The only thing that broke up our routine was when Dad would open the shop and work on his car, or roll it out for someone else to pull theirs in for whatever reason. That's when we kids got to wash it and wash it we did. We rubbed it from that bolt that stuck out on the front bumper to the bend in the rear bumper that always seemed to have dirt stuck in it from the week before. The special treat was being one of the ones that got selected to get inside and clean. Just think... you were sitting in a real live race car. Yup, it had one seat and a can behind the driver we were told not to mess with. After looking at photos of Dad's old cars, it was his gas tank. Also, there was a battery there and if you happened to rub up against it while in there, next week that spot would be ragged in your jeans.
On Fridays, it was special treat time because it was fired up and taken out on the short road we lived on, to test and tune. I guess that was what they were doing because it would fly down the road then stop and everyone would try to get onto the motor it seemed, to touch something or turn something. After that, the other car that was always there would get the same treatment. But for some reason it always seemed like Dad's car was louder, so maybe louder is faster.
After loading up our stuff, the cars were hooked to the back of Dad's pickup and everyone piled in for the trip to the track. The two cars went together to the track and always parked side-by-side too. I remember Mom telling us kids that if we strayed out of this little compound, we were in deep trouble. I didn't care because I could see better from the top of Dad's truck anyway. You know, come to think of it, he had the shiniest truck top there, thanks to my bottom side.
It was always dusty at the track, so on the way home there was also a special treat; the river was only a mile or two from the track and we all bailed off into that shallow spot for some good old-time river fun and a little washing to go along with it.
Then the next stop, most times, was at a local ice cream parlor, where they made the best Hot Dogs you ever ate. I can still taste those giant wieners stuffed into a bun with mustard and onions and always a slice of pickle on the side. Yum-yum! If things went well at the track, as most often they did, we got a special drink... a big ol' Nugrape soft drink; man, that grape drink was out of this world.
Back at the house, everyone helped unload the truck and racecar because it was a major player in our lifestyle. Afterwards, Mom and Dad would go out under the shade trees and sit in the swings or lay in the hammock, while I hurried and reran the race at least 4 times in my car out by the shop.
[caption id="attachment_4012" align="alignleft" width="273"]
Dad and His Car[/caption]
To grow up in a racing family was a gift from God that today's kids can only dream of. They go and have to stay out in the infield, or worse, sit in the stands and never get to experience the true love of racing. Oh, and the side trips that only "Dirt Track Racing" can offer. Just think of going swimming after the race in the local creek or river down the road. Never would that happen today... or stopping at the ice cream or hot dog shop for a big old juicy Hot Dog piled with onions and mustard and that awesome pickle! I'm talking of something that happened 55 years ago and I can still taste that today. No air conditioning, but the thrill of hanging your hand out the window and feeling the wind. Today's kids sit in that seat, with widows rolled up tight and a hand held game stuck in their face. We older racing kids led a life that others today can only dream about after they read it in a story or a senior citizen tells of his experience back in the day.
Today, I have my grand kids around me because my 2 kids live on each side of the house, so when the car cranks up in the shop out back, I have all the help I need and then some, to get ready to go racing. Only one of the boys shows a real interest in racing but that's alright. There are about five others on the street here that are in love with the old car, so students I have. It's harder at the track too, because of restrictions, but we try to park where if they have to stay in the infield, we are up against the fence for them.
Going to a race track today you will see a change in the wind. If you try NASCAR, it will break you unless you are kin to a millionaire. Your local short tracks, at least the ones around home here, are trying to survive this drought in the economy without raising prices out of sight. The way of the dollar today has sure changed from when I grew up. Dad and Mom could take a dollar and make it into $14.92 it seemed like, and oh yeah, my Dad was a heck of a man, but he just couldn't carry groceries like I can. You see, I can carry over $100.00 into the house at one time, whereas I remember him struggling to carry $15.00 worth of groceries in, in about three trips.
Another of my recollections of the way it was back when Racing was Real... so you see, my Saturday Night Hero is none other than my DAD.
-Johnny
Email: johnny16070@gmail.com
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