OK, I'm a dumbass. I forgot to take my camera with me this weekend on the Bristol trip, so there won't be any pictures of the awesome fun we had.
My buddy Foy picked me up around 7:30am on Saturday morning, and we headed off to Biscuitville to load up on ham biscuits for the others and some egg & cheese biscuits for me. Next, to the airport where we picked up his buddies George and Don, straight off the plane from Baltimore.
Headed to Boone, to the Beal family mountain home, our base camp for the next couple of days. Before getting there, we dropped the other guys off at another friend's house, so they could borrow a vehicle, which they would need because Foy & I were gonna head on over to Bristol for the Nationwide Series race and the Saturday Night Special – more on that one in a minute.
We swung by the Beal homestead, opened the place up, Foy turned on the heat and the water. I claimed a downstairs bedroom, dropped my stuff, and 30 minutes later we were Bristol-bound. It's about a 70 or 80 mile drive to the track from the house, and we got there during the Nationwide (or as I still call it, the Busch) race. It was fun, but it wasn't the real reason we went to the track today.
That would be the Saturday Night Special, a special event that would feature such NASCAR legends as Junior Johnson, Cale Yarbrough and Harry Gant. David Pearson was supposed to run, but had his son drive the car instead. The race was a total hoot, as were the crazy, drunk women from Ohio sitting in front of us. They were squatters, meaning that they didn't actually have tickets for the seats they were in, but who cared? They were funny.
After the racin' was done, we drove back to the house, where the other fellows had prepared a mighty fine meal. We had a total of 7 guys for dinner and drinkin' and basketball watching. An early night was had by most, in preparation for the next day's main event, the Sprint Cup Series race.
Up early and six of us split for the track between 9:30 and 10:00. Bristol is one of the finest tracks on the NASCAR circuit and it always puts on a great show. Unfortunately, that little shithead Kyle Busch pretty much ran away with the race. Foy and I split at lap 480 (out of 500) because neither one of us can stand to watch that fucker win a race. We hiked back to the truck about a mile away, and hung out drinking a few beers while waiting for the others to return following the end of the race.
After that, back to the house for another fine dinner, with drinkin' and laughin' to go with it. Again, it wasn't a very late night.
I was up around 4 this morning, as we were trying to leave by 5:30am. Had to get George and Don back to the Raleigh airport by 9am to catch their 9:55 flights out.
I was the youngest guy present all weekend, and here's a couple of things I learned while hanging out with the mid-50's crowd.
Words of wisdom regarding the average male's mid-50's, typically the time of onset prostate issues:
1. "Never pass a urinal."
2. "Never trust a fart."
3. "Never waste a hard-on."
I thought that was the funniest stuff I'd ever heard. I probably won't think it's so damn funny a few years from now.
And I learned the following, which will also not be attributed to anyone by name, so as to protect the guilty:
1. "Women are not real people."
2. "If they didn't have vaginas, we'd hunt them with dogs."
The most valuable piece of wisdom I took away from the weekend was this, though:
"You can't drink all day if you don't start in the morning."
Now truly, those are words to live by…