Wow, did you guys fly all the way to Nashville just to play Greystone and then go home?

Well, no. We had our “away tournament” with our club in Primm (California/Nevada state line) on one weekend and the next weekend we were going to Bowling Green, Kentucky for the NHRA Hot Rod Reunion to participate in the drag races. Greg’s dad owns and drives the Beach Racing car in the Nostalgia Eliminator class and Greg is on the crew. Nashville is the closest airport and we decided to make the week in between our golf vacation.

The drag racing weekend

Beach Racing is good friends with Larry Dixon, Sr., and even though he is largely a one-man show, the Beach crew is his neighbor in the pits and helps when necessary. Prior to the Kentucky race, they were in Indianapolis together for another race there. We couldn’t make that one because of our golf tournament, but we met them in Bowling Green.

After playing our round at Greystone, we picked up the crew chief at the airport and the three of us met up with Greg’s stepmom (and co-owner of the car) for dinner. The next morning, we all drove up to Bowling Green together in our rental SUV, which also served as the tow vehicle for the race car.

Rather than having different classes for Nostalgia Eliminator based on index, the race was set up to do staggered starts based on your chosen index OR you could just run Open Fuel and go as fast as you can. Usually, we run in the 7.60 (NE1) class, but staggered lights are difficult for a twitchy driver. Plus, I think he was just really hot to try Open Fuel.

Greg and Lou (crew chief – in the hat) waiting for the signal to start up the car.

In our first pass, the car was tuned so powerfully the tires didn’t hook up right away. I forget what we ran, but it wasn’t enough to qualify. The crew used the data to work out a better tune up, and we ran a 7.36 in our next pass, which was exhilarating. We were among the top qualifiers but got bumped on the last pass. There was to be one more qualifying pass to admit one more car to the show, and I think the crew felt confident that our next pass would secure that spot.

Wet blanket

Then it rained. Actually, it poured. Evidently, the track staff is familiar with such sudden downpours. The announcers told people to take cover if they could and within seconds, the staff had removed all the electronics (i.e. the tree) from the dragstrip, and all the cars out there were soaked.

Back in the pits, we didn’t take the threat of the clouds seriously enough to put the car away like some of the Top Fuel cars did right next to us. Our E-Z-ups protected the cars but we had to keep pushing up on them with a broomstick as the water collected on top. The rain stopped and the staff almost had the track dry enough to race when it started up again. This time it wasn’t as much of a downpour but it was enough to stop racing for the night.

Dixon in his car, preparing for a pass. Lou in the foreground.

The Cacklefest

The award winning show cars paraded out on the track for the fans while they figured out what to do about that night’s planned “Cacklefest.” For those who don’t know, a Cacklefest is a fan-favorite exhibition in which all the famous nostalgia race cars start up and go down the track, then sit and cackle their engines in a noisy showcase of fumes. With a wet track, it was too dangerous for them to run down the track, so they were all towed or pushed to the center of the track, and fired up at once to just sit and cackle there. Dixon was piloting (cackling) the famous Howard Cams “Rattler.”

Things got ugly out on the track. One of the cars peeled out (accidentally?) in reverse and smashed a man against the wall of the track. Down toward the other end, I was just on the other side of the wall and saw one of the track workers apparently seizing and choking and fall to the ground. His friends and/or co-workers came to his aid, but it was all such chaos out there. Fans continued to scream and shout for the cacklefest, either not knowing or not caring that a couple of people could be dead out there. The EMTs were on the scene pretty quickly, but it seemed like an eternity before the cacklefest finally ended. I thought they would have stopped it when things went south but they just kept cackling and cackling. After it was over, I went out on the track in the chaos to try to find our team (we got separated right before the cackling began). I went and talked to Larry for awhile and, sure enough, our crew chief showed up there. We went back to our pits under a somewhat somber veil.

We had a little barbecue back in the pits and we got word that the man who had been hit was fine. He had been on one of those “rascal” types of motorized chairs and while he was shocked, he wasn’t hurt. We also heard that the man I saw in distress actually had been having a heart attack and was taken to the hospital. I never heard anything more about it. I hope he was okay.

The party’s over

Now that there was to be an abbreviated race, they would eliminate the last qualifying pass and if the weather held up, the races would go on with the limited field. We were done. We set off some fireworks and ended the night in celebratory manner. Even though we weren’t in, it had been a fun experience. The next day, it was back to being hot and muggy without rain and we watched some of the top fuel races, packed up the cars and our pit areas and headed back to Nashville where we stayed the night and flew home the next day.

Thanks for the memories

I got a lot of great video footage of the events. A week later, when they arrived in the RV towing the trailer with the car, I got that on film as well. Then I spent a few solid days editing the footage into a DVD I called “The Kentucky Experience.” It’s a fun little 30-minute flick set to music with some of the original sound – funny quips and vroom-vrooms – worked into it. It was a big hit with the team and a nice enhancement to all the still photos everyone took to memorialize the events.

Golf vacation and racing weekend – check.

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The night before we played Wolf Creek, we checked into our “hotel.” Some of our plans were of the last minute variety, which meant we didn’t have a lot of options for lodging in Mesquite, as some of the hotels were sold out. We figured most of the hotels in that area would be pretty similar anyway, so we just picked one – The Oasis.

Now, I’ve done a lot of travel on the corporate dime and I am accustomed to the cleanliness and amenities of the nicer chains. However, I don’t think I’m spoiled. I can happily stay at a Motel 6 or Super 8 if those are my options and for the most part, find them perfectly acceptable for what they are. If I can sleep in a seat on an airplane, I can sleep in one of those beds. I bring my own girly shower accoutrements and don’t spend a lot of time in the room anyway. As long as it is clean, I can deal. What really got me about the Oasis, however, was the smell. No, stench is more like it. Kind of a cross between a tenant-maintained old-folks home full of incontinent smokers and a Barstow gas station restroom. It filled the rooms, the hallways and even leaked into the casino.

I checked for bedbugs before getting into bed. All clear. Fortunately, we had an early tee-time so we got out of there post haste in the morning. Oddly, there were no visible signs of filth or disrepair or fleas, but I still put it in the fleabag category. We had two more nights to spend in Mesquite and I knew I didn’t want to spend them there. The fact that the casino wasn’t friendly to my wallet had nothing to do with it. Really.

Things start looking up

After our incredible experience at Wolf Creek, we shifted addictions and headed to a casino. This time, we tried out the one at the Eureka, which is the hotel that partners with Wolf Creek. If only we’d known that earlier! After warming up on the Blackjack tables, we headed over to play some Craps. That’s when things really started heating up. We started out betting pretty small, sticking to the pass line and the numbers. As we started winning and rolling well, we started to get spread out with hard ways and the like. Naturally, the more we won, the bigger the bets became. We were tipping like crazy and the croupiers were making bank on our hard ways. I had a twenty minute roll and a thirty minute roll, and the whole table was whooping and hollering, just like you see in the movies. It was fantastic! The pit boss lingered at our table but couldn’t cool us down. We actually both walked away from that table with about a thousand extra dollars each. Sure, we put a lot of it back before leaving town, but it was free gambling the rest of the time.

Checking out, checking in

There was still plenty of daylight and desert heat outside and we had some time to kill before dinner. We walked over to the hotel side of Eureka and secured a room there for the next two nights. Then we went and gathered our things from the Oasis and checked out, not even caring that we would be paying for two rooms for the same night. We just wanted out. The rooms at Eureka were similar to the Oasis, but they didn’t smell! The staff was much more friendly and accessible. We had a room with a patio right by the pool and we even found entertainment in our exchanges with “Crackhead Betty,” the housekeeper assigned to our area. It was a wise switch, indeed.

Also, if you’re traveling to Mesquite to play Wolf Creek, you might want to coordinate it through the Eureka. Since they have a partnership, you can get a good deal on a room and I’m told they can also hook you up with a lower greens fee than if you book straight through the golf course.

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Alert: this post is not golf related.

Is Bode Miller to these Olympics what Anna Kournikova is to women’s tennis? Since he has actually won in the past, perhaps that’s a bit harsh, but he is making a swift transition from pin-up boy of skiing to poster boy for underachievement.

Oh Bode, even the balls on your sweater look attractive on you.

He can underachieve all he wants in the rest of his career, but when he takes a spot on the U.S. Olympic team, he should treat it like the honor it is. How many other skiers would have killed for that spot? The “process” and approach to competitive skiing he claims to have is likely nothing more than a rationalization for not putting more effort into it (whether he knows that consciously or not). That’s all fine and good when he’s just a hot skier out on his own trying to win titles and make a living/mint. And his events may be individual events, but he’s on a team and if he’s not going to bother to try to win then he should let someone else have the chance. It’s not that he hasn’t won that bothers me, it’s his apparent attitude about the competition in general. We don’t need to bring the best of the country if they’re not going to give their best for the country.

Then again, maybe he’s not to blame at all. At least he admitted his “motives were impure.” Maybe it’s the even greedier corporate buggers that pump all the hype into the hottest ticket. And maybe it’s all of us suckers rooting for him, slurping up their hyper-hyped product.

He’s got one more chance in his last event on Saturday and I just don’t think I give a hoot. If I have to spend that time watching Bode Miller, it would probably be better spent one-handing it with my mouse perusing the many Bode fan-sites on the internet.

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Kess, a.k.a. “The Goose” turns eleven years old today! She is still recovering from her recent surgery, so she’s got a convenient old-lady-like wobble to her gait to mark the occasion. And the huge patch on her back that was shaved is taking its time growing back. I guess she really wants to milk the sympathy on this one like a kid with a cast on his arm. We just think you look silly, Goose. (For anyone wondering, I have discovered the item that can’t be found for sale online, not even on E-bay: Doggy toupees.)

“How undignified. I am not amused.”

Happy Birthday, Goose!

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My goose (Kess) is in the hospital recovering from back surgery that she had on Monday.

Look at those sad, gooey eyes. This was on Tuesday. I’ll spare you the close-up
of the incision. At least she has her “recovery cow” there with her.

I’ve been allowed to visit her yesterday and today and her surgeon is hopeful that she’ll be able to come home soon (maybe Friday). Since she’s a goose and she’s gone gray…

This was today. Her eyes are clear and bright but she still wasn’t up and moving.
Poor goose. With her is her oldest surviving toy, “Snort.”

I thought it only fitting that I come home straight away and toast to her recovery with a proper Grey Goose martini (extra dry, of course), complete with my own hand-stuffed bleu cheese olives. My favorite libation! I wonder why?

My goose was gray before grey goose became popular as a vodka.

Notice the olives stuffed with care. Also, grey goose is French
and Kess speaks French (okay, she only knows the words
“oeuf” and “beuf” – big surprise). The coincidences keep on coming!

To end this on a golf-ish note since this is a golf blog (flog), I’ll be going straight to the hospital for visiting hours from the golf course after my round tomorrow. It’ll be difficult to concentrate and the first time I’ve played in two weeks. I took two weeks off so I could be home for her during this procedure and the recovery and I can’t just sit around worrying anymore. Kess is my first priority over everything else, but golf does go on.

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This blog is kind of like a diary for me, and while it’s primarily a golf diary, it’s mine to use as I wish. This post is not about golf. Just a heads up for those readers who only want golf stories.

Maybe I have a fragile psyche. The question I ask myself is whether or not I’d like to strengthen it. With me, it’s kind of all or nothing so I’d probably have to really shut off my emotions and be a hard, cold person to achieve that. After September 11, 2001, it took me about a year to not feel guilty for even smiling. I swore I would change my life and make something more meaningful out of it. I didn’t.

With all the suffering in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, again I feel guilty for enjoying anything. I admit I have golfed, but I’ve tried my best to not enjoy it. How stupid is that? I mean, if we can’t go about our normal lives, that’s like letting Mother Nature win, right? Wait, I think I’ve got some crossed wires in my programming. Anyway, I haven’t been inspired to write anything or post anything because it just didn’t seem important enough with all that’s going on.

I see all the finger pointing going on over what went wrong. I agree that there were some serious problems with the “emergency response” but isn’t what really went wrong that a giant f*&%ing hurricane hit the coast? At least after 9/11 we not only had someone to blame, we had someone taking responsibility for it. That made it easy for everyone to rally together against the bad guys, feel really angry and figure out what to do about it. Okay, so that response was (is) troublesome, too, but that’s another article altogether. So people are looking for someone to blame. Here’s a hint: they call it an “act of God.” Or, if you prefer, an “act of Nature.” I know, I know, it’s hard to get angry at and especially hard to punish God or Nature. And since we, as humans, have the ability to help one another in times of crisis, the scrutiny is going to fall on those with the power to do the most. The angry wrath of the masses will follow when that scrutiny uncovers errors, ineptitude or the perception of it.

Meanwhile, I use the same rationale to blame myself and feel guilty. I’m neither nature nor God (really?), not even an elected official. Somehow, I still feel like I’m one of the ones with the “power to do the most” yet I sit back and do nothing. Therefore I feel guilty and try not to let myself enjoy even the smallest pleasures while the people are dying and suffering. A lot of good that does. So, with that in mind, I want to share my idea for helping because I know I won’t get off my ass and do it and maybe someone else actually will run with it.

We Help Us

When people see suffering, we want to help. At least most of us do. Some people are fortunate enough to be able to help by contributing piles of money. Some have the luxury to be able to donate their time and actually get in there and physically help. These people are even more fortunate because now that they’ve contributed they can feel better that they helped. Most of us can only afford to donate a little money and have to continue to work and pay the bills instead of volunteering our time or we’d end up homeless and in need of others’ help. We’d feel better if we could do more, but there’s just no way without putting ourselves in a worse situation. So WE need to help US. The victims or survivors of Katrina need the most help, and the rest of us need help helping.

My idea is to start a charitable foundation to which people who can afford it donate money and the rest of us can donate time. The reason the rest of us can now afford to take the time to donate is because the donated money is going to pay our salaries while we take leaves of absence from our careers. Businesses donate employees and either make the sacrifice to have an open position or fill it temporarily and essentially donate the amount of the salary themselves. We can try to make it socially unacceptable for businesses to just outright replace you, but in rare circumstances where the employer is that rotten, the foundation will also cover the cost of the temporary replacement employee, or even provide said employee because we’ll have a bank of people looking for ways to help. If people can afford to donate time without financial assistance, that’s great, too. Those people can either fill in for absent employees or go to the disaster area and help. It could even help with the unemployment situation by making more jobs available, at least temporarily.

We’d have to start from the top down. The first volunteers would have to be high level executives and human resource types who can get this thing running and keep it organized. Ideally, they’ll need to actually donate some time at first until we get the wheels on. Of course we’ll need kickass fundraisers to get some key initial donations so we can get the word out quickly and start getting the money rolling in right off the bat to cover the expenses and start supplementing worker incomes. Eventually, we’d have all levels of workers contributing, from senior management to construction, to people helping someone move into a new home or cleaning the kennels of the displaced animals. And of course, since the jobs are subsidized, it can also be helping the victims help themselves while earning an income doing it.

I’m serious. This could really be the next big charitable organization, the likes of the Red Cross. Now who can put it together or has an idea to help me get it started? I’d just like to see it get done so if someone wants to steal the idea, that would be great, too. In the mean time, I’m going to go back to my daily life which includes golfing and writing about it. I’m sure I’ll still feel pangs of guilt over it, but like I said at the start of this article, I’m not sure I want to strengthen my psyche. I don’t want to not care. Besides, crying can be healing.

Next post (back to the golf already!).

Why didn’t I golf last weekend? Drag Racing!

It was the first weekend in a long time that I didn’t golf at all. Not even a nine hole jaunt at Sinaloa. Not even an hour at the range. Shame on me. Well, maybe not. We had a blast at the drag races out at the Pomona Fairplex.

So, this post is off topic, but it at least attempts to explain my lapse in golf that left me jones-ing and feeling guilty.

Greg’s dad drives a Nostalgia Eliminator class dragster, and Greg is on the crew.

Here is Greg working on the car in between passes. I hope he doesn’t
mind having his photo here. He doesn’t read this so if we don’t tell him, he won’t know!

So we spent some long days out in Pomona for a GoodGuys event, driving out in the morning and driving back late at night. Even though it’s only about an hour drive, after long hot days like that it would have been much better to get a hotel room. It was difficult to stay awake on the drive home. Oh well, next time. And I’ll bring my clubs. There was a golf course right by the track and I could see it from the staging lanes, the starting line and all the way down the track on the way to tow the car back to the pit after each pass.

Here’s an explanation of the NE class.

After narrowly qualifying, he ran his first perfect 7.60 ever and moved onto the next round. Unfortunately, he lost the next round even though his ET was shorter, I guess he was slower of the tree. Rats! I think he ran a 7.61, which ought to win!

Here’s a shot of the car in the staging lanes.

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