Scattered showers and thunderstorms. Storms may contain strong gusty winds. High near 85F. Winds WSW at 5 to 10 mph. Chance of rain 70%..
Scattered thunderstorms this evening becoming more widespread overnight. Low around 70F. Winds light and variable. Chance of rain 60%.
The top of turn four is one of the best seats in the house for a backyard go-cart race near Fort Jennings, Ohio, on July 2.
The top of turn four is one of the best seats in the house for a backyard go-cart race near Fort Jennings, Ohio, on July 2.
The top of turn four is one of the best seats in the house for a backyard go-cart race near Fort Jennings, Ohio, on July 2.
The top of turn four is one of the best seats in the house for a backyard go-cart race near Fort Jennings, Ohio, on July 2.
The top of turn four is one of the best seats in the house for a backyard go-cart race near Fort Jennings, Ohio, on July 2.
The top of turn four is one of the best seats in the house for a backyard go-cart race near Fort Jennings, Ohio, on July 2.
During the 1990s, I attended several NASCAR events. For my first stockcar-racing experience, I went big — Daytona. Should have started smaller. Much smaller.
Whether it was the large tracks at Daytona and Charlotte or the half-mile oval closer to home in Bristol, I would always ask myself the same question midway through the race: When will I learn not to do this again?
NASCAR races tend to be long and hot experiences with limited leg room and long lines outside of restrooms. But enduring those elements is a price thousands of fans are willing to pay to see one of the largest spectacles in spectator sports.
Seeing a NASCAR event in person is kind of like visiting the Grand Canyon. The pictures cannot do it justice.
Some people will never be able to see enough NASCAR. I always knew I was not one of those people. I can pinpoint the exact moment when I answered that perpetual mid-race question to myself.
It was when the guy seated behind me leaned over his box of Bojangles fried chicken and sneezed a mouthful onto the back of my head. He offered me an apology and a cigarette. I accepted the apology.
If I ever went to another race, I said at the time, I would volunteer to guard the campsite while my friends carried coolers into the track to sit in the sun and wear hearing protection for a few hours. Grilling burgers and sipping cool beverages outside the track was always the most fun.
While visiting my wife’s large family in northwestern Ohio during the July Fourth weekend, I discovered the best of both worlds: go-kart racing. As with just about everything, there are varying degrees of kart racing.
Some events are flashy contests complete with bleachers, paved tracks and crowded restrooms.
The race I attended at a farm near Fort Jennings, Ohio, was a loosely organized backyard gathering comprised of strictly amateur racers who included my 25-year-old nephew Collin.
The track was a dirt oval that might have been a pond at one time. The restroom was inside the track owner’s house. Each kart had a pull-start engine like the ones that power lawnmowers, only faster.
After a lot of country music, a preliminary race and some events to entertain the kids — including throwing water balloons at drivers for several laps to dampen the dust — the main event got underway.
No NASCAR race ever opened with more patriotism. Johnny Cash’s “Ragged Old Flag” introduced “The Star-Spangled Banner” — played Jimi Hendrix solo-electric-guitar style by a teenager.
With a prayer that included (I kid you not) a “thank you Jesus for my smokin’ hot fiancee,” the track owner called upon the almighty to protect the drivers and bless their loved ones.
Our crew made up roughly one-third of the crowd. No tickets were sold. Donations to the purse were accepted but never encouraged. We stood behind our folding chairs during the race, just in case a kart were to come through the tire barrier.
My nephew finished a respectable fourth. And the post-race fireworks display, one of the best I’ve seen anywhere, was a big winner.
If that track had a name, I’d buy a T-shirt. If it had a series, I’d sign up for season tickets.
Contact Mark Rutledge at mrutledge@reflector.com.
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