I have to preface something before I dive deep into this whole piece. I’m not really a NASCAR fan. Watching a bunch of dudes drive around in a circle doesn’t really pique my interest. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a race without the help of multiple American macro brews coursing through my veins. And you can be assured I’ll never spend a day watching it on TV. But don’t take this as a slight, because I fucking love going to NASCAR races.
I have to insist that everyone should go to a race at least once. Experiencing the thrill of taking in NASCAR is different than anything else I’ve ever done. To feel the thunderous ozone-depleting horsepower shake you to the core as a pack of cars zoom by you, holding the weight of twelve ounces or less in your hand at any given point in time, and to view the array of jorts and white New Balances like an ocean of dad fashion is truly a spectacle to behold.
But it’s much more than just an event, NASCAR is a community, and one that quickly invites any stranger to graciously do a keg stand or shotgun a beer.
It didn’t matter that I couldn’t name most of the drivers, or that I had no clue about the sport. People were just stoked we could all be out there grilling and cracking cold ones before the checkered flag dropped.
I realize that this may not be everyone’s cup of tea, and it’s not mine either, but I still had a fucking blast while taking in the experience. So the next chance you get, call up the crew, raid the local Walmart for all your race day gear, and make a weekend out of it.
I had a hell of a time, and I’m sure you will too. I’ll close this out with a no context photo from Richmond’s race day.
Happy NASCAR day.