the Race Card

I've been driving my IROC-Z around the greater US since June 27th, 2009. I just got back today. You see, I went to my Mecca: the International Race of Champions. At least I thought it was going to be a religious experience. I thought it would be a magical journey through a mystical land of 1985 IROC-Z Camaros with upgraded suspensions, lowered springs, huge sway bars, wicked shocks and maybe a little tuned port injection. Nope. It was a Mario Andretti brag fest, and I don't mean Bicycle Ride Across Georgia. http://www.brag.org/ Sure, Mario won IROC IV, but should he distract from the beauty of the car named after the event? "I won on road, dirt and paved ovals" I don't care, Mario. Talk to me about souping up cars, tuning up cars, hopping up cars, pimping out cars, etc. That's where the real skill is.

It was kind of a strange event, though. I don't recall such an experience in my life. And believe me, I've had an awesome, extreme life. I've done lots to brag about, including that Georgia bike thing (Dream Team Corner 2009, people!). But what happened here, is not something I'd brag about. I had just finished doing some sweet drifts in the parking lot, and was really flying off adrenaline, because I like to do the drifts where you come really, really close to bystanders. And I came to the main event, where they were honoring the man of the hour, Andretti, except I thought it was supposed to be a roast, because some of the things his nephew was saying seemed so overly sweet and sycophantic that I started to laugh. And I have a pretty loud laugh. This was a huge mistake. John, his nephew, stopped mid sentence and was squinting out at the crowd for who had laughed. I got the meanest looks from the Race 4 Riley kids I was in front of. It was pretty humiliating. I think they thought I was laughing at them. I felt like a total DNQ.