September 19, 2005
Racing the Milwaukee Mile
I'm not a big Nascar fan, but I do love fast cars. So when a glossy Marlboro "Hot Laps" envelope arrived in my mail box touting racecar ridealongs at the Milwaukee Mile, I didn't hesitate long before calling the registration number. For three weeks, I wondered what the catch was. I had read all the fine print, I was alright with the publicity release, there was no associated upfront fee. I usually consider myself pretty savvy when it comes to marketing, I've seen a lot of the tricks and used some of them myself.
Got to the racetrack at 8:30a sharp Saturday morning. There were plenty of people on hand guiding me to the dirt parking lot right off the track. Parked the car and headed over to registration. They had me sign a disclaimer, which was to be expected, issued me a headsock and inner gloves, then steered me toward another tent. In that tent, I got outfitted in a white Marlboro racing suit (not very flattering, but quite comfy!) and given the opportunity to pose in front of one of the racecars. What a beauty. After getting fitted for a helmet, I had about ten minutes to mingle with the ten other people in my group. Two people stood off to the side smoking, while the rest of us oogled Mustangs, IROCs and pitmen. I was still a little anxious, waiting for the catch. Waiting for them to give me a timeshare presentation. But a few minutes later, as I was easing myself through the window of a car, all my reservations disappeared.
I was nested in the passenger seat of a 240 horsepower car that had a plastic net instead of a window, and we were on a small, but true to form oval track. And then the engine! Oh my god, I felt the thrill go through my entire body. The acceleration was deeply yummy and I felt like screaming, laughing and crying all at once. Stuck with emotional indecision, I sat there, g-forces pushing me back into the seat, grinning like a complete fool. That's when I figured out what the catch was. You get a taste of speed, and all you want is more. More corners. More engine. More of that feeling! And they gave you more of it. We were all pumped with adrenalin, hooting and hollering on the way to the next track, I'd never seen so many strangers bonding so quickly.
The next track was a road course, with sharp turns and short stretches. "Our cars can turn right," quipped the track host. This was by far my favorite, I don't know what kind of car I was in, but it was beautiful. Low to the ground, all curves and sex. As I was getting buckled in, I pointed to the gear stick between me and the driver and asked, "Can I play with this?" The helmeted driver turned to me, blinked once, and said, "Oooh, not now. Maybe later." Oh my. I remember light blue eyes, a slight Aussie accent, and then speed. We were probably going slower than we were around the oval, but you could feel it more in the turns. There was so much more finesse, it was positively exhilerating.
The last track we hit was precision driving, hosted by, "Hiii Steeeve." The course was set up with a bunch of traffic cones, and I have no idea how the drivers knew which way they were supposed to turn. I just got in the Mustang, got buckled up, and went along for the ride. My driver was a petite female, but clearly a decisive woman. "You ready?" Yep! We took off, fishtailing and skidding around turns, I watched the steering wheel spin one way then the next, and at one point, at the bottom of a turn, she says, "Geez! What am I doing?" I suspect that's when we pulled the unintentional 360. All in all though, the girl was hard core.
On the way home, the adrenalin made its way down to my right foot, and my little Hyundai Tiburon never shifted smoother, nor revved higher. It wasn't until I realized the speedometer read 90, (I was supposed to be at 65), that I eased up on the accelerator. Ah well, it was the experience of a lifetime and I hope I get to taste it again.
Posted by carolyn at 08:17 AM | Comments (1)
July 07, 2005
Summerfest in Milwaukee
After living in Chicago almost 10 years (wow, since 1995), it shames me to say that I never made it up to Milwaukee. I think it was because I kept getting sidetracked by all the outlet malls and cheese shops along the way. Which goes to say that I have also, never before, experienced Summerfest.
Summerfest is an incredible event, multiple stages, multiple musicians ranging from local garage bands to global stars. We didn't get to see Santana, but we did get to experience Moby doing a Billy Idol cover, and a Weezer (I think it was) bit in bossa nova. Dave was good-hearted enough to sit with me for four hours before the Moby show to ensure we got fantastic seats. And sit we did! Center stage, five rows back. Absolutely spectacular.
Even the pre-show entertainment was fun. Some white-bred (Wonder bread) corporate yuppie type was dancing his heart out to the pre-show spins. Picture if you will, knee length khaki shorts with woven belt, red and blue striped polo shirt, wire rim glasses and the pre-requisite beer gut indicative of many after-work happy hours. Now picture that...on drugs. The polo shirt was off and slung around his neck. His crew cut hair was soaked with sweat. His grinding moves were a parody of male strippers, most closely resembling a Saturday Night Live bit. All this, on top of a fiberglass bleacher bench. At one point, he whipped the shirt off his neck, and (while still gyrating away), wrung the sweat from the shirt grossing out young and old alike. I can only guess that his buddies ditched him, as there was no one coming to his rescue. Meanwhile, God knows how many people, myself included, have pictures and videos of this guy!
He was challenged a couple times, by a leggy gay man in an Alaska tee and denim cutoffs; and by a Harley dude, who won when he did "the Worm" full out, despite the cigarette butts, spilled beer and general festival crap on the ground.
Ah, Summerfest is an experience. Looking forward to next year!
Posted by carolyn at 03:34 PM | Comments (1)