Dirt was flying Saturday night at Crossville Speedway. Excitement was in the air. My adrenaline was up a notch. Why didn't I find this sport when I was 14? It would have fit me like Barrel Racing.
It was a night with early fireflies and a cool enough breeze to dry the sweat. I felt soothed by the sweet wholesomeness of the occasion. The nostalgia helped me forget the world. Of course, the economy has hurt this sport too. The jest of it as told to me is tracks are goin' under everywhere.
Sandy had her crowd and willing participants, though. Her husband bought this track for her and together they ran it until his death last April. It was a hive of activity and I imagine she finds her solace in the whirl and thunder.