The Condiments Car

The Cornhusker 50. The longest micro-sprint race in history...or at least it seemed. This was a race I looked forward to.. it had the fans, the credentials and the hype. One of the biggest micro-sprint races that I knew of...at the time. At age 14 micro-sprint races were life or death. I had just revamped myself from a potential "career ending wreck" as the local racing community called it. Just off the cusp of a three in a row win heater. This race was amongst the best in the micro-sprint business. I'm pretty sure there was a 32 year old in the field.. which made it a big deal for us youngsters.

I had the lead by half way. At this point in my micro-sprint career the only thing bigger than my stats were my ego. We had just sewn up the "Rookie of the Year" title, and talking to me was nearly impossible. As I began digging through the lapped traffic my "rookie status" tapped on my right-should and reminded me that it was, in fact,..still a factor. I tangled with a lapped car and spun out. Luckily, for my ego, my car was still race-able. I started at the tail-end of the longest line and had a "shit-ton" of ground to make up. I began darting around, passing cars as fast as possible. I was positive that Dad had his lecture already plotted out. "Nope. This can't happen. Not tonight" I thought as I snatched another muddy tear-off from my helmet. The win became a little more mine with each car I passed. I remember following a red and yellow car.. a road block. If I went inside, he darted across my nose. If I went high entering turn three he suddenly entered high. This pass would be for eighth position. The frustration of my winning race car wasting valuable time on what should be an easy pass began to wear on me. I struggled with this ketchup and mustard race car until five to go. The caution flag waved :exhale: "What the fuck" I screamed inside of my helmet. We made one lap under caution.. suddenly I felt pressure build in my right foot. :cling: before I knew it I was darting to the inside of the condiments car as he spun up the race track. I remember laughing historically as I drove past. Yup..I spun him. Without thinking, without tact, without even making it look unintentional.. I spun that jackass. As the green flag dropped I began making up time as fast as my RTS chassis could. I finished second, I was livid, only one.. maybe two laps too short.


The shield of my helmet fogged up as I cussed myself for losing the biggest race of the year. As I pulled onto pit road after the race and began to exit my race car I began to remember that in my battle to triumph I had made a few enemies. I was greeted by an angry crew member holding a jack handle and I believe and angry wife. I left my helmet on and spoke my mind about what had happened. It wasn't long til I was seeking cover.


My point for this blog may or may not pertain to certain recent events but what my opinion, in regards to fighting and racecars is this:


..race car drivers, drive with an unruly, untammed passion. That same passion is what makes a racecar mechanic, sponsor or owner wake up everyday and pour themselves into this sport. There is no crystal clear right or wrong in the world of AP on this one. But.. just like in politics and religion .. when two passions collide in the sport of auto racing..it will make news.. figure skating..however..rarely makes news. Perhaps we should ask ourselves.. why?

To Infinity And Beyond

Darlington, SC. The only thing I remember about this race, last year, was that my socks were wet due to a "hail the Virgin Mary" rainstorm, that passed thru just in time for qualifying tech. And in pure "first day" fashion I didn't bring a change of socks.

This year life is different. I'm not going to ramble on about how different life is for once.. it seems to be all I do these days. Life is different. It's boring. You got it. I know. I do, however, have a few necessary confessions to make... the first is I am lonely. I’m not used to traveling alone. I miss the Harrys. Those guys were such good sources of amusement and material for this blog. Second, I drink alone. Yup, all of those rides in Dad’s truck listening to some good ol’ George Thurgood taught me that this is not only ok but it can be phenomenal. I also just realized that I have been spelling phenomenal wrong for quite some time. Third, Most all of my blogs have been born and raised under one motto "Write drunk. Edit sober." And lastly, I believe I was a super hero in a past life.


I am aware I have just dropped a palate full of delicious items on you but the one I wish to expand on is the Super Hero one.. hear me out. Tonight I was alone, heading home from dinner :before drinking my dale-deuce (what I call 32oz) Coors Light: and a car started to pull out in front of me. As I drove past I realized that I had my right hand up as if to say "halt/stop/freeze." I then began thinking... I have done crazy shit like this before. It would seem as tho I know what is about to happen or I have some sort of cheesy way of heading off impending disaster. I also love wearing my wonder woman costume... which may or may not be related. So..in ending I am going to pretend for the rest of my days that reincarnation is, in fact, real and I was once someone amazing like Buzz Lightyear or Chuck Norris. Maybe then, this hotel room won't feel so lonely and this life won't seem so hopelessly boring. Until next time, "To Infinity AND Beyond." that came so natural...it's scary..

Littered With Magic

You could say..actually I will say, I believe in magic. Not disappearing white bunny rabbit magic a totally different kind of magic. I believe in the type of magic that moves you and awakens your soul from it's state of boredom. Magic that shakes your insides and causes you to perform and accomplish seemingly impossible things. The restlessness that keeps you from sleep. The constant sensation of being late for something but not knowing what. The raw need to fulfill a destiny. It's magic, and it is real. Somewhere in America, there is a child who dreams of being a better athlete than Lance Armstrong, and I believe if he has the magic, he will fulfil that destiny.

I feel without the magic I am a mear corpse aimlessly roaming this earth. I have spent my winter in this lost, wondering, state. No spunk, no ambition, no anxiousness, just drab and uuninspired. I've looked everywhere for my magic. I have held everyone around me as suspect of stealing it. I've ran for miles looking for it. I've  looked through pages and pages of books. Between couch cushions, inside of pizza boxes, I really have looked everywhere. My magic is gone. Like a crazed crack-head, I needed it back, I needed to be awake, I needed to be shaken.


As I walked my zombie ass into Daytona Speedway I was certain that the fire was gone and I would never see it again. On Friday somewhere between the bright blue Florida sky and the roaring of forty engines I stood back and felt the warmth of excitement in my soul again. The air in Daytona seemed different this year. There was a new and positive energy. I hope that it wasn't my lofty imagination turning a finger painting into a Picasso. I hope it was real for everyone. Every aspect seemed different. As the race cars hit the race track each event held it's own seeming impossible story.

The entire weekend was text book lessons on dreamers and destinies. A tear-filled Brian Kesolowski would get a shove from his brother to qualify him for a coveted starting spot in the Daytona 500. Landon Cassill, a young, hidden talent would go on to wheel his underfunded Phoenix racing machine into a podium position in the Nationwide race, lending him the platform he has been needing to display his talent. Daytona was littered with magic.

I arrived home and plopped down on my couch to watch the Daytona 500 with Watson. Completely typical I fell asleep for most of the race. I awoke just in time to see young driver, Trevor Bayne cross the finish line as the winner of the great American race in only his second start. "Am I dreaming right now" were the words Trevor said on his radio as he made his way to victory lane. My eyes filled with tears and my heart raced with excitement. I was excited for him but I was more excited about seeing the magic. The hope. The affirmation once again that dreaming big is still allowed. All is not lost. As I regained my composure and began scrolling through my Twitter feed I saw that many were touched and inspired. Maybe I wasn't the only person looking for some magic.

Trevor gave the Lord all the glory for that win. I often forget that the Lord knows when I need that magic and when I need to stumble around looking for it. The point is, I am never alone in this. No one is. Magic or not the dream is real and the desires of our hearts are real. The magic is seeing it come to life. 

"To invent your own life's meaning is not easy, but it's still allowed, and I think you'll be happier for the trouble." - Bill Watterson

A Mystical Creature Known As "The Off-Season"

My January has been fairly easy. Life has been quite simple in the life of my little cubical in South Carolina. Don't get me wrong, I am bored as shit. The highlight of my week are the days I spend visiting my accounts and all of the Nationwide and Camping World truck teams. For the first time in 9 years my January is rather dull. I've spent a lot of time and effort into getting to know our products better and educating myself on the life and love of brake sales. Its riveting. :really: Meetings, placing orders, gathering samples.. enticing I know. Recently, I have found myself constantly in a state of.. "This time last year, I was.." :haha: I walk into these race teams with my carefree, peppy, cheerful, rested, brake salesman attitude and the Harrys are exhausted. Its written all over their faces. Misery. Hating life. It's pre-season not off-season. The first race is looming in the dark corner next to the pit equipment. Cars need to be built, set-up, engineered, fine tuned and in the lucky cases branded with sponsorship. The media calls it the "Off-Season", which is hilarity at its finest. The "Off-Season" in the world of NASCAR is as mystical of a creature as "Puff the Magic Dragon."

During these months most all of the guys are working late hours and long weekends with, in most cases, minimal help, due to the current financial standing of NASCAR. Don't let their gripes, grumbles and cursing fool you..they love it. They all do. They must. I know I did. Trust me, I bitched as much as anyone else.
Here's a taste of how it goes.. The news of unplanned wind tunnel time comes down the chain of command and what do ya know the crew chiefs wants to take chassis 087. :ahhh yes, perfect, ofcourse chassis 087: That's 087 over in the corner with no suspension, no engine, no nada. Sitting over there in all her "just a body" glory, collecting dust. Oh and they need it now.
Maybe that is why I am so bored. Typically this time of year, I am right there with them. Wide open, exhausted and going in 4,684 different directions. That is "Business As Usual" for the month of January in NASCAR. I know the Harry's are just about over it, but I really miss it. I find myself putting off little tasks in my cubical so that at 4pm I am paniced and stressed-out trying to get that last spreadsheet completed before 5. Its all subconcious but completely on purpose. It's delightful. PANIC! I love you. I miss you.
On a set-up plate in Mooresville the bump-steer on the Intermediate car is all wrong. A sub-assembly guy is scrambling around to change the culprit drag link.. for the third time. All of this is happening under the watchful eye of the already annoyed crew chief, who incidentaly told the mechanic what drag link needed to be installed in the first place. Patience are running low and he considers throwing down the parts and making a dramatic exit. Just wait, that same guy will be the first one at the plane en route to Daytona. As he waits for the rest of the crew to board he is filling up his Twitter feed with something like, "On the way to DAYTONA Baby! Wooowhoooo." It's all ok now, cause race season has finally arrived, and everyone survived. 

Fashion Advanced

Ode to the days of being a mechanic. Wearing cumfy crew shirts, lose black pants and sneakers. :sigh: These days I am usually dressed for business: skirts, blouses, slacks etc. Wardrobe malfunction is a common occurrence with my new attire.

One dilemma that I face is with my blouses. Nothing seems to stay tucked-in. And due to my inherent flat butt my pants don't seem to stay up either. I get this partial tuck that makes me look pudgy and frumpy or in worse case scenarios, plumbers crack. So, I asked the world of Twitter "Who is going to invent a product to help shirts stay tucked in?" Much to my surprise..someone already has! Of course it may propose a problem if I need to wear the system with a skirt. Perhaps I could start a new fashion trend..:hmmmm:

The fashion forward thinkers of our generation have been able to make suspenders attractive. They have taken the elastic bands from the senior section of department stores and put skinny, hopelessly attractive male models under them and positioned them in the pages of a JCrew catalog. Of course I have considered just going with suspenders but hey, we are pioneers here at the AP Organization. Followers we are not. 

So during lunch today I worked up a little sketch that I plan to send off to JCrew and all other companies who are interested in being what I call "fashion advanced." Your Welcome.

Ok..here she is:

I know. I know. Bad Ass. I will be accepting orders soon.

   

2010 Mini Goat Land

2010. When I look back at the year 2010..I will always remember this..

:yup: those are goats. And not just any goats. The mini goats from Concord Farm Road.

2010 held bigger changes for me than I could have ever imagined. Through out the past twelve months, my life has changed in every way possible. I have a different job, vehicle, boyfriend and most importantly, I have a new outlook on life as a whole. During my lunch break on a Monday afternoon, my life changed.

It was a typical Monday. The standard "Sorry its Monday" Bojangles's Chicken biscuits had arrived. The tear-down of that weeks race car was under way. Everyone of us was moody and pissed of at the world. We were in our typical "busy work" mode just trying to make it to lunch break. When lunch finally rolled around I decided I needed to go get food for the little man, not the little man working in our paint shop but my little man, Watson. As I made my way out of the shop door, I considered taking him with me, like most four legged friends, Watson likes Petsmart. Due to the effects of the Bojangles's biscuits, I opted to not exert myself any more than necessary by walking all the way back to my office to go get him.

On my return to the race shop, I made a poor judgement and found myself in a whirlwind of trouble. I was t-boned by a Chevy Z71 pick-up truck which catapulted my Tacoma into the air. As I have said numerous times before, I am no stranger to flipping a vehicle. It happened all too often in my racing career. This time was different tho, as I saw the truck about to collide with mine I remember taking a deep breath. Everything became slow motion and my senses were sharper than a knife. The smell of fresh cut grass and rubber filled my nose. The sound of the wind rushing by my window was louder than the crunch of sheet metal and shattering glass. I braced myself and remember thinking :dont hit your head, dont hit your head: After flipping three times I landed in Mini Goat Land. Everything was silent, except for the goats.

I was livid. :Ahhh my beautiful truck! Dammit Dammit Dammit: As I climbed out of my truck I was greeted by several crew members from a nearby race shop. They knew me and my truck and were obviously shaken. I myself was too angry to be scared. I remember blowing them off as they tried to convince me that I was in shock. I was in shock, I was in shock that I had just wrecked my effing truck.

As I waited for the Harrys to arrive to help me load up my now waded up truck I began to look for my belongings. Everthing that was inside of my truck was now scattered throughout Mini Goat Land. Floor mats, dog food, cds, everything. The goats began playing a game of "Finders Keepers" with my wallet. As I shewed them away it began to sink in what had just happened. I flipped my truck and now I am about to robbed by goats.

 In my lifetime, have had many close calls. If that day was my D-Day I will never really know but I am whole-heartedly grateful for two things..

First, seat belts. Everything was gone except for me. I have survived many flips but I am unaware if I am as successful at flying.

Second, Bojangle's Chicken Biscuits. I have no doubt that the effects of eating two Bojangle's Biscuits can be accredited to my laziness that kept me from bringing Watson with me that day.

I have an invisible hour glass looming over top of my head. I have no clue how much sand is in it. I live my life never really worrying about sand. But what I have begun worrying about is how much sand is left in everyone else's hour glass. I could have lost Watson that day. I didn't. We dodged a big one. I hope that I always feel as lucky as I did on March 22, 2010. Every day is a blessing.

The Sandlot

I pulled into what would be, on any other day, an empty field in Concord, NC. As I got out of the car the familiar smell of methanol, Ben Oil and rubber filled the cold December air. I had arrived at the Field Filler Fairgrounds. A small 1/10 mile asphalt race track, built by one of NASCAR's past champions. The track that seemed as if it had been forgotten for quite sometime, was suddenly full of life. The young guys who brought this little piece of land back to life, reminded me of the boys from the movie, Sandlot. I believe the only difference was that this Sandlot was actually a race track rather than a baseball diamond. 

As we entered the pit area I began to feel like a kid again. Excited to be amongst friends who loved racing. Real racing. No politics. No contracts. Just racers. Kids having fun.  The masterminds behind The Field Filler Fairgounds were introduced to me as SuperShoe, Flea, The Franchise and BeaverDragon. They could easily be recognized by their Chuck Tailors and ripped up jeans. These young guys are possibly some of the best talent that the city of Charlotte has to offer to NASCAR. The best part of it all is, they spend their weekends hosting amateur go-kart races at their self built racetrack simply because of their love for the sport. What these guys have done with this little racetrack is possibly the coolest thing to hit Charlotte since the filming of the movie, Days of Thunder.

At the Field Filler Fairgrounds racers young, old, famous and dangerous all get the chance to get back to doing what they love. There is no "Sprint Cup" girls in Victory Lane or big sponsor names written on the walls around here.. :nope: simply a checkerboard stage, a Get-Well banner for one of their injured racer friend, a bottle of $7 champagne and a hand-made, wooden, "Dale" trophy..:that I believe BeverDragon made in shop class.: Driver's meeting was conducted just off of turn four next to a 76 ball from the old NASCAR Winston Cup days and opening race ceremonies included a prayer, the pledge of allegiance and the National Anthem which was sung by everyone in attendance.

Events like these are special to people like me for several reasons.. Around this time of year I begin to re-evaluate why I moved here and if I am still happy. Recently, my passion for the sport is less vibrant and home-life seems more endearing. After a Sunday at the Sandlot I quickly remember why myself and every one else is in this city. Each one of us, at one point in our lives, would have given our right arm to be at a race track with our best friends, racing to win a wooden Dale Earnhardt trophy. :Tho: those days are behind me now, I felt privileged to spend my Sunday with the boys who still invest their time and effort into the sport we all love.

The reporters of NASCAR seem to always be looking for a story to write. I must say that the best story in racing, at this current time, isn't at Lowes Motor Speedway..it's about 5 miles down the road at a little place called the Field Fillers Fairgrounds or in my eyes The Sandlot.

Here is some video. Check out the crowd at this place..

Pre-Race Ceremonies

Green Flag