Saturday, June 09, 2012

The Refugees of Race City

Early on in the night before it really fills up. Guess which car I drove up in?

I am a disciple of drag racing. I love and worship the noise, cars and excitement that goes along with it. I love the smell of scorched tires, burning oil and unburned hydrocarbons wafting through the stands. I attended the races every Friday night since I got my license. The track, Race City had a half baked road course, an oval track that was way past its prime and a wobbly and rutted drag strip flanked with flaking bleachers. It was decrepit and dangerous. And I adored the place.