What do you see in the greasy mouthful of a pork fritter making its way to the icy, condensated lip of a Coors tallboy? What legacies do you find nestled, burrowing their way round the hot, dusty belly of a country racetrack? What hymns can be heard cycling through the drone of a thousand horses, a thousand circling eyes, a thousand milliseconds of a single heart beat? Americuh! Americuh! Americuh!
In this chorus my voice rings true.
When suddenly I found myself, bearing witness in jean shorts and cowboy boots, inside the pit of I-55 Raceway, shaking hands with a driver, marveling at the inner workings and goings on of a race pit, what more could I do than testify the passion play of this my fellow patriot?
Four classes of cars raced that night, and four respective qualifying heats and two trips to the snack bar later, we hunkered down on the first inside turn and waited for the showcase showdown to begin. On an otherwise dull, kick the can sort of southern cicada night, one can imaging there ain't nothin more thrilling than watch twenty Late Models barrel towards the very spot you stand, with only inches and a chain link fence between you and god. After hearing a driver died recently at another dirt track, that release waiver I signed started making more sense. Then again, does Americuh exist without some mechanism of bodily danger? I shrugged that thought off just like Nick Lyons in the number 2 car did to Michael Koos in the 6, gunning off the low side to win by a heartbeat and metal, scraped up nose.
Now, I'm no fan of NASCAR, and it's been told these dirt tracks are where the legends get their start. Spending time in the pits at I-55 Raceway to me is like being the first of a knowing few to follow a cool indie band, back when they were real, scraping together their own tour money, sleeping on people's couches; before they have time to impale themselves on a second album, get on an awards show and sell out.
This is Americuh people! Heck, I'm still scratching those hours of freedom flyin dirt out of my hair. God and country's right. If you ain't first, you're last. read more