This year was different.
I was determined to see what was going on.
When I grew up in Groveland we would go to the races quite a few times each season. I loved it. The noise, the dirt, cheering for Big O, being frightened that my Dad, sooner or later, would join the Spectator Race (he never did, but I feared it would happen). Sitting on the wooden bleachers built in to the sandy dirt hillside, round and round the 1/4 mile track, the Starter Flagman positioning himself mid track while the cars approached around the curve and in the last few seconds jumping, waving the green flag and dashing to the edge of the track, even the occasional car running off the track and down the embankment to the river to be hauled out dripping wet by the wrecker.
|Replica of Ollie Silva's Big O|
Those summer Saturday nights that we didn't go to the races we could still hear them. Lulled to sleep by engines and announcer just audible in the distance.
|A new finish line...but not THE original|
I wish there were still races at the Pines Speedway.
|Someone needed a rest...or was dreaming about winning the next race|