The main source of my chaos...

Monday, March 21, 2011


So go ahead, call me a redneck.  It is what it is.  I love the beach, but if you ask me where my favorite place in the world is, it would be a close call between there and Bristol.  I've been to Talladega, Atlanta and Daytona too, and they're all great, but Bristol is the bomb. 

Some women envision the perfect weekend and it involves shopping malls and quaint little fru-fru restaurants that serve chicken salad on a piece of lettuce with strawberry pretzel salad on the side.  As for me, I envision race cars, rednecks, and footlong corndogs. 

We've been going to Bristol for 9 years now, twice a year.  We park in the same spot (that's because of Willard's OCD) which is approximately 2 miles from the track.  We walk up and down hills, through campgrounds, on gravel, on grass, on payment.  It's quite the hike, but it's so worth it. 

There's just something about the words "Gentleman, start your engines" that gives me goosebumps.  It's so loud you absolutely MUST wear earphones, and the smell of exhaust is so strong that I get lightheaded, but it's awesome. 

I tell my family that I want to be cremated when I die.  Sprinkle half my ashes on the beach, and mount the other half in Dale Jr.'s car so I can go to all the racetracks on the circuit.  I'm kidding... kinda. 

My favorite drivers have always been Junior, Bobby LaBonte, and Kevin Harvick.  I have a new guy to add to the list this year.  Trevor Bayne is such a good boy, with a good message.   I've heard him called the Tim Tebow of Nascar, which is definitely a compliment.  Between winning the Daytona 500 his rookie year and being compared to Tebow, he has a lot to live up to. 

Willard, bless his heart, isn't even a fan. He just goes along for the ride. He didn't watch over half of yesterday's race. He sat down at the concession area and people watched, while I texted him updates every so often. He pretends to root for Kyle Busch, but I think he only does that because he knows Kyle is my least favorite driver on the track. I mean, seriously, nobody roots for Kyle Busch. Yuck.  Every single race morning when I wake him up at 5 a.m., he offers me cash not to go.  "I'll give you $100 to skip the race... $200... $300...".  Silly boy, it's not about money.  It's about the experience, the atomsphere, the competition.  It's Bristol, baby! 

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