In the Pit

It's not the Indy 500 or the Daytona 500.  The smells may be the same, the cars have the same purr but the sites and access were different.  

It was my first experience at a drag strip.  Yes, the Spokane Raceway Park.  It was 97 degrees, there were about 20 fans in the stands.  I asked my friend, "should I bring ear plugs?"  She said, "oh no, it's not like a concert where it's consistent."  I shouldn't of listened.  You see my ears are 10 years older than hers.  

She took us to the special check in point where we received orange wrist bands.  I signed on the dotted line to have entry to this area.  Some how, I asked myself why I had to sign to receive a paper wrist band but I was curious and printed away.  

Before all of that, I entered the park with several options to choose (none of which I knew where they went).  One was entry to the track, "no, probably not a good idea."  The other, exit off the track.  "Why yes, that sounds good."  Not so much.  I spotted my friend waving her hands.  "You do realize this is the return lane for those cars that just got done racing?"

No.  I didn't know.  It's quite confusing.  Not a lot of signage.  Which, I thought for a race track, they would be good at that.  After all, the racers use signs to stop, go, slow, speed, caution, and breathe.

I was quite amazed that Spokane County has a couple of race tracks - a drag strip and a full round.  I was introduced along time ago to the horse track and the greyhound dog park (not to be confused with the new type of dog parks) but this type of track doesn't allow betting.  They should.  Because they don't allow ice cream.

It's the hottest day of the year and the announcer (while waiting endless minutes to see racers) announced, "get your nachos, pulled pork sandwiches and ice cream at the snack truck" - Daddy's Belly Deli to be exact.

Of course, we tried to order ice cream.  "We can't sell you ice cream today.  We have it but I would get in trouble if I sold it to you."

Really. This makes for quite an interesting exchange.  To watch this unfold is something.  What do you say to that?  On the other hand, they have 2 lbs of french fries (the TUB) or hot peanuts on the menu.

But no ice cream. 

We made our way down to the track.  The point at which I should've pulled out my ear plugs.  Oh, that's right I didn't bring them.

It was a special place,  the Pit.  Wait, there's another name for it.  The burnout box.  My question, "do you get into the burnout box or do you stand in the burnout box?"  Neither.

You follow your very knowledgeable friend, hold your breath from the diesel fumes, plug your ears, pray that the spinning wheels don't come off and watch with excitement your first ever drag race.  It's not just cars either; snowmobiles, motorcycles and an occasional lawn mower (I didn't witness the lawn mower) but I would love to race a golf cart.

I worked at Schuck's Auto Supply for a few years in college.  I was a parts associate.  I know a bit about oil filers, radiators, air filters, batteries, alternators and wind shield wiper blades so that might have prepared me for the drag races.  No.  It didn't.  I didn't think a car could fly going 140 miles or that women rule behind the wheel. 

Congratulations to Robert (his 1963 Dodge pictured).  You didn't win this race but it's about winning the the race of life. 

Thank you, Tamitha, you do know a lot about cars (your dad would be proud).

And, Corey, what can I say, thanks for telling me to turn left so I didn't drive my 2009 Mazda Tribute on the track because God knows they would've let me race.  

Anything goes at the Spokane Raceway Park EXCEPT ice cream.

What do they have in common: 38 degrees, What about Bob? and cotton kills

It's a nice Friday afternoon.  I beg and plead with my friend Megan to ride her bike outside with me.  Actually, it was her original idea a week before.

I know it's 38 degrees and I know there is a slight flurry in the air.  She texts me twice that day. 

Text #1 - happy hour instead? 

Text #2 - it's snowing.

Each time, I returned the messages with, 

Text #1 - go for it, I won't be joining you

Text #2 - so, we'll be fine.  

Funny thing about the two of us.  We both grew up in Spokane.  We've lived in the four seasons all of our lives.  And, we were both auto parts girls at Schuck's in our early 20s.  I'm quite sure, we can change the oil on our bikes if we needed to but change a flat, we'll we still need some extra lessons on that.

I will tell you I was prepared for the outdoors that day.  My outdoor buddy has taught me well.  How to layer. How to wear clothes. And, how "cotton kills."

We unloaded our bikes, got on the Fish Lake Trail and headed out for a nice 15 mile ride.  I'm pretty sure there was no one else on the trail except a few homeless people sleeping in the trees.  

But, not after we came through.  

That day, we were getting out our pent up frustration, our Friday fiery and our fancy Fuji's (not to be confused with apples) were ready to ride fast.

I love to ride.  Megan is just starting.  I would say instead of LOVE...it's more like LO and after we rode that day, she was off to REI for appropriate gear.  

You see,  she wore $5 half gloves (her fingers were frozen), a Chinese cotton blend coat (remember cotton kills) and her ears were as a red as the first sunburn of the summer season.

There is something you can do when you are cold and you have options.

Ride faster.  

Raise your voice.  

Both.

Yes, yell at the top of your lungs like Bob in What about Bob?  You remember that 1991 movie, where a successful psychiatrist loses his mind after one of his most dependent patients, a highly manipulative obsessive-compulsive, tracks him down during his family vacation. 

Let's just say, Megan and I had Tourette's.  It felt really good.  Better than good. Fantastic even.

So, what do 38 degrees + What about Bob?  + cotton kills have in common =  combined they make a phenomenal stress reliever

Thanks Pigs, I had a great ride.