TMI Thursday at Talladega

***Update*** LiLu has informed me that I am to link to her, but I don't know were she lives. Anyway, I think she actually meant for me to link here at LiLu's place or something like that. I don't know. I'm a Beaver Hunter, now a IT person for Christ Sake.

I guess it’s time I did a TMI thing like everyone else. Okay!

Back in the early 80’s I was newly divorce and enjoying a somewhat semi-successful stint of getting laid. Ya know. There are some lean times when your right arm muscle looks like Popeye’s, and some prosperous times when all the cardio helps keep the abs tight. And I was in the cardio/abs phase and enjoying it very much. Nothing was culled (thrown away) and all was enjoyed. And I was on my way to becoming an autograph giving star.

My roommate, Bill, and I double dated on a trip to Talladega for a weekend of camping, booze, grass, cookouts and some awesome NASCAR racing - back when men raced and pussies like Kyle Bush and Jeff Gordon watched from the grandstands.

Anyway, on Saturday night, after a day of watching what was then called Bush cars race and loads of cold beer and a toke or two, my lady and I felt the need for some serious belly slapping. So we excused ourselves to the tent to commence the exploration of some never before seen territory. Yep, you could have call me an explorer, a mountain man (or mounting man) back then. Old Coffeypot Boone, king of the beaver hunters…what? Oh, sorry!

Anyway, Bill and his lady got this brilliant idea of a joke. They backed the car around and put the headlights on bright aiming at the tent. I didn’t notice as I thought all the light was from the heaven I was in at the time. Golden light of pleasure…what? OKAY! Damn! I try to be a little artistic here. Fuck you!

Oh, and speaking of fucking…all the campers from acres around the track gathered at the back of our tent and got a silhouette show of their life. Me on top, her on top, doggie style and the good old 69. I was a star. I was oblivious! But she knew what was going on and was getting more turned on by the exhibition. So, yep, I was in haven. Till it was over!

I heard all this yelling and clapping noise and, still being fucked up on booze and grass, and probably a little dumb as hell, I thought maybe one of the NASCAR drivers had stopped by for some fan adulation and autographs. So I jumped into my shorts and came outside. Bill was laughing his ass off, clapping me on the back and telling me good show.

Others started coming over and congratulating me and my lady and offered us free beer. One guy and two girls came over and ask for my autograph. They had taken pictures and videos of the shadow scene and wanted autographs to go along with them.

At fist I was kind of embarrassed, then, with all the commotion and adulation I was receiving, I got kind of cocky (no pun intended.) My lady then told me she knew what was happening and it had turned her on. She wanted to do it again, and that’s when the cockiness went away. I couldn’t!

But I did enjoy making the movie and saw a great NASCAR race on Sunday. It was a great weekend.

My NASCAR Experience

Last Tuesday night I visited and was interviewed by RWA at “Thoughts From The Heart of Dixie” – listed as Thoughts In Dixie on my role bar. For those of you who are not dropping by his site are missing a unique and funny guy who can make you think about things in the news and his life. Stop by Tuesday night and listen to his blog cast – and call in if you have the mine to do so.

Anyway, while he was interviewing me, he asked what sports I liked. The only one I follow and have a passion for is NASCAR. We talked about that for a while, and then I told him about the time I got to work in a pit crew at a NASCAR race at Darlington Raceway. He suggested I post this, after I had to holler at him to wake him up. So, if you are having trouble falling asleep, try reading this little tale.

Back in the mid 70’s my first wife and I went to Darlington to watch the Rebel 500. One of the guys on Bruce Hill’s pit crew was a Chris, whom I went to high school with and whose dad owned a Gulf Service Station up the street from where I lived. It was a place we both worked on our racecars. We were both racing on the weekends before I gave it up and he quit to work for BH.

Anyways, we were walking up to the infield gate to see him and say hello. He was waiting for me and asked if I would like to work in the pit crew because one of the men broke his hand the night before when the race engine fell on it. Well, let me tell you that was like asking a fat man if he would like to have a hamburger.

So he turned to the man checking the race people into the infield and told him we where with him. This is before NASCAR was such a big deal. There were two men setting at a card table checking off names. Not like today where you have to have six pounds of passes around your neck to use the bathroom – much less get on pit road. So my wife, Patches, went to sit with the wives of the racing community and I went to pit road. I was more excited than I was the first time I got to feel a boob. I was right in the middle of my heroes. In the pit next to us was Janet Guthrie – the first woman to drive in, what was then, the modern racing era. The Flock brothers’ sister raced in the 50’s. But Janet was a big deal.

Back to the story! My job was to wash the windshield when Bruce pitted. I had a 15’ pole with a sponge and a squeegee on the end. Because there are a limited number of men allowed over the wall during a pit stop, I had to stand behind the wall, lean over and wash the window with a little elbow grease. I did quite well, thank you very much. I was better at that than driving my race car and I was having a ball. But half way through the race we had a rain delay.

As I was going to the garage area to wait out the rain, Patches ran up to the fence separating the wives from the pit area, and said to me in an excited voice, “I got to pee with Linda Petty.” She was easy to please. Me too! I was sitting in the garage area with all my heroes sitting and standing around in groups just chatting away. Bobby and Donnie Allison, Richard Petty, David Pearson, Buddy Baker, Benny Parsons, and all the rest were all round me. If I wasn’t so cool and sophisticated I would have been bugging everyone for an autograph, or asking stupid questions like, “Hi, will you talk to me?” So I just set and ogled.

One group of drivers was standing just off to my right and I could hear them talking. Bobby Allison, Cale Yarborough, David Pearson and Richard Petty were talking about Janet Guthrie. Bobby said that she was driving a pretty good race, that he had been watching her all race long and was impressed with how she was handling the track, one of the hardest to drive at the time.

David said that they could thank him for that. Why? They wanted to know. And David said, “I told her that if she ever won a race, I would give her some and she had been trying like hell ever since.”

Then the rain stopped and we (and I use the term “we” very loosely) went back to racing. Bruce finished in tenth place, the highest he ever finished in a NASCAR race. I am convinced that it was because his windshield was so clean. They should have kept me around. He might have had a NASCAR career if the had, but, instead, he went back to Washington State after the year was over. I don’t even get a Christmas card from him. The ingrate!