Feeding my need for speed

I am utterly exhausted. This is a bone deep kind of tired. It's the kind of tired that is the mark of a prodigious weekend. I had every intention of coming home and crashing hard for the night, but after a shower and a dinner of fried rice, I find myself firmly planted on my couch with my computer, a Harp lager and the Steelers v Broncos game. My mind still hasn't figured out that the weekend is over.

Twice each year, the population of my sleepy little town in Southwest Virginia doubles for 48-72 hours. How exactly does that work? Simple. The NASCAR circus comes to town. My job requires me to attend the race and so this weekend I was a special guest, albeit a hardworking one, of the Martinsville Speedway.

I am not a NASCAR fan. While this is not my first race, I don't know the names of the team owners or their sponsors or the entire history of racing as many fans do. (Thankfully, the drivers have their names embroidered on their belts, so if you're comfortable staring really hard at their midsections, you can figure out who they are.) I don't even have a favorite driver. Well, I didn't...

So, I spent the last 3 days wandering around a half mile paper clip in wonderment. My pass allowed me to access the pits, garage areas, media centers and suites. It's a buffet for all the senses - watching drivers and crews prepare for race day; rubbing elbows with the Mooresville pit box babes, with their identical hair, nose, teeth, lips and breasts; smelling burning oil/gas, grilled chicken and the world famous Mart-dog; listening to the air tools at work; testosterone. I even got to shake a driver's hand just before he took to the track. Never mind that he crashed and burned 15 laps later.

**writer's break for food poisoning. Damn fried rice. TMI?**

I imagine a weekend with this kind of behind-the-scenes access could turn anyone into a fan, if even just for a few days. I was standing 5 feet from the cars when Jared of Subway said "Gentleman start your engines." 65,000 people cheered from the stands as drivers were announced and I stood on the start/finish line. Even better than being on the track is retiring to an air conditioned suite stocked with all the bean dip you can eat and beer from around the world for the duration of the race.

A few other random notes from the weekend:

• Watch out for the drips of, ummm, beer while walking under the grandstands
• Award for biggest cahones - Reed Sorenson in the pepto bismol pink Target car
• Award for worst marketing campaign - Combos and the man-mom car (truly scary!)
  

Who is my new favorite driver? That would be Juan Pablo Montoya. Why? For the same reasons he has zero fans...he's pretty, he's a good driver and he's not from the South. While these may be deal breakers for the typical NASCAR fan, they are firm checks in the "si" column for me.

For photos, click here and here.