Virgin Killers Part Two. 7/19/2004
Race day morning dawned, and found us crashed out in various states of undress and inebriation all over a friend’s living room. The afore mentioned stripper’s panties were now the proud property of the family dog, who took great delight in worrying them to death. We collected ourselves and piled into a truck to head out to the track, stopping at a diner on the way to fill ourselves with caffeine and depth charge our stomachs with donuts.
At the track, the consumption of 2 bottles of tequila the night before was making me dry heave into the bushes. And I had the sweats. The registration clerk took one look at me and told my friend to bring me to the track medic. I refused, and insisted on signing the entry forms in between bouts of heaving and racking.
I walked over to my bike, which was being attended to by a couple of friends. They looked at my ashen face, and told me that maybe I should sit out the race. Again I refused, saying that they were the ones who brought me here to get my race license, and by fuck I was going to finish my first race or die trying. Ah, the sheer stupidity and bravado of youth. The side effects of the tequila were getting really bad now, and I had to sit down with my head between my knees to stop the paddock from spinning around too much. The clerk-of-course walks up and asked me if I could stand up straight. I managed after a fashion, and he looked me in the eye and told me he could stop me from riding with a note from the track medic. I said I would be good if they would all just let me rest for a minute.
At this point a friend’s wife walks over and looks at me says she knows exactly what I need. And gives me this ham and cheese sandwich…a big thick one… I wolf down the sandwich and begin to feel better almost immediately. And she gives me a can of V8, which I swallow. And I feel even better. So I turn and thank her, and she says don’t thank me honey, thank the vodka I put in the V8. And she winked at me. Hare of the Dog indeed.
Much restored, I went to the starter’s office to check my race start time and grid position. I found out I had about another 2 hours or so to go, and was 3rd from last on the grid, which suited me just fine. I returned to bike to find that the wheels were off and fresh tyres were being put on. I asked my friend why, since I couldn’t afford new rubber, and he said it was a gift from the group, because if I crashed, which looked likely that I would, they didn’t want me blaming the tyres. When I heard this, everything started going dizzy again, and I promptly turned and puked on the shoes of my friend’s wife, who I didn’t know was standing just behind me.
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