8-7-04
The stands are filling
with race fans, each of them eagerly looking forward to a
night of excitement. Donned in the colors of their favorite,
they sit waiting to feel the exhilaration. A father is
sitting with two young children answering a thousand questions
and relishing the opportunity to do so. A nervous teen is
sitting with a young girl, shuffling his feet and making
awkward conversation.
Still more fans are
streaming through the gates, their ears greeted by the songs
of summer. Classic rock and oldies favorites adding to the
soundtrack as a local band jams on the main stage. Stopping
at the stand to pick up a program, a weekly fan is sensing a
buzz in the air, an anticipation of what is to come.
Bright colors abound and
nearby machines are sitting quietly; waiting their turn.
Tacticians are plotting and scheming; discussing scenarios.
The tools of the trade are being prepared for battle. This
relative peace will soon erupt into a cavalcade of sound.
The evening is cool and
crisp. Smoke is rising up from the grill and the smell of
burgers and dogs is intoxicating. Preparations are being made
behind the scenes, radios are crackling with chatter as the
final touches are made and small fires are tended to.
All rise and heads bow for
the invocation and the National Anthem. Crews jump into
action, the unsung heroes shining in the spotlight. The
night’s best are waving to their fans as their names echo
through the sky. Fans are rising to their feet and they
cheer.
Strap in, belts tight, helmet on. Finally the command,
“Gentlemen Start Your Engines.”, beckons the cars from
slumber. The engines roar to life. The night is alive. The
race is on.
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