I think the whole scene is pretty neat, for richer or for poorer, for
better or for worse.
I counted up the number of open trailers at the Road America event -- 250
entrants or so, about ten open trailers. But that's okay by me. It was also
okay that one of the guys who had a Big Rig was from Atlanta. His people
drove the hauler, and he arrived in a Lear Jet, which buzzed the track. Of
course, he went home each night to Atlanta and returned the next morning in
the Lear.
I remember the very first time in my life that I saw what I considered the
epitome of racing luxury. It was at Wilmot Hills (now defunct) in 1963 and
belonged to the guys in Waterloo, Iowa who bought Huffaker's Jensen-Healey.
They arrived with the race car on the back of a flatbed Ford one-ton truck.
The truck also had an oxy-acetylene cutting rig on it, and the ultimate
touch in racing equipment -- a six inch jaw vise, bolted right there to the
floor of the truck.
I think that the great equalizer between the guys at both ends of the scale
is that all of us share one thing that makes us equal -- four little tire
patches on the pavement. Considering this as the method used to measure
fun, nobody has more fun than me.
By the way, that 1963 truck still exists, and so does the Jensen-Healey,
parked where it was rolled off the truck after winning the national
championship. Seeing it made the little hairs on the back of my head stand
right straight up.
uncle jack
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