The Speedway Gig.

For 9 years I sang the National Anthem at a not so local speedway ... that and designed, produced and directed the track webpage. I’d rather not say where any more than Tennessee. East Tennessee. My wife and I attended, took pictures ... but mostly I sang.

Every once in a while, I’d find a fish and had the fish sing. I seldom got a repeat. They usually sang it as a furneral dirge ... slow walkling.

My country is NOT dead, thank you very much. The Anthem is supposed to be brisk and alive. The Army band doesn’t play it slow. The Navy band doesn’t either. I sang it like a march ... stepping out.

I paid attention when NASCAR on FOX explained HOW to drive a short track race ... hug the bottom of the track in the turns,,, slide out to the wall on the straights ... gently off the throttle going in to the turn and gently on coming out. Jamming the pedal to the metal is the way to find your car facing on-coming traffic. Sudden acceleration will have the rear end stepping out.

Hold your line ... don’t let some yahoo underneath unless his door is ahead of yours.

Well, ya know ... the only racing I’d done was straight line ... but I’d spout my drivel in the hearing of some new driver ... and they’d take it as gospel and win. Surprise me.

After five years of giving advise ... one of the Late Model drivers asked me where I got my experience and what classes I’d driven and what trophies I’d won.

“I never,” I said.

“Never?”

“Nope,” I said.

“All your advice...?”

“TV and books.”

This is East Tennessee. These are mostly hobby drivers ... and seekers of glory. ‘Tv and books’ created a look.

I said. “I guess I’d better get me a car.”

I did.

Ebay ... I bid a hundred and five dollars for a 1987 Escort GT that had already been a circle track car. I was VERY surprised to see it had all four corners and a professional built roll cage, fuelcell and racing seat ... with Simpson 3” five point harness.

This beauty had the roller lifters and highlift cam of the 113 hp car ... built one year and one year only. It was fast for a Ford. It wasn’t as fast as the Honda Prelude ... but it didn’t cost Prelude price. Nice little car to learn on.

Three weeks on, the racetrack operator said, “David, when did you learn to drive a race car?”

I started looking around for the hecklers ... but he said as a compliment.

I thought about it. Third place.

“Tonight,” I said.

“Keep it up ... we’ll be having you put your picture in the winner’s circle page.”

That was never going to happen. The very next weekend while leading, I left a large oil patch in turn 3. The oil patch was filled with sharp metallic objects. Had I performed the oil magic on the back straight things might have turned out differently for seven out of twenty two cars immediately behind me.

But, no.

Third turn and those behind me were trying awfully hard to catch me.

BANG!

Sharp objects and oil. I was setting up to turn left into turn four ... the clutch turned the transmission/differential into paste ... the paste hardened, the wheels stopped, and I forced right instead of left. I hit the outside wall head on.

The wall is one of those unmoveable object things that physics loves.

Objects in motion tend to stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force.

Walls qualify.

Mine was NOT the only car at the wall ... mine was the ONLY one that hit hard enough to raise the rear end six feet higher than the front.

Of the seven cars that also visited the wall ... oil is slippery and sharp metallic objects shred racing tires ... one was traveling at a high rate of speed and slammed into the exposed floor of my elevated Escort.

It took fifteen minutes to extract me.

I was uninjured ... mostly.

The car ... yup.