Vroom.

On Friday night, in the middle of a huge fork lightning storm, Ian and I started our journey to Watkins Glen racetrack in New York state. What an eventful journey we had, from Ian convincing himself we were lost to me seeing Amish people for the first time and getting far too excited over it, from the horrendously expensive cars, to seeing said horrendously expensive cars returned to their owners in a bucket after one spin out too many. Prior to going, I had asked Ian what I could expect to see over the weekend. I received a response, dripping with sarcasm, "Cars, Eileen, cars". Turns out we were attending the biggest vintage racing event in the United States. And we had HOT PASSES! I will admit that when I was handed the hot pass I was oblivious as the advantages it afforded Ian and I. We were allowed amble through all the garages, the pits, the pit stop areas and the technical areas. Of course the only thing that I wanted to see was a spectacular crash. There was only one, which I somehow missed, but I did catch sight of the remains. The area where the car shells were placed resembled a car morgue what with all the broken parts covered by white sheets.

Over the course of two days I saw a lot of cars and have decided that my favourite is the Ford GT 40 cos it looks nice. No technical reasoning at all, although I was assured that I had made a good choice.

The race was being held near the small town of Watkin's Glen, but Ian and I were staying in a little area called Painted Post. How amazing are Americans with placenames? Our hotel was a pretty swiffy place and was right next to Denny's, the American culinary experience. Everyone had told me Denny's was a nasty place, that the food was terrible and that I would probably die after a plate. Well those people obviously haven't tried the Extreme Grand Slam........... or a real Irish breakfast for that matter.

Travelling from Canada into the States was one of those "Please, not again" situations. Havnig stopped at the border, Ian and I were directed to 'Room 1' to await processing as I was not a citizen of either border country. As soon as I stepped into the holding room, I could feel the depression. The room looked as though it might have been a bathroom at some time in the past and was painted that disgusting public bathroom green. Sitting in the room were five men from Pakistan and India and a family of seven from an area of Africa. After sitting in the room for 4o minutes I was starting to get on the wrong side of grumpy, but felt even worse when me, the white girl, was allowed entry into the States before the Indians, Pakistanis or Africans, even though they had been waiting far longer than me. How just......................................................?

Returning to Canada took an entire 3o seconds. Anyone think America is overdoing it slightly?


I noticed at the race meet that the majority of the people there were middle aged if not older. Once explained to me it made a lot of sense seeing as some of the cars in show cost in excess of a million dollars and I do not know many twenty one year olds that can afford such wheels.