skeedmark

Some of my favorite times with my Dad were at the racetrack. Back then, if you got there early enough, you could back your truck up to the fence. We had a porch swing that we put on top of the cab of my truck and we'd sit there all day during Saturday qualifying. The return road was right there too, so you could clap and wave at the racers when they'd return from a run. I remember that the racers were more accessible. As long as you stayed out of the way, they'd let you walk right up to their cars. The atmosphere was more fun and less businesslike than it is now. I wouldn't trade any of those memories. The muddy parking lot, the smell of the fried burgers at the concession stand under the bleachers, the ladies with halter tops and sunburned shoulders, the sound of the "big boys" firing up their engines, the smell of rubber from a burnout. Happy Fathers Day, Dad.