drop the green flag! It’s a redneck night in America. From NASCAR to dirt track Late Mods, the sport of “turning left” captures my heart just like every racer wants to capture that checkered flag. It’s not because I like to go fast, it’s not (solely) for buckets of beer, and surprisingly, it’s not even the candy toss. I live for Friday Nights at Wagner Speedway because of the dust, the excitement and the hopeful memory that I’ll be able to order a steak at Happy Chef after the race.
Start Your Engines
Apologies for the head start, let’s take off from the beginning. When I was a tyke, flaunting my new dress and bowl cut (thanks Mom!), I traveled to the races every Friday night with my dad. He hopped off the postal route, rounded the corner to my grandmother’s house in a purple Chevy Blazer and away we went to Huron, South Dakota. I do not remember much personally, but the stories I hear bring back vivid senses; the taste of salty popcorn on my 6-year-old tongue, the smell of oil from old cars trying one more lap, and the muffled engines through my children’s headset. Unlike the speedy drivers on the track, I felt safe with my dad on one side and Greg Assman on the other. We watched the cars circle the track anticipating the next accident. The sun would go down, the stands would eventually clear out and the traffic would head home. Not us. The daddy and daughter duo would head straight for Happy Chef at 10PM to share a medium-rare steak and fluffy pancakes in a booth. With the A1 sauce sliding into my syrup, my dad repeatedly carried my tired legs and limp, sleepy body out the door and into the car only to return next weekend.
The Pit Crew
Put the pedal to the medal and arrive 18 years later. It is a much different atmosphere at the racetrack today. There aren’t two men sandwiching a young girl in the grand stands, I haven't won a kid's bicycle from the 50/50 drawing and my uncles probably can't carry me out the gates after a Bud Light binge. Just like a buckled-in racecar driver in the middle of the track, I feel alone. The senses of popcorn, oil and the engine hums still remain but a valuable piece is missing. However, every driver has a pit crew. It’s when he or she returns to their stall, they are reminded of the people rooting for them. The people who will change their tires, give advice on Turn 3 and in my case, explain the blue and yellow flag. We all have a pit crew in life. Some are friends, some are family and some just want your blanket when the cool August air moves in. Either way, you are the driver. You make the decision to be happy in second place or to take your car off the track. Your crew is just along for the ride.
Wave the White Flag
In life, none of us know when our final lap will be. We do not know when the car will run out of gas, when an axle will break or when we will roll over that hill. Some of our “cars” are old, some are brand new but they all have sponsorships. We have people to count on even when we are not in first place. Let’s look at the Earnhardt pair. Junior did not give up on racing after the heart-wrenching loss of his dad in 2001. Sure, he took time to breathe, as we all should, but he got back in the driver’s seat and fought past his own fears. He continued doing what he loved with the people he loved doing it with. For me, I live for those who can’t. For the day, when I can’t. For the day, when I take my final lap and sit next to my dad in those grand stands yearning for that medium rare steak with a side of maple covered pancakes. Boogity boogity boogity, let’s go racin’!
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