Let it be known that I have NEVER watched more than 2 laps of a Nascar race, now will I ever. Besides the occasional crash all it is is a group of people who can’t take right turns. Left, Left, Left, Left. Lather, rinse, repeat. To some people, this is a hoot. I am just not one of those people. The one reason I would ever even attend a Nascar race, to drive the pace car.
Sure, most people would say they wouldn’t pass up the chance to drive a race car, but since I don’t know how to drive stick, I want to be in the pace car. There is no bigger power trip in sports. In front of millions of people, you drive a car that would normally get you made fun of on the streets. But not here. Throngs of drunk, wife-beater wearing, tan line showing fans start to hoop and holler as you make your lap. Sure as the race goes on, the fans continue to scream but as the beer continues to flow the rest of the race becomes a blur. Your lap in the pace car is more or less the one lap they will remember of the entire race, or at least be able to call to memory.
In your rear view are the best racers on the circuit and they can’t do a damn thing until you get off of the road. Each car has like a bazillion horses waiting to be freed but there you are in front of them in a car any member of the Geek Squad would be proud of, taking your time…pacing yourself if you will. Throw in an iced coffee and some tunes and you got yourself one a Sunday drive even Miss Daisy would be proud of!
