Vrooooooom!

So today we took the kids to Bandimere Speedway, to observe the time trials for all sorts of racing classes. We saw old skool hot rods, lean and mean drag racers, magnificent Impalas, a few modded rice rockets here and there, and a few street cars and motorcycles that happily laid down $35 each to tear up a quarter-mile.

It was glorious. My girls were thrilled to see more than a few women racing, and had a chance to talk with them after their runs. My son was apoplectic with joy and excitement, he couldn't take his eyes off a souped-up 'Vette that managed the 1/4 in 10, and (as he does with Gravedigger when he's watching monster trucks) booed any vehicle that lined-up against his pretty favorite.

All of them want to get into racing and I'm looking at Karting for them. Damn expensive hobby, especially x 3! Still, I love that they're into cars. When they fight over track formations for the slot cars, my heart swells with pride.

What can I do? They think soccer is dumb and after a half-hearted try, the girls gave up on dance and cheering. One of the girls wants to do some sort of martial arts training, but damn, she's already a menace!

Our summer is going to be great: swimming at the pool, dining al fresco, visiting the mountains, going to outdoor concerts around town, and Saturday night races at the Speedway--hot dogs, chili cheese fries, the smell of burnt rubber and the roar of drag racing.

Life is good.

NASCAR in Denver

First, a disclaimer: I am not a NASCAR fan. It's too lowest-common denominator marketing for my taste, and the big name drivers are awfully showboat-y. The race itself is a bunch of right turns that fans watch intently only to catch the first glimpse of a fight or the banana peel that starts a fiery crash. It's just like WWE.

Give me the Nevada salt flats and a fleet of amped and tuned muscle cars. The thrilling Paris-Dakar rally. Or a fabulous hot rod drag race in Las Vegas or Southern Cali. Even Formula One's weird foreigners are more interesting. No, I know -- just me and a Porsche 911 on the Nurburgring. That's more like it. Actually, just a suburban open garage and clear driveway, and an awesome slot-car set. Now you're talking.

The NASCAR juggernaut currently has its sights set on the aptly-named Commerce City, Colorado, land of endless warehouses and factories, for its new track. Last year, when I lived in New York, NASCAR was up to the same shenanigans in Staten Island. People close to me, in my immediate family, claim to be NASCAR fans. A pretty-girl friend of mine maintains her willingness to do unspeakable things in order to meet NASCAR driver and total dork Jeff Gordon. What is going on here? A vast, Southern, country music-lovin', Blue Collar Comedy-quotin', NASCAR conspiracy? What in the hell do they want?

Denver is known for a lot of things. A terrible boom-and-bust economy, John Elway, proximity to skiing, truly bizarre weather, and being located smack dab between the hippy/yuppy/eco terrorists in Boulder and the right-wing nutjobs in Colorado Springs.

The people here are mostly white, mostly Midwestern types who recycle, shop at big chain stores and eat at chain restaurants, and enjoy Adult Alternative and Oldies radio. Because they are health-conscious, they workout every day and don't smoke or drink much. Making too much noise can get you kicked out of your condo, or get you a citation from your gated community's hired security.

Denver is in the center of a basin, geologically-speaking, and the way sound travels in a basin, you could poke your head out of your window in Thornton and hear a dog fart in Parker. You would say to yourself, "Was that a sonic boom I just heard?"

Got to give NASCAR props for trying, though: they've teamed up with local businesses to get Denverites excited for the family fun, the deafening roar and the big corporate profits of high-speed racing. We shall see.

In the meantime, I'm taking my 7-year old son to Bandimere Speedway, to learn the finer arts of cart racing and watch the Mile High Drag Racing Nationals. This, I feel, will serve his dreams of future car racing far better than buying him t-shirts and such festooned with the number of some NASCAR driver whose trophy wife is driving him to win more prize money to support her lavish lifestyle.

Do you know what I mean?