"What are words for, when no one listens any more?"

I’ve been thinking about ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’, our country's National Anthem. Did you know the first stanza of the anthem is a series of questions?

"O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, o'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;

O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave, o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?"

The context of the lyrics change when you know they're questions.

According to de Wiki, "the lyrics come from 'Defence of Fort M'Henry', a poem written by American lawyer Francis Scott Key on September 14, 1814, after he witnessed the bombardment of Fort McHenry by the British Royal Navy during the Battle of Baltimore in the War of 1812. Key was inspired by the large U.S. flag, with 15 stars and 15 stripes, known as the Star-Spangled Banner, flying triumphantly above the fort after the battle."

As a Grade school kid during the 1960's, every time the National Anthem was played we all sang it out. I felt a strong sense of patriotism when singing it with a bunch of other kids, and I still sing it at public events every chance I get. When was the last time YOU sang the anthem? If it’s been a while, there are reasons:

1. The anthem melody isn't easy for many folks to sing due to its wide range. 

2. People are embarrassed to sing aloud in public, worried they have a bad voice, can't stay on-key or might forget the words.

3. Event promoters like to have the anthem performed in different ways to spice up their show. Whether sung or as an instrumental, it might use the standard tempo, be slowed waaaaaay down, or changed up so much that it's almost impossible to sing along with. 

I can sing the ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ really well, and was once given an opportunity to perform it in front of over a thousand race fans.

It was the final day of personal watercraft (jet-ski) racing at the 1996 IJSBA Skat-Trak World Finals in Lake Havasu City, Arizona (pictured above). The singer we’d hired to perform the anthem before the Pro Finals canceled at the last-minute due to illness. I was in the Announcing Tower when we got the news, and our Managing Director asked for a volunteer to sing it. 

I sang him the first line to prove I could do it, so he announced that I'd be a stand-in to sing the anthem. I belted it out over the PA system, on-key and without mistakes, and received a standing ovation from the crowd.

My heart swelled to three times its normal size that day.

At most U.S. sporting and public events, presenting 'The Star-Spangled Banner’ before the event begins is a time-honored tradition. It’s also common around the world for that country’s National Anthem to be played at the start of their events.

This past June, The Artist and I watched a big-time NASCAR race on teevee from Mexico City, and I witnessed the very thing that’s had me thinking about our National Anthem. 

The pre-race grid of cars was packed with American race team and NASCAR personnel, American drivers and their American families, friends, support staff and media. The race promoters played a traditional instrumental version of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’, but none of the Americans on the grid were singing it. They just stood there, some with hands over their hearts, silent and waiting for it to be over so they could start the race.

The promoters then played an instrumental version of the ‘Himno Nacional Mexicano’, and it appeared that every Mexican fan in the grandstands were singing out their own anthem, loud and proud. The contrast was startling.

I've seen it happen over and over. Every time ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ is played at U.S. public events, almost no one sings it. The crowd stands there, some with hands over their hearts, silent and waiting for it to be over so the event can begin.

Why is that?

In my humble opinion, it's because many people have apparently forgotten what it means to be an American in arguably the most successful democracy in the world.

Being an American is about a collective identity among a wide-ranging and eclectic Republic; one we all belong to. It transcends ideological turf squabbles and origin stories. It’s about an idea that different people can agree on a shared vision of hope for the future and working together towards that vision. 

That’s a big ask, especially now, but it's important.

Over 800,000 people each year apply for American citizenship, but that doesn't mean they aren't already Americans. In fact, you don't have to be a citizen to be an American. 

Our undocumented immigrant farmers and construction workers and gardeners and healthcare workers and cooks and office workers and painters and carpenters and mechanics and small-business owners and Moms and Dads and janitors and welders and arborists and teachers and food servers and secretaries and pet groomers and housecleaners and all the rest are a part of the American workforce.

The National Anthem’s lyrics are about a specific historical event, but time has given them more context and meaning than Mr. Key could have anticipated. Singing it aloud with others in public, celebrating our shared journey and vision, is an overt way to build a foundation of national unity and declare that we’re all in this thing together, no matter what.

As gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson would say, “This MEANS something, dammit!”

Every time The Artist and I attend a public event, you can bet that I’m singing our National Anthem, loud and proud. Occasionally someone else will join in, but I’m usually the only one around belting it out. I’ve even gotten smirks and dirty looks from people who think I’m showing off. Those people can pound sand, because they just don’t get it. 

Being an American is beautiful and complicated because democracy is also beautiful and complicated. It requires intelligence and dedication and honesty and hard work, and it doesn't matter where you or your parents came from.

The next time you’re in a public setting and the 'Star-Spangled Banner' is played, don’t worry about your lousy voice or forgetting a few words. Rejoice in the opportunity to sing out your appreciation for the democracy we all share, one that is always a work-in-progress, one that is ours... if we can keep it.

"A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worth the effort." - Herm Albright

(Special Note: when I found and listened to this version of 'The Star-Spangled Banner', I got a little choked-up. What can I say... it's amazing!)

All images, Gracias de Google images; National Anthem facts, Gracias de Wikipedia; 'Star-Spangled Banner' video by the United States Army Field Band and Soldier's Chorus, Muchisimas Gracias de YouTube;  America... FUCK YEAH!

Need For Speed

I read something recently that really pissed me off. 

Something that echoed a sentiment I’ve heard most of my adult life.

It was an article (in a non-auto-related online mag) about NASCAR Sprint Cup driver Danica Patrick, who had successfully qualified her car for the Pole Position at the 2013 Daytona 500, the first time a female driver had achieved this lofty perch. The article talked about how important she was in the pantheon of modern sports heroes, how she has become a role model to millions of young girls and women, how her singular efforts were making a huge difference to the sport of motor racing in general, and to NASCAR in particular. During that race she led several laps, ran in the Top 10 the whole time until getting shuffled back on the final lap, placed a very respectable 8^th at the finish and generally kicked some country-fried ass. It was an auspicious start to what has turned into a very sub-par season for her. Racing is HARD.

But it wasn’t the article itself that pissed me off, oh no... it was the comments posted by people who obviously have no knowledge or understanding of motor racing.

They belittled and insulted Danica, and all other race drivers (including 7-time F1 World Champion Michael Schumacher!!), as not being real athletes simply because motor racing is not considered as a ‘true’ sport, and therefore no one who straps on a brain bucket and grabs the steering wheel is qualified to be classified as an ‘athlete’.  "How..." they screeched, "...is Danica, or any other NASCAR driver, sitting in a car and turning left for a few hours, even comparable to the effort it takes to play football or baseball or basketball or hockey or any other traditional stick-and-ball sport?"

And that REALLY pissed me off.

Tiny little Danica, all 100 pounds of her, muscled her 3300-pound car at average lap speeds in excess of 195mph at Daytona FOR OVER 3 HOURS.  The corners are banked at 31 degrees… even the front straight is banked at 18 degrees, and she competed with 42 other racers, each one confounding physics to keep their cars on the asphalt and away from the concrete walls and out of the grassy infield that sucks cars in and spits them out.  Each driver is strapped to their seat by a six-point harness, surrounded by a roll cage, with the engine howling at over 9000 rpm, liquefied tire contact patches barely gripping the track surface, the cars always wanting to shear off and smack the outside wall.  The physical, emotional and mental strength it takes to compete in this type of environment… well, you either understand it or you don’t.

And that’s just oval track racing. Road racing is another animal entirely. Some personal context: 

I’ve been a motor racing fanatic as long as I can remember.  I attended my first drag race at Irwindale Raceway as a Cub Scout in 1965. Dad took my brother and I to Riverside Raceway during the heyday of the Can-Am Series, and we watched the green hankie fly to start the first California 500 at the now-long-gone Ontario Motor Speedway.  As an adult, I’ve been fortunate to attend and/or work races at Long Beach, Perris, Charlotte, Laguna Seca, Sears Point, Talladega, Fontana, Phoenix, Denver, Cleveland, Homestead, Indianapolis, Houston, Buttonwillow, Road Atlanta, Road America, Pomona, Daytona, Las Vegas, Willow Springs, Fort Worth… and those are just the ones where the cars had four tires and wheels. Add in jet skis, snowmobiles, drag boats, motorcycles… well, you get the idea.

I’ve also had the extreme good fortune and pleasure to spend time on-track in a variety of race cars, from mild to wild. Open-wheel formula cars at Sears Point and Willow Springs. Baja Class buggies from Ensenada to San Felipe and back again. Slammed euro-sedans slicing through the turns at Road Atlanta. Innumerable blacktop autocrosses from sea-to-shining sea. Hardcore sprint and shifter karting, both indoor and outdoor, with the track surface whipping by mere inches from my skinny ass.

While I am in no way equating my on-track escapades with the likes of Ms. Patrick or Herr Schumacher, I can tell you with certainty that being an athlete (while extremely important) is only a part of what it takes to drive a race car with any level of skill or competitiveness. I can tell you about how my arm muscles burned and my hips were sore and my legs ached and my knees were bashed and my breathing was labored and my heart pounded out of my chest and my fire suit was drenched with sweat after running a dozen laps around the track at Sears Point in an open-wheel Formula Mitsubishi… and that was only a race driving SCHOOL.

And no matter how difficult or physically demanding any of my driving escapades were, I WAS NOT RACING.  I was just driving, learning, doing, and still got the crap beat outta me, still climbed from the cars with legs of rubber, barely able to catch my breath.  I may be in pretty good shape, but a full day of autocrossing on smooth asphalt would result in my resembling a large bowl of ugly jelly by day’s end.

I know what I’m talking about here.

And so I offer a hearty 'KISS MY SKINNY ASS' to anyone who thinks that driving a race car is not an athletic sport.

For professional racers, multiply my efforts by a factor of 10, plus add in the speed I could never achieve, because I ain’t that fast.

The ability to run flat-out, regardless of the size and/or shape of the track or the speed of the vehicle, gives my brain and body a rush of endorphins that is second only to having sex.  It gives me insight as to why professional racing drivers have the itch, the need, the competitive drive it takes to risk life and limb on track, at speed, helmet on, eyes wide open.
 

While I’ve had many opportunities to strap a bucket on my pointy head and do some serious track time, my current running is limited to indoor go-karting at the K1 Speed facility in Irvine (CA). These are not putt-putt karts like at your local miniature golf facility, oh no.  These are high-tech, 20hp DC-electric 45mph sleds with torque up the wazoo and plenty fast enough to get you in lots of trouble, if that be what yer lookin’ fer. Professional and amateur racers run at this place when they're in town for fun and to keep their chops sharp.  Karting is seminal and brutal, even in K1's sterilized 'retail racing' environment.

Most folks will head to this place to thrash around the course with their friends, bumping each other and sliding around and whooping and all that, not really doing serious laps, just goofing.  Not me. I head there right after work when the place is still empty and the track is clear of what I like to call ‘rolling chicanes’, i.e. typical drivers. If I’m really lucky, I’ll be the only kart on track, and that’s when I can really have at it. I can achieve maximum speed on the relatively short course, finding the fastest line and ripping off one fast lap after another, clipping apexes and sliding along the outside turn siding and hauling ass.  Without other karts to contend with, I get into a zone of lap lap lap lap, hopefully each one faster than the last, until the short minutes have expired and I’m drawn back into the staging lanes.

When I drag my butt out of the kart, I am sweaty and breathing hard and my arms are shaky… and I’m totally ready for another session.  Wait for the next session, chug a bottle of cold water and then jump back into the kart for another round of lap lap lap lap faster faster faster, apex accelerate straight hard turn apex turn apex accelerate lap lap lap.  It becomes a blur, my head is totally clear except for the vision of the upcoming turn and where I need to have the kart on track to hit that next apex just right lap lap lap lap lap lap IN.

The last time I was at K1, my fastest lap was less than ½-second off the standing track record, which accorded me no small amount of satisfaction, being an old fart and all.  During that visit, I did three sessions, one after the other, the second and third being the only kart running.  When I was done, I could barely stand, out of breath, my legs were rubber and my arms were burning and… I WAS IN A STATE OF NIRVANA… and this was only an electric go-kart!!!! I could have run another three sessions if I'd had the dough.

I reckon the point I'm trying to make is this: those who denigrate motor racing as not being a real sport with real athletes should STFU and try it sometime before making ignorant noises with their pie holes.  As I've written before, the science involved in motorsports takes the idea of competition to a whole other level, bridging the gap between the physical and mechanical worlds and offering a unique perspective on how the human mind operates at-speed.

This past October, The Artist and I attended the IndyCar race at Fontana's California Speedway (I refuse to call it Auto Club Speedway) to watch the season-ending event for the series, and it was a barn-burner. We were there for every race between 1997 and 2004, then went back when the series returned to the track last year after a 7-year hiatus. We watched in horror as Greg Moore crashed heavily on the back straight during the 1999 race, watched his crew strip the pit once the race resumed (that NEVER happens), watched the Medivac helicopter liftoff to the local hospital, watched as the flags were all lowered to half-staff while the cars still screamed around the oval. When the race finally ended, the PA announcer told us Greg had died of his injuries, and the grandstands grew quiet while we all silently mourned a fallen champion, a racer, a kindred spirit.

But we were back at Long Beach and Fontana the following year, supporting a sport that we love and cherish, supporting the amazing athletes who choose to compete in such a dangerous thing, plugging in to the highly-electric and eclectic activity that punches our buttons and gives us a visceral joy that nothing else can... except for the aforementioned sexing.

For me, no other professional sport can measure up to motor racing, because unlike football or baseball or basketball or hockey or any of the rest, the race driver commits life and limb to pursue his or her need for speed.  They know the risks, and we fans do too. They know every race holds the chance for the ultimate success or the ultimate loss, and yet... they keep on driving, and we keep on supporting their efforts.

That's why ripping off hot laps at K1 Speed is so intoxicating for me now. I get a whiff of the red mist that racing at 10/10ths pours into the driver's mind and heart and soul... but a whiff is all it takes to make me fight even harder to stitch a good lap together... and then do it again.

Lead image, gracias de worldnewsnetwork7.com; Deep Purple 'Highway Star' video, muchismas gracias de youtube.com.

Take A Load Off

At 56 years old and counting, I have a confession to make: I'm addicted to (gasp!) FRUITS AND VEGETABLES... DUN-DUN-DUNNNNNNN!!!!!

The image above is evidence of my addiction, including the questionable paraphernalia that allows me to continue my downward spiral into the morass of natural vitamin intake, a shiny wolverine fur coat and a roughage-friendly alimentary system.  It wasn’t always like this, but now that I've outed my unseemly cravings, I can only hope this admission will serve as a warning to others who may fall into the trap of a semi-healthy diet.  I never planned for this to happen.

Now, don't get me wrong... I am a total Chocoholic, and I get all kinds of crazy if I don't have some of that sweet brown goodie within arm's reach if the craving hits. One thing we are NEVER without at home is chocolicious snackies that get sucked in so fast, the wrappers almost go in too.  On those rare occasions when the goodies have been scarfed and it's too much trouble to hit the store, a handful of semi-sweet chocolate chips will hit that sweet spot just right, I swear. The fact that dark choco is now my fave may explain why sometimes I'll go for the choco chips even if we aren't out of the regular stuff.  This chocolate craving has TEETH.

But for now, back to the healthy stuff.

I have a typical Virgo trait of being very process-oriented (read: anal-retentive), and since I do the grocery shopping for our home, I make it a point to hit the store first ayem on either Saturday or Sunday, depending on the weather (yardwork) and any plans The Artist may have for me/us that I haven’t been made privvy to, which she likes to spring on me with little or no warning… she’s AWESOME that way.  I pull cash from the ATM (I refuse to pay for groceries with a debit card), fuel up the sled, then head off to one or more stores depending on the list.  Yes, we keep a grocery list… you’d be surprised how many people don’t make a shopping list and just buy food commando-stylie, heh heh heh.

My first stop is the produce section for the usual suspects (lettuce, tomatoes, apples, oranges, bananas), seasonal fruit when available (grapes, cantaloupe, cherries, strawberries or watermelon), a selection of tasty veggies (cabbage, green beans, broccoli or artichokes) and ALWAYS the Big Three:  carrots, celery and radishes.  I cruise through the store, aisle by aisle, picking up items and ticking them off the list before heading to the cashier with my motley assortment of re-useable shopping bags.  My bags were collected from various sources for FREE, but the different sizes and colors makes me a bit sheepish when I’m waiting at checkout behind someone who sports a stack of identical bags, all neatly aligned and in the same color, mocking my pile of mongrels (bag envy?).

Sidetrack questions:  Do you have re-useable grocery bags, or still relying on the plastic or paper single-use disposables? Did you know that less than 15% of disposable bags ever make it into the recycling stream?  Did you know that you’re supposed to WASH your re-useable bags on a regular basis? Are you aware the store baggers like to stuff as many items as possible into reusable bags, thereby squishing items and making the bags way too heavy?  Did you know that those same baggers HATE using the reusable bags?

OK, enuf of that. So, once I get back to the homestead and drop the loaded bags onto the kitchen floor, the very first thing I do is pop the teevee on the Classical Masterpieces cable radio station and crank up the volume.  Ahhh... Stravinsky! After the groceries have been stowed, I begin the Sacred Cleansing and Preparation Ritual. Cantaloupe gets washed (with soapy water because salmonella!), sliced in half, cleaned out and sectioned into an awaiting container.  Grapes, strawberries or cherries get a fast rinse. The Big Three are a bit more labor-intensive, but the process has become strangely satisfying for me, especially with that amazing classical music streaming in the background.

Carrots have their ends lopped off, then I peel and slice them lengthwise into quarters, which are then cut into 2-inch chunks before being washed and fridged. Celery gets the ends lopped off as well, and each stalk is sliced lengthwise into halves, cut into 2-inch chunks, washed and fridged. Radishes get snipped from the green tops (bagged ones were all they had when the image above was snapped), have both tips sliced off, then are halved (quartered if they're lunkers), washed and fridged. Once these veggies are prepped, it’s a snap to slap a handful of each into a sandwich bag to munch on at work, a great alternative to a bag of Doritos snaked from the vending machine.

Lately I've been bringing peanut butter to work for veggie dipping. I'm a bad wolverine with sticky paws.

Here’s the weird part:  my little ballet of washing and slicing and cutting has become a chore that I actually look forward to each weekend.  The elements are all there… the healthy food, the great music, the unrushed time spent in preparation, the idea that The Artist is working in her studio mere footsteps away, her brushes flying and her own music pumping.  It creates an aura of serene and purposeful work that is nothing but good.  On top of that, having recently acquired a really nice set of cutlery, I get to use a sweet little paring knife that makes me feel like Giada DeLaurentis gave me personal prep instruction. OMIGOSH a good knife is a thing of beauty, a tool to be used with deftness and care so as not to lop off a fingertip or skewer a palm.  It’s true… a sharp knife reduces the chance of cutting one’s self, and I can say that with certainty. Ouch.

There’s lots more going on here than just cutting up veggies, of course. In recent years, I’ve become more aware of my overall health and fitness, have worked hard to reduce the amount of salt, bread and butter in my diet (oh man that is SO HARD to do because I lovelovelove butter) and avoid fried foods that have become ubiquitous in all our lives. During the work week, my office food stocks are chock-full of goodies that are mostly good, but I am a weak wolverine so there's also the occasional choco bar or bag of chips or cookies.  However, it has become a running joke among my workmates when I walk through the shop while chomping on some veggies, an apple or a banana that it should be chicken nuggets going into my pie hole instead of wabbit food.

That ribbing comes from a group of guys whose sole intake of vegetables consists of the nasty tomato slice and shredded lettuce on a triple burger from Wendy’s. Almost to a man, they don’t eat fruit of any sort, walk in first thing each day with a Red Bull and a cigarette as breakfast, and scarf down sucky fast food for lunch EVERY SINGLE DAY.  My boss has his standard breakfast in-hand most mornings:  a pack of choco donuts and a 32 ounce soda from 7-11.  The healthiest thing I’ve ever seen him munch on is a chicken bowl from Flame Broiler, which I can attest to as surprisingly tasty.

I can trace the roots of my banana fetish to a boss I had many moons ago, a barrel of a man with a terrible hairpiece who ate a banana every single day at work. He got me started on that and I pretty much have followed suit, bananas being one of my abfab go-to snacks.  My love of fresh fruit goes back even farther than that, back to the mid-1960’s when I lived in La Puente and our back yard was teeming with apricot, peach, plum and nectarine trees.  From Spring to Fall, we kids were always munching on fresh fruit, and we’d toss some over the fence and into the three swimming pools adjacent to our back yard as bribery to be invited for a swim. Just writing about it now, I can taste the sweet-yet-tart flesh of a barely-ripe nectarine, hard to the touch and offering a loud crunch at every bite. We never EVER let fruit rot on the limb and fall to the ground, because we raided the fruit from the tree the millisecond it became edible.  Who says there’s no free lunch?

The weight thing was also a bugaboo for me many many moons ago.  At one point in the mid-70's, when me and my street-racing friend Jerry were out late most weekend nights, we’d stuff our faces at Bob’s Big Boy or Carrows sometime around 1AM before crashing at home, and my weight ballooned to around 220 pounds.  Thankfully that regulated down to around 190, but 10 years ago I had a real-world epiphany about weight and food and health.

I was working the season-opening NASCAR race at Daytona International Speedway in 2003, sporting about 200 pounds of wolverine flesh and not paying attention to my daily nutritional intake because I was doing so much travelling for my job. Our mobile marketing area, consisting of several tractor-trailers with huge enclosed canopies and interactive displays, were on one side of the exhibitor area and the track’s operations center was on the other, perhaps a quarter-mile away. 

After the first few days of set-up, I found myself having to traipse between the two sites many times each day due to the complex nature of our set-up and the needs of our primary client.  Halfway through the event, I found myself running the route in order to make things happen when I began to get really winded, really fast.  By the last event day, it was almost impossible for me to keep up the pace, and it suddenly dawned on me that I was overweight, out of shape and had no one but myself to blame.

I started my caloric intake change that very day, avoiding airport food for some fruit and nuts that I had bought on the way outta town, drinking water instead of sodas and forcing myself NOT to chow down fast food at every opportunity.  I cut way back on most breads and (more recently) sugar, although I had yet to curb the salt thingie.  Lo and behold, I began to see a dramatic change, shedding weight and getting my stamina back, settling in at about 170 pounds and maintaining that pretty much to this day.  I’m at about 175 now, have seen a max of 180 but freaked out and found that I could drop the tonnage pretty damned fast if I put my mind to it.

Thankfully I’ve been able to keep some discipline in my diet and not balloon back to my old rolled mold. The Artist and I regularly enjoy a wide spectrum of healthy foods that include a lot of roasted whole almonds and her jabbing me whenever I get out the tub o’butter.  I struggled mightily with the salt shaker, but now I almost never touch that vile glass vial.  She also has a stellar way with cooking fresh veggies, using a combination of microwave and stovetop to maintain taste, freshness and the heavenly aroma of really good healthy foodstuffs.

One veggie in particular that has become a staple for us are brussel sprouts, those delightful mini-cabbages that have a pungent aroma during cooking but are so delish!  She’ll wash and halve them, nuke until just barely soft, saute’ them in a pan with olive oil to get a bit of char, then sprinkle with toasted pine nuts… NOM!!!!!  The best part: she’ll use the leftovers on HOMEMADE PIZZA! I simply cannot tell you how good this is, you just gotta try it, get over the weird concept and go for it.

All of this is just ancillary to the idea of eating better, cooking with fresh foods, planning ahead when grocery shopping and making sure there’s always something healthy ready to go in the fridge.  Yes, my blood pressure is a tad bit higher than I like (130/80), but my doctor sez that I’m in pretty damned good shape for an old Messican, which means that our healthy eating efforts are not in vain. Even after two knee surgeries, I have full range of motion and take care not to abuse them complex joints like I used to, yet another sign that I am get both older AND smarter. I’m sure The Artist would take issue with the ‘smarter’ part.

This isn’t rocket science, the healthy-eating thingie. It just takes some of that ‘self-discipline’ goo that we always seem to have a shortage of, an eye and nose to find a really good cantaloupe, some bangin’ classical music, a sharp knife and the brain power to use it all without needless bloodshed.

 

 

I’m a healthy, shiny-coated wolverine.

 

Lead image de Oblio; The Clash 'Lost in the Supermarket' video, muchismas gracias de YouTube.

NASCAR Is Not Evil

A great quote often attributed to Ernest Hemingway goes like this: "There are only three true sports – bullfighting, deep-sea fishing, and motor racing. Everything else is just a game."

I am a motorsports fan. I love almost every form of two- and four-wheeled racing, with the notable exception of motocross, which bores me to tears. Road racing is my passion… open-wheel formula and closed-wheel sports cars make my eyes spin just watching them slice from apex to apex, exhaust blasting and dust flying and bits of exotic rubber shredding off at every corner. I’ve been fortunate to spend time at the wheel of many different types of road and race cars during track days, autocrosses, off-road tours and racing driver schools. Driving a race car on-track is third on the list of things I enjoy most during my life’s waking hours.

That’s why I wince whenever another racing fan disparages NASCAR as not being ‘real' racing. It’s a very common feeling among fans who believe their series is far superior than anyone else’s, and nowhere is that divide more pronounced than between the road racers and the oval racers. Think the Farmers and the Cowmen. The Skiers and the Snowboarders. The Hatfields and The McCoys. The Conservatives and the Liberals. You know… a simmering resentment that borders on (and sometimes turns into) open hostility. Thankfully, there are some of us who look at all racing disciplines (including motocross) as a uniquely vibrant symbiosis of man, machine, science, chance and luck.

NASCAR racing, and the premier Sprint Cup Series in particular, is a singular example of that symbiosis… professional racing that has been cooked down to its most brutal and elemental format. There are many people, including hard-core race fans, who don’t seem to grasp the nature of classic oval racing that is central to NASCAR’s existence and popularity. “All they do is go fast in a circle for hours and hours” is the most common criticism of the genre, which is woefully uninformed about the incredible effort it takes to go fast in a circle, sometimes for hours. A bit of understanding goes a long way towards gaining an appreciation for the sport. Let me help.

The most popular lore about NASCAR’s history refers to mid-20th century Southern moonshiners in their souped-up cars outrunning the revenooers while trying to deliver their cargo of White Lightnin'. While this historical episode is absolutely true, the oval racing phenomenon has its roots much, much further back… back to horse races at 19th century American county fairs, to the bareback match races in dusty Arabic town squares, to the chariot races and nascent Olympic stadium foot races in ancient Rome and Greece. Yep, it goes that far back, and the connection is not just passive. Men have competed in the oval format, with and without their mounts, for millennia. It is human nature to test ourselves against each other in a closed-course environment while spectators cheer and drink and gamble and fight and puke and enjoy the spectacle.



A modern top-echelon Sprint Cup racing machine is NOT a 'stock' car, even though NASCAR stands for ‘National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing’. The name harkens back to 1949 when the organization was formed and they really did race cars that were essentially stock or barely modified for competition. In them days, the racers also had guns and knives and fistfights in the pits so the they could handle on-track disagreements, and they were lucky to win enough prize money to pay for their race expenses, especially if a car got wadded-up. These days, like all other mainline professional sports, it’s all about The Benjamins for the mega-bucks multi-car teams with expensive equipment and personnel and rigs and sponsors that demand free tickets and team clothing and fresh flowers on each hospitality center table while they dine on gourmet food.

Today’s Sprint Cup race car is a purpose-built, handcrafted, tube-framed, metal-clad, mega-horsepowered speed device that owes its existence to science, technology, human endeavor and sheer madness. The cars are an exercise in building a machine to stringent technical specifications which allows them to reach speeds in excess of 200mph while competing with 42 other cars on the track at the same time. Depending on which track they're at, their engines can produce as much as 800 horsepower. Their eggshell-thin sheet metal bodies are formed and tweaked and massaged to reduce drag, increase downforce and promote aerodynamic efficiency. The chassis is fabricated from thick-wall metal tubing that can withstand a crash where an impact can measure to 100 times the power of gravity, or 100G’s, all while protecting the flesh/blood/bone driver strapped inside.

Once the cars are inspected to ensure they meet the technical and safety specifications, the driver proceeds to lap the track as fast as the laws of physics will allow. The science involved is the part that has me so enamored with racing in general. Combustion. Torque. Friction. Gravity. Geometry. Inertia. Momentum. Aerodynamics. Thrust. Thermal expansion. Deterioration. Turbulence. Calculus. Metallurgy. Chemistry. The mind reels at the complexity involved in order to ‘go fast in a circle, sometimes for hours’. My years working in the performance tire industry taught me about how tenuous the connection is between the tire and track surface at the limits of adhesion. The tire tread surface literally melts when it contacts the ground at speed, morphing into a gooey patch that just barely maintains friction, keeping the car moving forward but almost losing the safety of friction-based traction. SCIENCE, BABY.



Another distinction of the Sprint Cup Series: these are endurance races, as opposed to a shorter ‘sprint’ races. Most of the oval races are 400 or 500 miles long, with a 600-miler run at Charlotte (NC) each year on Memorial Day weekend. The smaller ovals usually run lap counts as opposed to miles due to their slower average lap speeds (100mph is slow?), but the challenges are no less daunting. This format is unique to NASCAR, as the US-based open-wheel and sports car series run only a few high-mileage endurance events each year.

The endurance nature of the NASCAR events are where the real racing challenge happens. Visualize this: 43 cars and their teams have qualified for a race, and they all compete at maximum speed on the track at the same time, requiring multiple pit-stops for new tires and fuel… FOR 500 MILES. Each lap is another opportunity to mess up and crash or get spun out. Each pit stop is another opportunity to get it wrong, drop the car off the jacks before the tires have been mounted, stop in the wrong pit (yes, it happens), drive into or out of the pits too fast, run over a tire or air hose or some other infraction and incur a penalty. And always... always, there is the chance for mechanical failure. There are myriad ways a race can go into the dumper, and it all happens while the race is progressing at high speed.

The ever-present danger that accompanies NASCAR competition brings with it an edge that fans and spectators are hesitant to admit is like a narcotic. While it’s been almost a decade since the last spate of crash-related deaths in the series, the chance for a horrific accident is always there, waiting to snatch the life of an unlucky driver while everyone watches. Having witnessed life-ending race crashes in person, I can speak from personal experience – it changes you.

Remember the comparison I made earlier to the chariot races in Rome? Modern technology has made the racing vastly safer than even 10 years ago, but like Steve McQueen’s character, race driver Michael Delaney, said in the classic movie ‘Le Mans’: “Auto racing is a professional blood sport. It can happen to you. Then it can happen again” When asked why men race and risk death, he responds, “Racing is important to men who do it well. Racing is life. Everything before and after… is just waiting.”





On the negative side of the typical NASCAR Sprint Cup extravaganza, there is a real over-the-top true-blue American carnival atmosphere to the events, and the entertainment aspect has begun to make it seem just a wee-bit saccharine, a tad contrived, a little overly-patriotic. Most of the drivers now have to be clean-cut corporate shills, always remembering to name-check their sponsors while on camera, have cookie-cutter cute blonde wives, love God and country and bow their heads in prayer during the pre-race invocation. Gone are the rough-and-tumble types that built the sport from a strictly regional series. The sanctioning body also has a reputation for meddling with qualifying results and making questionable calls during the races. Yes, sometimes the races can be boring if one team hits the right set-up and runs away from the field, stinking up the joint. All that is true, but overall, it's still the real deal.

The TV broadcasts are another matter. Sometimes the commercialism involved with the sport can be overbearing, with sponsor logos on absolutely everything. In fact, there are times that the racing action is limited to only half of the screen, with the rest taken over by the running order scroll, banner ads, several screen 'bugs' and at least three different sponsor logos. A recent development has the race in a small screen portal with no sound while the commercials are rolling, mostly ads with the drivers hawking everything from auto parts to furniture rental to boner pills. Sometimes we'll record the race and watch it later that day or the next, speeding through the commercials and turning a 3-1/2 hour broadcast into a much more viewable 2 hours. I'm not the type to go bonkers if I find out who won before I watch the damned thing... at least not all the time.

As I write this essay, the 2011 Daytona 500 is only hours away and, thanks to a newly-repaved track surface, race official's meddling and last-minute changes to the cars, it seems as if there will be a very odd type of race, where two cars can 'pair-up' nose-to-tail and run almost 10mph faster than the field. The practice and warm-up races have yielded an unfortunate race strategy, so it remains to be seen what will happen on Race Day. Oh, I'll watch it all right, even though I have a sinking feeling the race will wind up with a bunch of paired-up cars drafting around the track, all keeping their distance from each other so they can make it to the last few laps and then shoot it out for the Checkered Flag.

That's what happens sometimes. I've also seen boring football and baseball games, but methinks even if the Daytona 500 is less than stellar, the next race will see the competition get back to normal.

NASCAR racing is not evil, is not dumb, does not ask the fan to think too hard, but offers limitless opportunities to revel in the classic American sport of stock car racing. Yes, they race at high speed in a circle for hours, but when you have a better understanding of the challenges involved, it creates a drama and excitement that few other sports can equal. Make it a point to give NASCAR racing some of your valuable time, and remember the incredible amount of science involved, the sheer courage required, the risk of death and the reward of finishing First. It might... just... snare you. You're welcome!

UPDATE: As I suspected, the 2011 Daytona 500 turned into a race dominated by two-car drafting pairs, which were able to lap faster than individual cars or an entire pack of them. The drivers were allowed to communicate with each other via their on-board radios so they could set up their strategic pairings while whizzing along at 195mph. Although I was disappointed at this turn of events, the race was really exciting and yielded a surprise winner: 20 year-old Trevor Bahne, racing in only his second Sprint Cup race. Driving the Wood Brothers #21 Ford, Trevor was fast all day, drafted like a champ and held off several veterans to capture NASCAR's crown jewel. It was the first win in 10 years for the Wood Brothers team, who last won the 500 in 1979.

I am not a fan of this new type of 'drafting pair' speedway racing, yet I know it will happen again the next time they visit Daytona in July and during both upcoming races at my beloved Talladega (boo hoo). I reckon I'm old skool in many ways. I figger that every car is out there to beat every other car. When drivers can work together to gain an advantage, whether they're on the same team or not, well... that just doesn't seem to be in the spirit of ANY type of motor racing. The reviews on the race were mixed. I dinna like it. Oh well... that's racing!

'Thunder Road' trailer, Michael Waltrip In-Car Camera clip, 'Ben Hur' clip and 'Daytona 2009 Finish' clip all MUCHISMAS GRACIAS de youtube.com. Talladega image courtesy of markjbelis.com.

Black Gold... Texas Tea... Wide-Open Throttle

Recently I read a blog posting at a site I really enjoy, and said blogger raised an issue in my mind that has left me in a conundrum of sorts.

Now, anyone who knows me also knows that I am a hard-core motor racing fan... have been since I was a small boy following my Dad around in the pits at the Irwindale (CA) Raceway drag strip back in the 60's. I follow most forms of four-wheeled racing which includes Formula One, IndyCar, NASCAR, ALMS, Grand-Am, SCCA, SCRA, WRC, NHRA, Australian SuperCar, DTS and almost every other racing acronym. I am entranced by the discipline required to race at any level, especially for the pros. Having been lucky enough to attend several racing driver schools, perform shakedowns of formula cars on-track and autocross like a mofo, I have been called a pretty damned good driver by some pretty damned good drivers.

Which gets me to the blog posting in question, where the point was made about Memorial Day being celebrated in certain sectors by hundreds of thousands of racing fans driving gas-guzzling cars to watch two classic races: The IndyCar Indianapolis 500 and the NASCAR Coca-Cola 600. The point was made that we as a nation are fighting oil wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, our soldiers are dying for that oil and we race fans memorialize their sacrifice by watching race cars burn fuel to race around in a circle. With the image of foot soldiers in Middle Eastern deserts juxtaposed against the seemingly wasteful entertainment sport of motor racing, how can anyone enjoy racing at all, knowing the blood that was/is being spilled to fill those fan's fuel tanks?

Like I said, a legitimate question, albeit a false comparison.

It has been endlessly documented that this country, the good old U.S. of A., is the richest, fattest, oil-usingest collection of states currently residing on Planet Earth. We want what we want, when we want it (NOW, dammit!), and we seek to gain those treasures by any means necessary so as to salve our need to consume and ensure that we are never without exactly what we want. New President hasn't solved every single domestic and foreign nightmare he inherited, so he is an automatic failure and must be hung like we used to do back in the day. Really, truly... we are a pathetic bunch of WATB's when we don't get our binky.

So to the question of oil and liberalism and my progressive ethic and the horrific fact that we are slaves to that same oil. How can I condone so much wasteful fuel consumption AND be against the use of oil AND be such an avid fan of a sport that (currently) requires the use of combusted fossil fuel to propel earthbound sleds around a racetrack, held on the ground only by gravity and aerodynamics and physics and luck? Am I a raging hypocrite? Stupid? Blinded by the Green Flag?

Of course not.

I am no more a hypocrite for supporting motorsports while being against the use of oil than a PETA member protesting against the use of fur while wearing leather shoes and a belt. I use oil, gasoline and all manner of oil-derived products because that is what we have used as a basis for our national consumption... petrochemicals. Should I also deny myself the use of my plastic fantastic wireless keyboard, the chair I'm sitting in, the table this keyboard is sitting on, the printer on this same table, the fan housing now bathing my sweaty body in cool breezes, the myriad items that are necessary for my day-to-day living?

Well, I could, but then I would be unable to perform my job, get to work, drive home, store my lunch, use the bathroom or anything else that could be classified as a human existence in this modern era. We are surrounded by the products that have been made possible by the luxurious black gold, the same type that was spewing from a volcano in the Gulf of Mexico. The hard truth is that we have addicted ourselves to that ancient dinosaur goo, and we are FINALLY starting to THINK about MAYBE trying EVENTUALLY to wean ourselves off of our mainline jones for de oil.

Now, as for the racing thing: like many other sports, it is beholden to the usage of oil, specifically the fuel, motor oil, tire compounds, greases, lubricants, solvents... lots of stuff, but I'll focus on the cars themselves. Many of the production-based racing series feature cars that run on gasoline, but more and more of the exotic formulae are now using corn-based ethanol, a renewable resource fuel that emits almost no toxins into the atmosphere. That's a good start, but not enough for me.

I want racing to become a foundation for the development of alternative forms of energy used to hurtle the cars around the track. Electricity? Hydrogen? Fuel cell? Kinetic? Hybrids? I dinna care... I just want racing to do for auto fuels what it has already done for auto, electronics, tire and safety technology... to be the springboard testing lab for eventual mass consumption. I want the Indianapolis 500 to have a wide-open technical specification like they used to have in the old days... basically, it was 'run what ya brung' as long as it was deemed safe enough so as not to endanger other drivers. In fact, there was some recent talk of that very thing being implemented at the track, but it was quashed under the guise of being 'too expensive' for the teams and owners. BAH. The only thing keeping it from happening in all major racing series, as well as for the general public is... oil is just too damned cheap!

That's right... I said it, and I meant it! Yes, we may be paying close to $80 per barrel of oil right now, but a 55-gallon drum of oil means that each gallon of sweet crude costs only about $1.50 per gallon in its unrefined state (based on and including the cost to actually access the stuff), from which the oil companies refine or 'crack' the goo into myriad compounds, fluids and fuels and charge a handsome price for each and every one. Suppose the oil cost them ten times that amount, $11.50 per gallon, in its pristine condition... would it still be profitable? I think not.

OK that's an obtuse exercise, so let's try one by the numbers since I'm talking about the 'evil' racing thing. I'll use NASCAR as an example from a fan participation perspective, because those race cars still use fossil fuel to motorvate and it is currently the most popular form of racing in this country. There are 36 races during the regular season, with an average of 100,000 fans attending each race, which equates to a total of 3,600,000 fans that attend the entire year's worth of races. Assuming they all carpool four to a car (yeah, right), that works out to 900,000 cars being used to drive to and from the races for the whole season. WOW... seems like a lot, eh?

Compare that to the NFL -- there are 32 teams, playing a total of 16 games each and every weekend during the regular season, and assuming a paltry 75,000 fans attend each game equates to 1,200,000 fans EACH WEEKEND who also carpool four to a vehicle (ha!), which means that there are around 300,000 cars being driven to and from NFL games EVERY WEEKEND. Multiply that by a standard 17-week season and you get a whopping 5,100,000 cars being driven to watch football games, almost five times as many cars than for the NASCAR season. How's that for an equivalency?

OK, enough of that wonky stuff. Suffice it to say that the false equivalency in this case is stunning, but that's how the game is played... there are many ways to demonize something that you don't like or understand. For me, the thought of race cars powered by all manner of drive systems and energies is something to salivate over, as well as a potential major headache for a sanctioning body to formulate some type of technical specification towards an even playing field, but HEY... this is indeed rocket science, and as Roger Penske famously once said, 'Racing ain't for little boys in short pants'.

If racing mystifies you... if you just don't get it, take my advice: ATTEND A REAL RACE. Doesn't matter if it's a regional SCCA mashup, a local circle-track or a big-time sports or stock car brouhaha. Crawl the pits and witness the frenzy of preparation and battle-field engineering, where team members will pitch in to help another car make the show, just to be able to beat them on the track. Watch as the combatants drive over the limit during qualifying. Stare in wonder at the display of physics in action as the drivers race around on-track at speeds that would land you in jail or otherwise kill your untrained self.

OK, now I'm staring to sound like a racing zealot, but you catch my drift. Oil is our finite manna, and we must figure out a way to use less and less of it as we move further into the 21st century. We ignore the fact at our own peril. We can all do our part every day by keeping our cars clean, tires aired-up, the engine tuned-up, and by NOT mashing the throttle every time the light turns Green. By the way, a traffic school instructer once taught me that the Green light does not mean 'GO' on the street. Rather, it means 'you may proceed when it is safe to do so'. Funny how that little nugget has stayed with me.

One last thing: earlier this year I was headed to work at 5AM one morning, enjoying the empty neighborhood streets when WHAM, nailed by a motorcycle cop for traveling 60mph in a 45mph zone. I was livid because there was no one around, but John Law just smiled and wrote me up. Between traffic school and the ticket, I paid out $375 of hard-earned loot, but guess what? I have become much more conscious of my speed, never exceeding the limit by more than 5mph, but the side benefit is that my weekly fuel mileage has incresed by almost 10 percent!

So, motor racing... oil... alternative fuels... NASCAR... traffic school... PETA... did I miss anything? I reckon not, but it just goes to show that we ratioanlize the costs of everything we buy, use and toss away, and that a gallon of fuel is a far better deal than a gallon of Starbuck's Morning Brew.

Black gold... Texas tea... wide-open throttle towards a new fuel source for race cars. I am SO THERE.

(Image courtesy of BartCop.com... thanks!)