Soundgarden 'Louder Than Love'

Goat and I walked up and down Main Street in Randleman to check out what NASCAR Days had to offer. To be quite honest, it wasn’t much from my perspective. Why they choose to hold it on the same day as the BBQ Festival in Lexington is beyond me. I can understand scheduling it the same time as the race weekend up in Martinsville because you might get some of those fans passing by on 220 north.

They should have it in the spring when there’s not much competition from neighboring towns. NASCAR Days only sported two “modern” Nextel Cup cars and a few older cars. I showed Goat the inside of Richard Petty’s ’73 Plymouth (I think it was a ’73) so that he could get a look at a “deathtrap”. The Plymouth was stock because there were holes where the side view mirrors were. The only safety features the drivers had back then were a roll cage and a fire extinguisher. There didn’t seem to be much else. I don’t know if Goat thought drivers back then were crazy or fearless. I imagine they were a little of both.

There was also a ’57 convertible from the old convertible league. There was nothing but a roll cage and a stick shift. No driver’s seat, just the one bench seat that came stock. That almost sent Goat into shock.

We sat down and waited for the guys from EB Games to show up. A rotund man with glasses who looked like a cross between Wilford Brimley and Charles Nelson Riley showed up at our tent and started reading the names of classic rock artists that decorate the Rock 92 van. For every artist, the man had a concert story. They all involved alcohol, drugs, and sex. Folks were getting drunk and passing out all around him. Others were getting high and doping up to extremely dangerous levels. Women were stripping in the aisles for the hordes of men to fondle and pillage. According to that guy, concerts in the 70’s were nothing but a loud acid trip at a Roman orgy. Unfortunately for him, he never got drunk, doped up, or involved with any groove gettin’-ons. He even had a story for AC/DC, a band that isn’t listed on the van. He was very thorough and boring.

Chris Pennel showed up and rescued me for a few minutes. He was in need of a cassette player for one of the performers up the street from us. We didn’t have one in the van and I was back in with Mr. Concert Scrapbook. That’s when Goat saw his chance for an exit and did just that.

I was left alone with this guy carrying on about Point Blank, 707, Tony Orlando and Dawn, or some other pointless band floating around in his head. Something had to be done. I pulled out my phone and said, “I’m sorry. I have to make a call.”

He left! It worked! He got the message! Let Heaven and nature sing!

Goat came back with some kind of banana hot sauce in his hand and I told him how I got rid of the guy. Goat said, “I’m surprised that he didn’t wait around for you to finish the call. Most guys like that can’t take a hint.”

I guess that’s just southern hospitality.