Grundy Sunday Evening

 

The Grand Nephew in Car Number Three. I'm Sure That Fence Will Hold.

In the summer of 1967 my friend Dave, his girlfriend, I and my girlfriend (Pause for gasp) went to the stock car races at Soldier Field every Friday night. I was seventeen and that's what I wanted to see. Speeding cars with the occasional crash. I'm surprised that girlfriend waited until February of 1968 to break up with me. The only downside of her breaking up with me was that I couldn't go on double dates with Dave and his girlfriend anymore. Not even if I offered to drive.

In the 1970s I still liked going to stock car races, but kind of liked the demolition derby part of the show much better. I went a few times with my friend Al to the Santa Fe Speedway near Chicago. No girlfriends. By this time I realized they weren't necessary and that going with Al worked out much better.

That was the last time I was at an automobile race track, until last Sunday. I, along with three of my sisters, my brother, various wives, husbands, and in-laws all went down to the Grundy County Speedway to watch my grand nephew race. I really enjoyed watching the young man fly around that racetrack, even if he didn't win. He was doing something I have always thought I could do. I've even practiced on the Dan Ryan Expressway. So, aside from that there were a few things I didn't like. For one thing, it was much louder than I expected and the ear plugs my sister handed me did little to hush the roar. The toilets smelled like they hadn't been cleaned in years. Finally, the seats my brother chose for us to watch his grandson race. They were right where the fourth turn met the straightaway in front of the stands. I've seen those videos. Usually grainy, black and white film from the 1960s, of race cars missing that turn and flying up into the spectators. All I could think of for the first few races was how much it was going to hurt when a ton of steel and rubber slammed into my head. After a few of the heats (Racing term for short qualifying races) I kind of forgot about how much it would hurt. Instead, in my head, I began writing the headline that might appear the next day in the Chicago Tribune. "ENTIRE FAMILY WIPED OUT IN HORRENDOUS RACE TRACK TRAGEDY."

Other than that, I had a wonderful time.

 

Sometimes Cars Do Fly