Gentlemen, start your engines...

Hey there all,

Even though I have lived up in Little Canada, aka New Hampshire, for a few years now, I have often been looked at by the natives up here as an "outsider". Sure, it could be my driving habits, taken directly from where I grew up in Massachusetts (my driving school motto was "License Yours, No Questions Asked, Just Don't Bounce The Check), my quasi-accent, the fact I still add 5% sales tax to some things, or that I am not currently driving an American-made pickup and I don't own and have never shot a gun, at least not for the hell of it.

But then it dawned on me that I haven't done the ONE thing that separates NH from the rest of the New England states. Yep, you guessed it.

I hadn't been to a NASCAR event.

Through pure serendipity and calling in a favor, I happened to grab a few free tickets to this past weekend's "Sylvania 300" series. While thinking that perhaps Sylvania makes light bulbs that are now 300 watts, instead I was told that this indicates how many laps each car goes around the track during the race. Ok, I'm getting it now, this is easy.

In a town just north of Concord (city motto: "No, We're Not Named After the Grape, Sorry") called Loudon (town motto: "The First Four Letters of Our Town Describe Our Races") there is absolutely nothing besides a Shell station, some run-down apartment buildings... and naturally, a race track with grandstands that fit 95,000 people. Because no one knowingly and willingly enters the town of Loudon ever besides twice per year for its two annual racing events, the roads are understandably not equipped to handle cars and trucks carrying 95,000 people so I was told to arrive early to beat the traffic, pack a cooler of beer to take into the racetrack, and not cheer for anyone named Busch, unless it's one of those cold beers in the aforementioned cooler.

WAIT.

Did I just get told to pack a cooler of beer to take INTO the racetrack? It is OK to bring IN beer to a sporting event? Yessiree! It turns out that NASCAR did a marketing study and found that watching 300 laps of cars going in circles to the left can be "boring at times", so I'd need an excuse to forget that I am indeed doing this. OK, I'm beginning to warm to the NASCAR experience.

To capture the experience, I tried to remember the approximate times of the day where something noteworthy came up and then what I did. Because bringing in paper and a pen to write down things to remember would tip off fans that I can read AND write and therefore provoke fans to make fun of my "fancy writing thingie", I used my noggin to try and remember, and only because I took a picture of myself at around lap 190, staring off into space, drooling, completely catatonic saying in a monotone voice "I'm going to write about this," while feeling I'd morphed into Cousin Eddie from "Christmas Vacation", here goes:

10:45am: After losing a debate that I shouldn't drive my Lexus to a NASCAR race for very obvious reasons, I donned my rain jacket and my Schlitz hat and my friend Janell and I begun to head up to Loudon with a cooler of tailgate food, a second special cooler of beer, some chairs, a camera, my last will and testament, and a rain jacket. She had been to one of these before and promised that I "was going to love this". I noticed she was crossing her fingers. Hmm.

11:05am: We're already past Concord and there was absolutely no traffic. The rain is coming down pretty well. Not a good sign.

11:10am: We then get onto the road that leads to the speedway which appears to be around 7 miles of stop and go traffic. Not a good sign, but in a different way.

11:20am: I notice one of those cell phone towers that has the fake branches on them that is made to look like a tree but because there are around 20 total branches on the gray metallic tower and the fact that the tower is easily twice the height of the rest of the evergreen trees, I asked her if the she thought if the people who made them seriously thought they were going to fool anyone into thinking that rather than a cell tower, it's just a really ugly, super-tall tree. "Only you would think of something like that," I was told, to which I pretty much agreed. But seriously, who are they trying to kid? Did I mention we were stuck in traffic?

11:20-12:15pm: Several witty comments made by me which were basically too boring or mundane to mention here, and since this blog is basically made to capture these gems, you can only imagine how boring they must have been.

12:15: Finally we get to the road where the parking lots are. The scene it total chaos. There are cars everywhere. Lots were filled with squatters just looking for parking spots and places to tailgate. We missed the turn to where our friends were and instead ended up in the "Family Parking" area which were really a bunch of RVs that apparently have to be fully occupied by 10pm. Time to turn around.

12:20: Ironically, we found a parking lot and spot that was about 200 ft away from where our friends were. This is a good sign!

12:25-1:30: After meeting up with Josh and his cousins, we tailgated for about an hour. It's a typical tailgate, like before football games, except rather than seeing people wear clothing and hats where the home team colors dominate, all you see is numbers.



1:50: We walk to the grandstand area and get our tickets. I am told that we CANNOT miss the "gentlemen start your engines" declaration as well as the actual starting of the engines, so we quickly get in line to security.

1:52: The 14-yr old kid who checks my cooler of beer opens it up. "Beer," he says. "Have a good time." Ladies and gentlemen, we are officially NOT going to Foxboro.

1:53: The lady takes my ticket and scans it. "Make sure that if you leave, you get your hand stamped so you can get back in." I look at her quizzically. "You mean you can LEAVE... and you can come back?" She shook her head and I then knew it was too good to be true until she added, "Only if you have your hand stamped". She then smiled. Ladies and gentlemen, we are officially NOT going to Fenway.

1:55: Told to hurry by Janell so we wouldn't miss the engines revving up, we go inside to as far as the gate as we can go. Turns out we are right at the starting line, and on that starting line on the track are a bunch of people including... Senator John McCain. I have just gone from a Springer-show audience to being 30 feet away from the possible next President of the United States. Only in America... or at least, Loudon NH.



1:55-1:59: McCain says something about how great it is to b e in New Hampshire and how happy he is to be back in the Granite State. I would imagine that his speech is written something like a Mad Lib that goes like this:

"My fellow Americans, I am honored and proud to be back in [state name] for this [event name]. It's always good to be back in the [colorful state nickname]. My wife [wife name] and I love coming back here. Unlike [name of unsuccessful Democratic presidential candidate with a funny name, like Dukakis], we are committed to serving the good people of [state name, of if confused, just say "this state"] for the next four years. Why, I remember back in [pick a year between 1960 and 1970 so no one will call you on it] when I was here [name of a worthy event or charitable cause] and I can still [taste, smell, see] the [popular food item] that I've known to love here in [state name]. And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, [sporting event catchphrase]!!"

Of course I couldn't really hear anything since I think I forgot to mention that the engines had already started anyway.

Here's how close we were to McCain, not that I could just be lying and secretly have a big zoom lens (ladies dig the big zoom lens):



2:05: After a few practice laps, the cars rev up and go. There are few feelings in this world that compare to being only a few feet away from a track where cars driving at around 200 mph produce a wind of exhaust, tire pieces, driver's teeth, etc., that come flying at you. I now know why sitting in the front row is less expensive than seats 30 rows up.



2:10: I ask "who do I root for" and am told "just pick a car and follow it". Since not only do I not care who is racing, I look at the cars and couldn't make up my mind. So I saw one that said "Stanley Tools" on it and thought, "well I did use some Stanley Tools when I did my Home Depot kitchen over, so I guess I'll pick that one." It was the #19 car and I think "cool. Josh Beckett. Fred Lynn." I have to remind myself I am not at Fenway, not that the cooler of beer I'm carrying doesn't constantly remind me of this.

2:11: I then see the Home Depot car and want to change my mind. F me. Janell says that I can't once I pick a car. I think I called her "Ms. Nascar" or something not that either of us could really hear anything.

2:20: Getting to our seats, 30 rows up, cooler in hand, we sit.

2:20-2:45. And we sit.

2:46 (or so): A crash! I hate to admit it, but watching crashes are fun. It sure beats...

2:50: More sitting.

2:52: Time to take a picture of the #19 car for everyone! Problem is, they go too fast. So, this picture was as close as I got:



2:55: Hey, I just realized that I'm bringing my new universal "coolie" commemorating Mike Doolan's 30th Birthday. This is my favorite coolie because I think I have about a dozen of these and don't care if I lose them (sorry Mike). Here's a picture of me trying to amuse myself while cars go around in circles:



3:00 to whenever: Since I really couldn't hear much since my ears were plugged, I then did a little bit of people watching. And here are my observations:

-- To our left was a child around 11-12 years old and presumably his Dad. Every time a certain car came around the turn, he would stand up and flip the bird and yell "FUCK YOU!". Interesting. I then looked for the car with the "Department of Social Services" sponsorship.
-- None of the race cars are sponsored by Colgate, AIM, Pepsodent or Dial, Dove, Right Guard or Ivory. Coincidence?
-- Racing car shirts are like Christmas sweaters: you drag them out once a year and then curse yourself if you have to leave the environment where you're wearing them and be exposed in them. Not that I am a fashion plate by any means, but the colors of most of the shirts are probably best suited for walking through the woods during hunting season and trying not to get shot. However with just a Schlitz hat and a black rain coat, I was considered "preppy".
-- No one really seemed to boo anyone. I did hear some boos for Jeff Gordon who, according to the guy we walked up behind to get to our seats, was "a fag" and for the Busch guy because I think people thought he was the president. Wait. I didn't hear anything because of the earplugs. I established this already.
-- I was able to see who was ahead and then count how many cars my car, #19, was behind. It was a little emasculating to see Janell make a "four" or "six" with her hands and then I flash both hands three times to let her know my loser car was in 30th place. I then felt much, much better when I reminded myself I really didn't give a shit.

I was then caught staring with my mouth open in a catatonic like trance at absolutely nothing whatsoever. She was fortunately able to catch this exciting moment on film and the picture is below. I believe that my mind was playing a continuous loop of some country music I heard on the way in and my mind was thinking mundane thoughts like "Green is a pretty color... Lowe's... Tony Stewart... people applaud... beer... 42 laps to go... exhaust... I like green... "



I then tried to guestimate how much time we had left sitting and staring at cars going around in a circle. Using my astute mathematical prowess (HA) I took a car and timed it. I counted. Around 40 seconds to make a lap. Around 40 laps to go. Hmm. Not being able to completely figure it out since I suck at math, I thought that I'd have about 1/2 hour to go.

Then, more accidents.

It at least allowed me to take pictures of cars.



OK, enough pictures of cars. Hey, the guy in front of me has a t-shirt from a place called the Boothill Saloon! I've never heard of that before!! I have to get a picture taken of it! Might as well include us in the shot as well!



To make an already too long story a little shorter, I'll sum it up by saying that someone named Greg Wiffle won (I assume he is related to the ball), we hung out because 95,000 people leaving all at once just isn't that coordinated, they played Sweet Caroline and Dirty Water to TRY and make it appear that we are still in New England, and then we left to tailgate for the next, oh, 8 hours, where I got my ass kicked in beer pong by Janell and one of Josh's cousins.

Good times, and actually, I think I might go back for the next race. Yep... I can feel my teeth loosening right now...

Mike