Noise, smoke and coors light. Yes. I admit it. Our family spent Friday night at the stock car races in the middle of a corn field in Illinois. After all of our big city culture with museums and skyscrapers it was time to take advantage of some good old small town entertainment.
We have been in Chabanse for almost three weeks now. We are staying at a KOA that is about 3 miles from the raceway. The cars are so loud that we can hear them all the way out where we are at, tearing it up until about midnight every Friday night. Jeramie has worked to late into the evening for us to go this last couple of weekends but we keep reminding ourselves every Saturday morning that we are gonna go.
Finally, the opportunity presented itself. All he had to do was say the word “race”. The kids and I tore through the motorhome diving into the dressers changing our clothes to be appropriately attired for some good country fun. The kids were prepared and for once they were allowed to go outside and play while they waited for mom and dad. I had to repeat myself because the stares of disbelief from the three pairs of deep blue eyes that waited patiently on the couch hands quietly in their laps stated that they all thought they were mistaken in what they heard. “go outside to play? But we just got dressed to go.” “Yes…we are going to the races. It will be Ok if you are a little dirty.” “YES! This is gonna be awesome. We don’t even have to stay clean Lexi!” Andon flew out the door with his sisters close in tow.
It was my turn to get ready. I started digging for clothes. There, in the back, under my yuppie suede Emu boots. I pulled them out like they were an artifact that any museum would pay big money for. Still dark blue with that new vintage wash feel. My Wrangler Twenty-X jeans. I haven’t really worn these in almost ten years. I have lovingly held onto them knowing that I would need them again some day. Today was someday. I was a little worried they wouldn’t fit. I have had three kids and spend my days sitting down homeschooling. Lets face it. Things have rearranged themselves since the last time I pulled these jeans on. I mean, I can’t go to the races in racing country in my Miss Sixty’s (which are actually my very favorite pair of jeans) but I am not ignorant to the culture and recognize that my city jeans just wouldn’t do. Besides, I might get them dirty. Anyway, the moment of truth. Here we go. They fit! They fit! I didn’t even have to hold my breath or suck it in! I did a silent little dance in the privacy of my “walk-in” closet a.k.a. the kids bedroom and threw on a straight up plain gray hoodie. My husband was all smiles, for once he was able to quietly leave without someone (me) asking “is that what you’re going to where?”. In fact, he took the initiative to remove the Polo shirt he had been wearing in fear he would be “to preppy”, threw on a hoodie himself and we were out the door.
You could hear the cars warming up as we wandered toward the ticket booth. Our anticipation was building. Honestly, none of us have ever been to a stock car race before. This was a first for the Jennings family as a whole. The kids and I stood back while Jeramie purchased the tickets. I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t even think about the cost involved. $12 bucks a person! Luckily the kids were still young enough that they got in for free, but all in all it has been the most expensive outing we have been on and that includes our trips to Chicago. Whatever. I don’t care. Just getting out of the house made it worth every penny.
We picked out seats. Five rows up, thirty feet from the fence, closer to turn two. Holy Cow these things are LOUD. It is so loud that you cannot hear the announcer no matter how hard he tries to compete with the cars over the PA system. BY the way. Do they have a special announcers school where they train your vocals or something? All of these outdoor event announcers all sound exactly the same. It started just like all good events do, with the National Anthem and our countries flag circling the track. We settled in as the first heat came up and over the entry gate at turn one. Hmm, what do we have here. Nissan Sentras, Ford Pintos etcetera. I joked with Jeramie to keep his eye out for my old 1992 Toyota Paseo. Wait, I have seen this before…but where? Oh yeah, on my mission trip to Tijuana in high school. Looks just like the streets of Mexico, all jockeying for position bouncing over the dirt reminding me of the Mexican Taxi’s who used the ditch for passing five lanes of traffic. It’s rather interesting how memories arise. Andon and I just learned that our brains produce 70 thousand thoughts a day. Who knew that I would go to a race out in the middle of the corn fields and recall my trip to Mexico. I guess this is just one of my 70 thousand thoughts a day. OK. Moving on. The little cars were fun to watch but we wanted the real action. We finally got to the true stock cars with sponsors and logos on the sides. With each heat the cars got bigger and the drivers got better. Or so we thought. As they got faster, they got more squirrelly. We became frustrated during one of the heats where the contestants were more advanced. A lot of drivers had a tough time with turn one. In fact, a few cars disappeared up and over the top of the turn never to be seen again. I am guessing they withdrew from the race. We witnessed a four car synchronized spin out. It appeared professionally choreographed. Even the seasoned spectators thought that it was unique. Each heat had eight laps. In this particular heat one of the drivers spun out in turn one five separate laps. He was disqualified. Finally. They got rid of the greenhorns and got back to business. Number 17. He’s the man. Number 17 is one impressive car. Number 17 got to have his picture taken in the winners circle while waving the checkered flag. Too bad I don’t gamble. I’d have won.
As we people watched in between heats, (come on, don’t judge us, you know you all do it to), I quickly realized that we had actually underdressed for the occasion. We don’t own any sweatshirts with Jack Daniels No. 7 on the back or jackets with name Budweiser printed from all angles possible. I haven’t quite figured out the point of the Anhueiser Buschs’ marketing arrangement on the jackets yet except that maybe it is so that no matter what drunken position you end up in you will always know why you have ended up in the position you ended up in. They were selling the 50/50 raffle tickets. One of the items in the running was a Coors Light jacket. Jeramie had his eye on that. Since he can’t get good local brews out here he has taken a liking to Coors Light. I challenged him that if he won he was to wear it to every micro-brewery we go to from here on out. He agreed. Then we saw the 50/50 girls. Why would I expect anything less. You know, girls who are endowed in areas that make you wonder if their backs hurt frequently barely covered by shirts that enhanced these areas so that when they are standing in front of you selling tickets the only thing you see are their assets. Sorry Jeramie, no jacket for you this time around. I understand that this kind of marketing tool sells tickets and in a tough economy organizations are desperate to use whatever means they have to, but my husband isn’t going to freeze this winter. Not enough atleast to pay with the expense of his burned retina’s. His Mountain Hardware snowboarding coat is going to have to do.
The kids did great. Never once did they get upset by the noise. Wait. That makes me wonder if they have undiagnosed hearing problems. I can’t even begin to recollect how many times a day I try to get their attention only to be ignored and told “I didn’t hear you”. Maybe they really can’t hear me. Addison was so unmoved by the noise that promptly at 8:30, her bed time, she snuggled in and fell fast asleep. Let me remind you that we were only 30 feet from the fence. OK. No more bedtime excuses with needing to keep quiet or Addi won’t fall asleep. Her cover has been officially blown. I now know that the kid can sleep through anything.
The evening was a blast, brought back some fun memories and created some new ones. All we can say is look out Indianapolis 500. Here come the Jennings! We are officially racing fans.
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