5/28/16
I woke up to a loud southern drawl, punctuated with profanities, amidst a sexual antic dote that i could not fully discern. Lifting
my blind and looking out my window I saw three typically fat middle aged American
white men talking loudly, and drinking miller light. It was 0800.
One of them drank coffee, and leaned against the side of the F150 my
baby brother had lent me. His cup
sitting on the side of the bed. What in
the ever loving shit! I thought. I took
a deep breath, and let my frustration melt away. After I got out of bed and practiced some
yoga, I wondered how people could not understand property rights, or personal
space. I would never lean on someone else’s
car, let alone put a drink on the side of it!
But, I thought, maybe I’m just strange.
The roaring of morning warm up laps drifted over from the track.
Emerging from the Tardis after my bitter instant coffee, and
packing an extra to go cup with me. I
could smell the unmistakable odor of burning rubber as I stepped out the
door. I remembered my days of playing
race car with my brothers, big kids, I thought.
I engaged the neighbors with a broad toothy smile. It is worth noting that my brother’s truck
was parked right next to my bus, well away from my neighbors rig. “Morning!” I said cheerfully. “That’s my truck.” “oh.” Said the guy leaning on it, as he
picked up his cup and moved off of it. “Do
you need me to move my car?” asked one of the men. “I’ll be leaving for work in about a half
hour. Are you guys gonna be racing
today?” I asked, turning to walk James
down to the green space after grabbing his leash from inside the cab of the
truck. “Yea, we’ll be racin’ till
midnight!” Said my portly neighbor, who
had been in my space the day before, obviously quite drunk. “No, it’s only until eleven.” Said the guy
who asked me if he needed to move his car.
“Well, no matter what.” Said the portly man, “were gonna drink a shit
load of beer.” The smell of rot gut
domestic beer, and Irish cream, presumably in the coffee was unmistakable.
The lot was almost full now, of semis with car hauling
trailers and expensive RV’s with dog kennels lining their exterior. James and I watched as a huge semi chassis RV
pulling a toy hauling trailer passed us.
A more diverse group of people I have never seen, I thought to myself. The dog people, prim and proper. The race people, drunk and disorderly. Kids and grownups, I thought to myself. But all of them in old person bodies.
James and I headed off to our daily task.
CLOSED. Read the sign
on the big blue goat barn. After
deliberation, and thought, well a FB pick your own adventure survey. I had chosen to go to the goat show instead
of the NASSCAR race. Apparently the
choice was made for me by fate. People making
a series of only right handed turns at high speed it is, I thought to myself as
James and I turned from the barn walking the wet asphalt sidewalk towards the
roar of the arena. The event had started
an hour ago. The race was scheduled to
go until 23:00. As we approached the stadium
there was a flash of sound, followed by a flurry of lights. Nearing the gates I saw several cars were
being driven away on roll bed tow trucks, with what appeared to be minor damage.
As we approached the gate a large portly white bearded man
in an official looking capacity stood drinking beer from a clear solo cup. His tremendous gut, a tribute to his apparent
love of fizzy drinks composed of decomposed barley. The loud speaker rang out announcing the
sponsor of the race was Coors light…..and proceeded to thank a slew of other
sponsors. The irony made me grin. The official sponsor of this race was a beer
company, who coincidentally told people not to drink and drive.
I thought about the demolition derbies my brothers and I used
to have. We, well mostly I, would see
how drunk we could get while driving and running the other drivers off of the dirt
race tracks we built. I always drank the
most, I always was willing to drink alone.
Ironically, even though I was fairly well educated, this never sounded an
alarm for me.
“You can’t come in this gate.” Said the portly Santa clause
looking man. “You have to go around
front to buy tickets. That dog cannot
come in, unless you tell me he is a service dog.” He said winking at me, and
taking a big gulp of beer, “We only let in service dogs.” “Thanks.” I said, as I turned and walked
towards the main entrance to the arena.
As we crossed the well-manicured lawn James relieved himself several
times. As we approached the booth a dark
haired girl with pale skin and a litany of cursive tattoos between her fingers
greeted us. “We need some tickets.” I said,
as I pulled a wad of $20 bills out of the breast pocket of my ragged Carheart
jacket. “One for me, and one for my James.”
I said, motioning to him. “He can only go in if he is a service dog.” She said,
handing me the ticket. “He must be a
service dog.” She said quietly as she smiled at me and James, not returning the
$10 change we were due. “What kind of
dog is he? He is super cute.” “He’s a
bitsa.” I replied, the same old joke,
the same old smile, and the same old reaction.
A quizzical look crossed her face in the form of an unsure smile, and a
set of adorable dimples. “I have never
heard of that before.” She said. “He’s
bitsa everything.” I grinned broadly, at
what I knew was a line she had never heard.
She laughed. “Well you and your
service dog are welcome to go in.” she said.
James and I ascended the stairs, to the brightness of the well-lit
arena. A dull roar echoed through the
tunnel leading in to the arena through the bleachers. The halogen lights above blazed down on the
track. As we emerged the soccer field
sized area in the middle was full of verandas, and pit crews. A black oval rimmed the field. The race cars were finishing warm up
laps. They pulled in to the pits, and a
new fleet of vehicles emerged. Several
tow trucks were pulling large tires painted white. The tires heat the track, and helped keep it
dry. Along with the caravan of tow
trucks, there were various police and fire response vehicles racing around the
track. One thing is a fact: everyone
likes driving fast! I thought. The procession raced around the track at what,
judging from the squats they made on the corners, must have been fairly high
speeds. They were attempting to keep the
track dry by warming it up, it appeared.
The rain had started, emerging from the mists which had cloaked the area
earlier that evening.
James and I walked up the benches to find a reasonably dry
perch. I cleared the bench with the back
of my coat, and we sat down. “Can I pet
your dog?” asked a dark eyed young lady sitting behind me with a grey haired gentlemen. “Hmmm….” I said, thinking about whether or
not I wanted people touching James. “Yes
you may.” I said, as she moved down a
seat to pet and sit next to James. She
wanted to talk about James, and I again made the bitsa joke. I was focused on the procession of cars
lapping the track repeatedly. “I’ve
never been to a race before.” I told her.
“Yeah, I don’t really go to them either, but my dad loves to go.” She said
smiling at me. “When will the race car
part start?” I asked. “hahaha… I don’t know.”
She said, “It may get canceled because of the rain.” For our readers, I thought, James and I will
sit it out and wait to see what will happen.
Also, we had never been to a race.
My attention was fixed on the race at hand. “Well, thanks for letting me pet James.” She said,
as she moved back up the bleachers and sat next to her father.
Several grown men also approached me. One of them, who was mentally slow, wanted to
feed him some meat from his ham sandwich.
I said ok. His face lit up with
delight as James stood in his bear pose to take the morsel, and then proceeded
to lick his fingers clean. Funny how a
dog can change a 40 year old man in to a child.
Lighting a face with the glow of a smile that had not been there
before. Every dog, and animal, is a
service animal, I thought.
James and I watched as the cars chirped around the corners,
and the water vapors rose from the pavement as they ran down the straightaways.
The announcer echoed over the crackly loud speakers “well folks, I hate to say
it, but it looks like this race is going to be called on account of rain.” It was
already 20:30, the horse show was closed.
Even if we wanted to go to it, we couldn’t go. We got up and started back to the bus. As promised my neighbor and his fifteen friends, had a camp fire, in the no camp fire area, and drank lots of beer in the no drinking county camp site. James and i stayed up watching Blazing Saddles, and Idiocracy. both of which helped us understand what was going on around us.
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