Mini Sprint Racing 101: A Guide to Getting Started
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A Day at the Races
BY
D. J. Snyder
This hobby is where dreams become reality, and where your hopes can be
shattered, all in less than a second. This hobby brings families together.
This hobby is where you make best friends and even bitter enemies. The
rumble from 800 horses shakes you as it rolls by. The clay from them that
flies through the air and seems to stick to everything. It is called racing.
Racing has put me through the transition from boy to man. It has molded me
into what I am today.
As we open the trailer to reveal a dirty car from the last race, we feel a
connection. It is between us and the car. When we grab the chromoly roll
cage, you can feel a spark jump from the car to your fingertips. As we take
the torn beauty out of the trailer, we tell her that everything will be
okay. The pressurized water cuts the stiff mud off the body to reveal the
most beautiful paint scheme in the entire racing circuit. Throughout the
week, we spend time changing fluids, polishing, and shining parts. Finally,
the end of the week comes and we load the trailer up and, with tired hands
and heads, we head home to prepare for the trip tomorrow.
As I stare out the front windshield of the truck, I grow tired of the
winding and binding road that just never ends. I soon find that I’m studying
the back of my eyelids. I’m tired, so I sleep the whole way. The heat from
the sun radiates as it hits my face, and it awakens me. I sit there excited
as a kid going to Disneyland. Only my Disneyland is a beat-up old race track
off the side of the highway. As we pull up to the front gates, I feel the
butterflies in my stomach churn the food I had just eaten. We pay for our
passes, the lady puts the wristband too tight—as usual—and then we head on
our way.
We enter the track and look for a spot to park. We find one, climb out of
the truck and head for the trailer. We open the trailer and see the
beautiful heap of metal calling for attention. We roll the car out of the
trailer; I squint my eyes when the sun gleams off the paint. My dad soon
starts tinkering away; I walk through the pits and out to the track.
Once I get there, I pull my keys out, put them into the sticky muck, and
pull out nothing but cold, wet clay. I can tell that once again they watered
the track too much; it was going to be another long night. I head back to my
dad to report the track condition; he uses his magical talents to transform
the car and prep it for the first go. While he does this, I get ready;
everything is pulled from my bag, and I slide into my suit. It feels like a
heavy quilt, with the hot temperatures outside. Right about now I’m getting
very nervous. I grab my shoes, look at my feet, shove them on, and lace them
up. I head for the car. I put the safety belts on; with each tug of the
belts, I can feel the butterflies leave me. With a good luck tap to the
helmet, and two quick pound-its, me and the car are on our way.
I enter the track; the alcohol exhaust smells so sweet, but at the same time
it burns my nose and makes my eyes water. I putt around the corners, but the
car is itching to fly down the front straight. It takes awhile for everyone
to get into formation. With the one lap sign to go, everyone gets nose to
tail. I come around the last corner to see the green flag drop like a bomb;
everything goes silent. Then the roar from 182 horses screams. I slam my
foot deep and deeper into the ground. I can feel my heart beat to the
symphony of the motor. We pass everyone like they were standing still. I
feel like me and the car are a modern day Bonnie and Clyde, outlaws on the
run. Our chase comes to a halt as the laps end. We finally won. Dust fills
the air as I drift the corner with the flag in one hand and the steering
wheel in the other.
When we get to the pits, my dad runs up to hug me. Soon all you can hear are
screams of joy and the claps of hands. You can feel the many different kinds
of emotions in the pits tonight: happiness, sadness, anger and love.
Developed at an early age, my love for racing will never die. Racing has
made me who I am, what I am, and what I will be. Racing is my life.
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