Dirt Trackin'

Ryan (left), the mastermind of the evening's activities, his dad, and his dad's friend.

What's up, Internet.

So for those of you who know me, 'race cars' isn't something you'd say I'm particularly 'in to.'  Swords?  You bet your ass.  Collecting records?  Obviously.  Watching shitty cars drive around in a circle, kicking up dust, surrounded by Walmart regulars smoking Marlboro Reds and pounding Busch Lite?  Not so much.

Still, when a bunch of your friends decide to up and spend an evening at the races, it's kinda hard to say 'no thanks.'

The Dual.  A dive bar in Auburn we met at for dinner and drinks beforehand.

And that's what happened last night.  Me and four or five of the dads I regularly hang out with up and decided to go to Auburn for dinner and a night at the races.  We'd each bring about $20 in singles, that way we could bet a dollar on a car and, if that car won, we'd end up taking the pot for that race.  We could bring coolers of our own beer (no bottles, since it's a public event and everything) and snacks, and otherwise just. . . yeah. . . watch a bunch of shitty cars drive around in circles for a few hours.

Again.  NOT my cup of tea, per se, but hanging out with these guys gets pretty fun.

So here's the story of how Yours Truly ended up doing something totally not-Brian in the slightest.

Enjoy.

The Dual Bar, being just a hole-in-the-wall, local shit-hole, doesn't even take credit cards, so they have this 'ATM' (and I use that term very, very lightly in this case) where you can get cash.  Fortunately I didn't have to use it.

Just look at all these shitty local businesses. . .

A urinal for each, individual customer?  To hell with that sissy, city-folk nonsense.  'Round these parts, we just all piss into a trough.  What in the actual f***.

Playing some pool while we wait for our food orders to arrive.  This place is so small they don't even have a grill - they have a hot plate they cook individual burgers on, which - no surprise here - takes for-frickin'-ever.

I will say this, though:  the burgers were awesome.  I mean, just look at Pete's face - that dude ordered two baskets for himself.

A classy, classy establishment.

 

Following dinner, packing up coolers.

Seriously in the middle of nowhere, here.

Ten minutes or so later, we pulled into the Motor Speedway, ready for beers and car-racing.

While we walked to the front entrance, the Smoke Monster from Lost got loose and killed a crap-load of trailer trash.

Behold the Deplorables.  I guarantee the average level of education with these folk was a G.E.D.

VROOOOOOOOMMM

I can't complain too much, though - I won three races throughout the evening, and - in the long run - spent a grand total of $2 for dinner, seven beers, admission to the races, and two souvenir koozies.  Not too shabby at all. 

 Way to go, asshole.

I hope that picture cousin Cletus took turned out.  I'm sure it's a keep'r.

If there are signs like this hanging up, you know you're surrounded by Trump supporters.

As the evening races kicked off, we all started getting severe weather warnings on our phones.  Approaching thunderstorms and hail were rushing in, and so the races were called off around 10:30 (which, honestly, was totally fine with me by this point - after watching, like, more than three races, they all start to look the same after awhile.)

We had to run back to the cars, getting soaked along the way.  It was coming down in frickin' buckets.

Our last stop of the evening, after leaving the Motor Speedway, was to stop off at a bar in Auburn for a few more rounds, as it was still fairly early out, and no one felt quite ready to return to our wives and children.  There was some live music going, and we hung out for a couple more hours before ultimately heading back to Midland. 

- Brian