Twenty-four hours ago, I
was autocrossing Paula Baker’s Mazda Miata on a big slab of concrete in the middle of Nebraska. Now I’m back on the couch in San Rafael, typing where I normally type, wondering if any of this really happened.
I meant to blog about this experience every night in the hotel but fell asleep instead.
I suppose if 50,000 people can justify driving out to the Nevada desert to wear body paint and do drugs, 1200 sports car enthusiasts racing cars and Big Wheels in an airport runway in Nebraska makes more sense than it ever did. So credit Burning Man for giving us balance.
Many things happened this week. I’m too sleep deprived to try to tackle them right now. But we had the Ladies Luncheon on Monday, where 130 women racers gathered, for the first time in history, to talk about said history, like where we come from and where we’re going.
There were the Texas SPOKES Sports Car Club Big Wheel races every evening (until a wheel broke), negating any reason to leave the concrete to visit the rest of Lincoln. Only a couple of injuries were reported.
I know there were some tight races in the event itself, and I paid attention to none of them. I found people’s personal stories much more compelling, and most had nothing to do with autocross.
This was supposed to be my swan song, and now I’m not so sure. And it’s not just because I’d like to improve on spinning out on otherwise perfectly good runs. It’s because I just spent ten years away from my family. And I don’t know what the heck happened, but some of you got really old. The solution to this seems pretty obvious to me.
The question I have is how to do this without having it rule my life, as I did in the past. So I think I’ll just fix Lucy’s roof first, and deal with the rest as it comes.