Night Under Fire

Okay friends...here's another installment of my entry into the world of racing. In Part I, you joined me while I was a spectator in illegal street drag racing. Now - join me, won't you, while I tour the wonderful world of legal raceway drag racing - funny cars, jet engines, pro bikes, and women whose ass cheeks poke out of their daisy dukes. It's fun for the whole family.

Preface: Night Under Fire is held once a year at Norwalk Raceway, Norwalk Ohio - usually around 4th of July. There are your usual competitions but also a lot of action just for show. Paul, Ray's good friend, had once said I had to go just to see the semi get lit on fire and then haul ass down the track. He said that it’s so stupid, it's worth seeing. Ray used to race his bikes at this place, so I wanted to get a look for that reason primarily but...who can say no to a semi traveling a little over 200 mph with flames coming out its ass? Not me, that's for sure. End of preface.

We had the boys with us, and it was to be a wonderful family affair. It had been years since the kids had been taken to Norwalk Raceway. Ray tells of the time he, his ex, and the boys made a day of it at Norwalk. The race car drivers were offering the kiddies rides. As he tells it, the drivers got a little over zealous, and the mothers looked on in horror as their sweet babies faces were smooshed against the rear plexi-glass as the drivers hit a million bazillion Gs... I think he may have been exaggerating a bit, but it is true that they don't offer rides anymore.

The outing started with Ray being grouchy and the boys being rambunctious. I was driving, which may account for both. I pulled over to a gas station, took my keys from the ignition, left the guys in the hot car, and went to sit on a cement curb. After five minutes, they got the idea and they behaved after that. I DO have the power - or maybe a little heat stroke mellowed them a bit. Dunno for sure, but it worked. Let me just add that there is never ever EVER traffic around here. Norwalk is near Sandusky which is ... oh...around 40 minutes away. It’s a nice drive on a Saturday afternoon. Never any traffic. What happens to us? We hit traffic - traffic that would have put DC to shame, and BECAUSE I am from the traffic capital of the world, and because I was driving, I was somehow to blame. I brought the traffic with me, I suppose. We chilled out a bit by talking to truck drivers. We were beside one truck for quite some time, the driver of which had an attractive mullet hair cut, a la 1981. I offered him the boys and the cute guy next to me. He declined (but not after considering it a bit too long). Smart man. His momma didn't raise no fool.

Six o’clock found us in the small, one horse town of Milan. Don't you dare pronounce it "Mill-ahn" It's Meye-lin. Okay? And don't order something as simple as a chef salad in the bumphuck cafe on the corner. If it doesn't contain lard and require cheese sauce or ketchup, they let it sit in the sun for a day, step on it, and then bathe it in some white dressing with red flecks. Nice little place though - if you're into David Lynch type characters and sweat. A lot of farmers with missing digits and women who looked like they should be pulling a jumbo comb out of their back pocket and combing out their "wings." (I jest...but just.) The boys had fun shocking the 200 yr. old waitress by being especially creative on the color-in animal place mats she put before them. Ray started (yes...Ray) by drawing blood on the rhino's horn. Adam then carefully selected his yellow crayon and drew the rhino peeing. Then Austin went with the final option of coloring in "#2." It was lovely.

By the time we got back in the car, we had more traffic to face. Night Under Fire is a once a year event and not to be missed. The crowds were thick, as was the traffic entering the area of the raceway.

"Not to worry," I told the Coger men. I know how to drive. These Ohio-no-traffic-driving wienies can't cut it bumper to bumper, unless they're going 100 mph on a racetrack. I cut my wheels left and right and needled my way in front of one car after another. Shoved over right. Skirted over left - impressive as all hell. Just like rush hour on the Capital Beltway. I was feeling proud of myself and quite accomplished, until I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw the fear on the boys' faces. Then I looked at Ray. His eyes were just plain closed. I laughed, and he started clicking his heels and saying, a la Dorothy, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home." Bunch of two-wheel-riding wusses...that's what I say. (A reference to Ray's motorcycle racing days.)

Alas, the first parking lot was full, and the cars were lined up forever to get to the far lot. Some very bright farmers had decided to put up a sign offering parking for “$5 dolars.” That’s not a typo. I made a U turn and pulled right on in there. There were already about 50 or 60 cars parked all over. Some old broad in a housecoat had a stack of bills that would rival a DC crack dealer's. She told us to drive forward, and her husband would tell us where to park. We pulled up to her husband who was busy hacking and wheezing. He just pointed up at the sky. Ewkay...we pulled behind the farmhouse and drove over a little bridge, which we later saw was just a sewage drain - cracked at that. We parked pointing out, which didn't help since I knew we'd be blocked in. Besides, the sewage pipe would soon break under the pressure of all the pickups and minivans, and we'd be stuck anyway. You think parking at Wolf Trap is hairy? Exiting this place was going to be a nightmare, and where there are fast cars...there's booze (great combo). So, I was thrilled to be a part of it all.

We entered where Ray used to enter - the participant gate - not the spectator gate. It was fantastic. In all seriousness, I loved it. There was trailer after trailer with racecars, motorcycles, vintage cars, and all around us - the sweet smell of racing fuel. The activities had already started, and we were rushing to get to the stands, which looked packed. People had food cooking and mattresses here and there. It was a wonderfully festive atmosphere and an educational look behind the scenes, to say the least.

Many of the drivers were older looking dudes and their ladies assisted them. These women may have been "hotties" at one point, but many of them made me realize that I can, in fact, wear shorts without standing out like an eye sore. But these broads knew what the hell they were doing, and it was incredible to see the work that went into getting the dragsters ready.

Many of the cars are towed to the starting line by 4 wheelers. They run very silently (when being towed), so you don't hear them coming up behind you. As I said, we were in the thick of it. Adam was a bit overwhelmed and held my hand the whole time. I kept trying to shake him loose but couldn't. I wanted to take detours to look at the cars and bikes, but Ray had a mission (to get to the stands before the jet engines roared passed) and Adam had my hand, so I missed seeing much I wanted to see, but I would later get my chance.

The free bleachers were packed, as was the paid seating. We'd just paid $72 to get in ($72 dolars in Norwalk speak); I couldn't believe we had to pay extra to sit down if we wanted reserved seats. So, we stood up at the fence with all the rowdies who stood perched on top of coolers and boyfriend's shoulders, etc. I haven't seen so many cut-offs and halters - so many muscle shirts and tattoos in...well...ever. I felt old and lumpy, but the energy was amazing. We were too low down to see the starting line, but we could see the smoke and flames from the jet engines. You could feel it in your teeth. Ray said I might want to plug my ears. I was too cool for that. Lemme tell you - the first two cars that went by just about shattered my eardrums and collapsed my lungs. It was amazing and exhilarating. You can feel it as much as hear it; it rumbles through your whole chest and down into your legs. I loved it.

I was born for this stuff - just not raised for it.

I kept wondering if it was too late for me to become a lady racecar driver. There was one woman competing in the jet cars, and she ended up winning by the end of the evening. But my butt's too big for the "cock pit" type seating. Alas and alack, I guess I'll have to find some other way to please my parents. A girl can dream, can't she?

Finally, we found seats near the top of the stands in the free bleachers. They were actually good seats, and we could see everything. The boys really got into it when the "Cool/School Bus" raced the "Puleeze/Police Car" - they both ran the entire length of the track on two wheels only. It really was fun; idiotic but fun.

The only thing detracting from my enjoyment was the couple who stood on the same plank as I - normally not a problem, but combined they weighed about 650 pounds and wore about 3 oz of clothing. I'm sorry, if one's back is as hairy as an ape, one should cover up...and her husband was furry too. *S* They stood up on the plank and just about catapulted me into a sweaty/no shirt guy in back of me - he caught me and took the opportunity to get a good feel in. I must confess, I was flattered given that I was not wearing a halter and my ass cheeks were firmly (I wish) ensconced in my jeans, rather than poking out of short shorts. Mr. Groper became a close friend, without any encouragement from me, and he made sure he was pressed up against me for much of the night. I'm sure it was only to keep me from falling again...uh huh. Yuck.

The track had never had so many people. Bleachers hold 36 thousand, and there were people covering the grounds as well. John Force was present (those who know drag racing know who he is - I didn't then but sure do now), and they took time out to dedicate part of the grand stand to him. Was moving beyond words...not. But fun none-the-less. The MC actually read the definition of "force" from the dictionary...geeze oh flip. Later that evening, Force raced and he shot off the end of the track into the cornfield - not enough stopping room, evidently. His car was new and he'd just been driving 306 mph. I hate it when that happens, don't you? We all waited for word that he was okay...he was.

Later, some dude (whose name I forget) was racing somebody (whose name I never knew), and he reached 264 mph in five seconds (yes...five seconds), at which point his tire blew, and he crashed into the wall. It was night by that time, and all you could see were sparks and pieces of car flying. That kind of thing rarely happens, so everybody was stunned. Very frightening. Gave real meaning to "Night Under Fire". He was able to get out of the car on his own but was still taken away in an ambulance. Yikes. This was the point where Ray, always eloquent, said, "What a 'man' thing - strap your ass to a jet and hurl yourself down a dark track." I couldn't agree more - but remember - it's the chick driver who ended up winning. (How the fairer sex has dumbed down...*sigh - Ray's explanation..."penis envy.")

The final event was the semi truck. Lord, was Paul ever right. It is sooo stupid; it's definitely worth seeing. You hear a rumble first...and look over to see this shiny, "purdy" semi at the starting line. It revs and flames come out of the exhaust thingies (I'll get the lingo eventually), then balls of flame come out the back somewhere. We were half a football field away and could feel the heat - like when you start a grill or open the oven door. I can't imagine what it was like for the people sitting right next to it. Then it just seems to ignite totally and the billboard behind it catches on fire and goes up in flames...then it revs some more... and careens down the race track - sparks flying, belching flames...and then it's gone into the night. People cheer - go wild. Quite a sight to see.

The finale was a wonderful fireworks display with patriotic songs carried over the loud speakers...and segments of speeches by Martin Luther King, Jr and Kennedy...and maybe Kenny Rogers...who knows. It really was beautiful. I just had to make sure the kids didn't look over at the fat couple making out under the stars and light show. Again - yuck.

I've left so much out...the female biker who kept punching the metal part of the grand stand, staggering back from it and then coming up to punch at it again. The guy with the leather pants and shaved head who had his baby with him...also in tiny leather pants. The woman who kept flashing the old dude in the next row of bleachers and the old dude's wife who smacked him on the head each time...as if it was his fault. Had me rolling on the floor. Quite comical.

As we exited, we took time to check out the cars. If I had any brain cells left after inhaling nitrous all night, I'd remember what kinds of cars they were and what years. Suffice it to say, they were beautiful. Seemed like at midnight, the partying was just beginning. I dare say, had we not had the munchkins with us, we probably would have stayed and taken a bit more of it in. Ray has spent many a night there (the paying racers continue after the show...they had 700 - yes 700 motorcycles and cars left to compete after midnight), and he said much is not for children's eyes. I've heard the stories, and all I can say is my youthful forays into the whorehouses of Dakar were little preparation. Oy...

We found our car where we'd left it...behind the barn and next to a pond/ manure dump. Ray and Adam had a wonderful father/son bonding moment as they both peed towards the pond and Ray was heard saying, "Easy Adam...what ya trying to do? Nail a fish?" Ahh...these are the moments of our lives. I headed in the opposite direction of all the traffic - figuring going even 20 miles out of the way was preferable to sitting bumper to bumper so late at night. I was correct, and we made it home w/ little trouble.

So...this is far more than any of you bargained for, but how else will you understand why I stay in Ohio? *S*...as Ray says, "I love the smell of nitrous in the morning..."

Stay tuned for part III, which should be: Rain Rides.