In the Groove
Monday, April 27, 2009
In The Groove
by Stacy Ervin
Many moments were good. One, in particular, was bad. But the thing that really struck me on this day was the familiarity of it all.
This was opening night, or at least what should have been opening night. Ironically, “opening night” seldom goes off as the schedule shows. But we all seem to know that innately and have no choice but to accept our fate.
It's not that hard, really. Racing people are tough, after all, as we all know. There was that little twinge of sadness at about 4:22 p.m. as I stood in Knoxville Raceway's ticket office next to Arleta as she announced over the loudspeaker that no sprint-car motors would be roaring to life tonight. But the way it was raining, it wasn't much of a shock. And I had at least a few minutes to spend laughing with people I love and hadn't seen since last fall.
Driving back home, another two hours after I had just spent two getting here, was disappointing, but familiar. And passing by all the towns and farms and fields for the second time in a day, I had ample time to think about how the more things change, the more they stay the same.
I've traveled these same roads for the past 34 years. Some of these cities and towns have certainly grown, stretching their boundaries out little by little. There used to be a picturesque farm here on rolling green hills and all the barns and outbuildings had beautiful blue roofs. Now it's a gigantic casino resort. And there's a stoplight in the middle of a road that used to be the middle of nowhere.
Some of these farmhouses look like they've been here for years, but underneath their exterior, there's brand-new construction. A couple of these mansions still cause me to daydream about what life inside their immense walls must be like, but they still look kind of out of place in the midst of these cornfields.
I'm a true animal lover, so any opportunity to see dogs, cats, horses and assorted farm animals roaming their pastures is good with me. Sheep, goats and llamas are the best, though. I enjoy looking at deer, but I definitely don't want to see them too close while I'm on the road.
There are several different routes one could take on this journey, but mostly I'm a creature of habit. I know where the clean restrooms are and which convenience stores have the snacks I prefer. I know about how much longer it will take me to get to them by the way the utility poles look in certain stretches. Every once in a while, though, I have to adjust my route. Last year's massive flooding gave me a real adjustment and I found a route I never took before. It was interesting for that one week, but I haven't gone that way since, just out of habit more than anything else.
A grand new overpass under construction also cut me off from my “quicker” route last season. I had to go back to the old route, which is familiar yes, but not the same anymore. The little country store that used to make the best fudge ever is now a daycare center. But all the barns along this road in the heart of Amish country now feature pretty wooden quilt-patterned tiles in vibrant colors. And one Amish farm has lots of goats.
There used to be this one old dilapidated house where the only occupant was a big brown goat with curly horns. I really thought I was losing it the first time I noticed him laying on top of the porch roof out the second-story window. But he was there every week after that. Once I pulled into his driveway just to sit and look. He looked kind of mad so I never did that again. I just slowed down as I approached and looked at him. Until they tore his house down. Apparently he couldn't make the payments. I still wonder what happened to that goat.
Up the road a ways from the goat lives one of the legends of my upbringing. Long before I started traveling this route to Knoxville all the time, we only went a couple blocks from home every week to West Liberty Raceway. My grandpa started this crazy obsession when he owned stock cars back in the 1960s. One of those old-timers he told stories about still lives along here. Another one apparently ran for a seat on his county's board of supervisors last year. I know because I saw the campaign signs along the road every week.
Pretty soon we'll come to Oskaloosa. I have a special place in my heart for this town because it is home to my alma mater, William Penn University. I spent a couple of wild years here and have a lot of fond memories. There used to be a great comfort-food restaurant here right across the highway from the turn to the race track. It was a teeny little place that was pretty much like having lunch at grandma's house, but with about 40 people you don't know squished all around you, a line of about 20 more waiting outside the door and semis rumbling by mere inches from your table. They served the real best tenderloin in Iowa alongside homemade mashed potatoes and cream pies. They tore the building down last year and now it's a car wash that sits across the street from another car wash. I do hate driving in this town. I'm always relieved to reach the west side and it feels great to know that my destination is on the horizon from here.
When we do get to Knoxville, it feels just like coming home. Everything is right with the world when I'm here. Except when it's raining. But I have had a lot of fun in the rain here over the years too.
Things have really changed here in 34 years. I remember how it looked when the sale barn and its gravel parking lot was across the highway from the track, but boy that was a long time ago. And what would we do without that 24-hour Hy-Vee anyway?
It goes without saying that the National Sprint Car Hall of Fame and Museum is the greatest addition off of turn two. The nearby Subway restaurant was once home to the most popular gathering spot for the “morning after” race discussions. The delectable treats offered up at Bailey's Donut Shop were good, but the real draw was in the “celebrities” you might sit next to and the conversations you might overhear. And if you missed something you wanted to know, you could always trek back to your campsite off of turns three and four and ask your neighbor while he was thrashing on his race car.
Yeah, things sure have changed here. But progress is good too. Heck, I used to pay to get in and stake out my seat in Section N. Now they pay me to sit in the pressbox between two of my heroes, Bob Wilson and Ralph Capitani, and write live results on the worldwide web. I used to daydream about what it would be like to know everybody here on a first-name basis. Now some of my closest friends wear official shirts and driver suits. Now for me a simple walk around the grounds during Nationals week is an all-day event because of all the friends I run into and conversations I get caught up in. Yeah, progress has been good to me.
But still, some things really never change. No matter what has changed along my route to this place, no matter what looks different around the Marion County Fairgrounds, no matter where I stay or who I sit next to or what my jobs are, I still come to this place. Partly out of habit and the familiarity of it all. But mostly because I don't know where else I could ever go that feels this much like home. Even in the rain.
(Pictured): Practice was all Johnny Herrera could get in last weekend (Conrad Nelson)
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