It's here. It's everywhere. And I hate it. I hate Nascar with all of my Holy soul. The race is in, where else, Richmond. So, with all of the vacant lots and yards surrounding the track filled with campers and tents and cutoff shorts...the leftovers flock to the campground. Our campground. We're overflowing with life size Kasey Kahne cardboard cutouts, Mark Martin plastic blow up cars, Dick Trickle dolls, and twelve million checkered flag towels / outdoor rugs / cheesy camper patio lights / etc...etc...I admit, I have been to a race in person--mind, this was many years ago and it was the night race in Charlotte. It rained. They dried the track with jet engines. I watched the mullets stand next to the fence, shirtless, drying themselves as the engines passed our section. I smelled the rubber. I felt the breeze as the cars whizzed by. I watched Jeff Gordon wreck. I watched Jeff Gordon win.
The race was about as exciting as writing this post. The only thing that's really stuck in my mind about Nascar...and that's saying a lot...is the fact that Kyle Petty doesn't wear underwear.
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