Gettin' Dirty & Pushin' the Cushion II

Originally Posted on Foxsports.com on April 23, 2006

I am covered in a thin layer of dirt.  I can feel it on my face, arms, and chest.  Women pay hundreds of dollars for mud baths.  Heck, I've paid for a mud/seaweed treatement at the spa a couple years ago.  But  this beauty treatment comes with the price of the dirt track ticket admission.

Although the track crew has wet down the track, as the night progresses, the track dries out.  The breeze kicks the dust up into the stands - I can see it billow  up over my head in the lights.  Like clockwork, every 16 seconds another wave of dust flies off the track and over my seat.  The advantange to a dry track is that at least I am not getting pelted by mud clods at every lap.  The disadvanage?  I can move up the stands to avoid the mud, but not the dust. 

The cushion on the track has moved nearly up to the fencing.  As  a result, several drivers tag the wall and flip over on the roof of their winged sprint cars.  A 1/2 mile lap takes less than 16 seconds - so when they flip, it takes several revolutions to stop.  Fortunately, no one is hurt and all the drivers walk back to the pits.

My ears are ringing.  Qualifications and hot laps were loud, but not as loud as the heats and mains.  However, my ears are ringing less than the Aerosmith, Kenny Chesney or Prince concerts I've attended.  At some of those concerts, I've literally sat in the back row - and I still walked out not able to hear anything.  The Nextel Cup races are louder - even the indoor midget race was louder.  After this race, I'll have some ringing, but not to a great degree.  Nothing can compare to the purr of a 410 full out around the track.  

Already my hair smells like rubber and fuel.  Fortunately, race tracks are the great perfume equalizer.   Regardless what I put on or if I put it on before I left the house, it won't matter after a few laps.  Similarly, the cigarette smoke or body odor of the person two rows down doesn't matter either.  At least the fuel/oil/grease smell does not linger like the smoke smell from the local bar and grill.  And I can still smell the pizza from the concession stand.

My hands are cold.  April in Iowa is notoriously unpredictable.  The day ended at 70+ degrees, but with the breeze and the nightfall, the temperature has dropped.  My hands are cold, but not as cold as the Thanksgiving weekend college football games I've attended.  Nor is it as cold as the last time I played broomball.  I remembered my gloves  and extra clothes to stay warm. 

The races were at times exciting - a few unbelievable moves mixed with a few parades.

The dirt track season has started.  And although the Nextel Cup race was Saturday night, a broadcast paved track race really can't compare to a live dirt track race.  At least, not in my opinion.