| Smart People Doing Stuff #4: Memphis Motorsports Park |
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| Blogs - Jack Exploited |
| Written by Jack Lab |
| Wednesday, 08 April 2009 04:09 |
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In Millington, a quick 20-minute drive from my apartment in Midtown, is Memphis Motorsports Park. The facility includes a quarter-mile dragstrip, a paved NASCAR-style oval, and a twisty road course. It hosts NASCAR Nationwide Series racing, National Hot Rod Association (NHRA) drag racing, Camping World Truck Series races, and an array of more locally focused events. They also host qualifying events for PINKS, a reality show on SPEEDtv involving a national drag racing tournament; on the final show, the winner gets the loser's car. I've known the park was there for years, but I'd never gone. I'd also noticed that the local media hardly mention it, aside from a quick blurb in the CA when the Nationwide Series is there, despite the fact that there is national-level talent there several times a year and regional events on a near-weekly basis. It also seemed to be a great, safe environment for kids; Doug Franklin, the track's director of Public Relations, told me with obvious pride that a lot of kids who would otherwise be out roaming (or racing on) the streets at night were here instead. In the Junior Dragster category, kids as young as eight years race scaled-down cars that nonetheless can hit a top speed of 85 mph or so. Some of the younger attendees looked they might own the director's cut of The Fast and the Furious, and some looked like they might not own a DVD player. Without exception, everyone was friendly and cheerful. That goes double for the employees. There's something about racing cars that attracts characters. Guys with names like Augie, Alvis, and Rooster joked with each other, laughed, and generally seemed to be having a ball at work. The overall experience of attending is visceral. The smells of burning rubber, gasoline, fair food, and adrenaline create a powerful miasma that reminds you you're not in your living room. Smoke hangs in the air. The noise can be astonishing. Your eyes are gritty by the time you leave—contacts wearers will want to wear glasses instead. The cars race side-by-side, over either an eighth-mile or a quarter-mile straightaway. In "bracket racing," the cars aren't racing against each other; each driver does three time trials, picks the time he or she (yes, women drive too) expects to come closest to on the fourth run, and declares that their target time. The fourth run is the one that "counts," meaning they try to match the time they declared earlier. In other words, it's not a question of how fast you can drive; it's a question of how consistent you are, and how well you know your car. Safety is Priority One at the track. Every car receives a thorough inspection before it gets on the track. If a car leaks fluid during a run, all racing stops while a crew goes out and cleans it up thoroughly. If a car starts shedding bits of metal—lug nuts, valve caps, whatever—a team walks the entire track making sure the road is clear. A metal doojobber the size of your thumb can cause a tire to blow, and there are no minor crashes at 150 mph. I asked several employees how often there's a crash on the track, and got the same answer each time: "Not that often." No one seemed eager to elaborate on how often "that often" might be.
Cars line up, waiting to race. Any kind of car can race at one time or another. Got a grudge with a friend? For $30 each, you can settle it on the dragstrip any Thursday night. People drag in cars with those air intakes that look like an alien laid an egg under the hood, and people drag in minivans.
A "superpro" car. When these cars take off, the acceleration is shocking; you almost can't turn your head fast enough to watch them. This one reached 200 freaking mph by the end of a quarter-mile. It has a 700-cubic-inch engine, twice the size of the engine in a Cadillac Escalade with probably a quarter of the weight.
Attending a drag race is a vivid, tactile experience. Photography by Angy Champine |

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