[1:300]

1+300=1,300 

If a picture is really worth a thousand words – then the writing prompt is some kind of mathematical magic trick. Or literary illusion. Photographic puzzle?

Who are these guys? Brothers? Steve often used that word. Friends? Bryan frequently talked about his friend, still does. Teammates? Coconspiritors? 

Where are they? What were they up to? So many questions. Can they be answered? Does it matter? It’s not simply black and white.

Focus on their faces, crows feet and mischievous smiles tells you these old boys likely watched Evel Knievel jump motorcycles over things on tv. They probably made hydroplanes of scrap wood from construction sites to drag behind their bikes. Lived through the heyday of legends like Don Garlits and Mario Andretti. Certainly fell in love with the American Muscle Cars that dominated streets in the seventies and eighties. Undoubtedly they enjoyed too many burnouts and inhaled more than their share of exhaust fumes. Good times…

Zoom out and notice the chain link fence – built to keep a few in and most out.

In years gone by it was believed by some groups of people that a photograph captured a bit of the subject’s spirit..hopefully this is true. If there is literary immortality created by stories about people; photographs must be included in the immortalization.

Steve Huff and the Steve Huff Motorsports team had his electric dragster campaigned as “Faster Than Cancer” at Pacific Raceways for the NHRA NorthWest Nationals to break his own record and show off a little for hometown friends and fans at the home track. This was during what Steve called, “His time of greatest hits.”

Two old friends. One racer. One photographer. Same home track.

This image found its way following Steve’s death.

Posed pictures are nice. Candid photos are real. Take and share both.

Trees and Fences

The boy could climb a tall tree and see (over all fences) down the drag strip, road course, kart and motocross tracks. And maybe even spot a pretty girl in the stands.

When the controlled chaos stops…silence takes over.

Peace in the wild.

[100 word story]

“You just have to!” raced around sparkling blue eyes – his only physical feature unchanged by disease and treatments. This response to why a motorsports fan should make a trip to the salt flats of Bonneville made my same colored eyes water, still does.

“We have a lot of memories brother,” repeats in my ear most days. Especially today.

World speed records have his name on them. Racer in the books, builder for some and character to many.

Of all the places Steve Huff went fast…this one held a spiritual connection. Here I am.

As promised the experience is beyond words.

Home Track

What makes a track a “Home Track?”
Is it the one you grew up near?
One you live by now?
Favorite place to go for racing?
Is it about memories or the place itself?
A place where people say things like, “You’re the only one I know here” or “This is the only place I see you.”

I suppose it’s different for everyone and even changes as people move around, or worse when a track goes away. For me it’s a blend. I grew up about a half hour away from Seattle International Raceways towards Mt. Rainier and now live about a half hour towards the Puget Sound from Pacific Raceways (different name – same place).
I grew up coming here with friends and never stopped. I’ve brought girlfriends, walked my dogs around the trees and stands and made new friends here. I’ve been coming here a lot more these last few years and every single time my seventeen year old self high-fives me near the [Welcome Race Fans] sign.

WelcomeRaceFans

https://youtu.be/hSXn-qSkRPo

What makes a track a “Home Track?”

Is it the one you grew up near?

One you live by now?

Favorite place to go for racing?

Is it about memories or the place itself?

A place where people say things like, “You’re the only one I know here” or “This is the only place I see you.”

I suppose it’s different for everyone and even changes as people move around, or worse when a track goes away. For me it’s a blend. I grew up about a half hour away from Seattle International Raceways towards Mt. Rainier and now live about a half hour towards the Puget Sound from Pacific Raceways (different name – same place).

I grew up coming here with friends and never stopped. I’ve brought girlfriends, walked my dogs around the trees and stands and made new friends here. I’ve been coming here a lot more these last few years and every single time my seventeen year old self high-fives me near the [Welcome Race Fans] sign.

April’s Fool

My night of driving ended around 3:00 in the morning at an all-night casino, “Hey man, be honest.. Do I look okay?”

The 2 stop trip started at a Motel 6 with the guy singing to Rap playing on his phone, he either knew the songs less than me or was just changing the words. He appeared to be jacked on coke or tweaking on something worse.

We stopped near the house he had as the first 15 minute destination, “Wait here with your lights off.” I did. Quietly I listened with the windows down for something, anything that might sound like a reason to take off.

In silence I contemplated canceling the trip and pondered whether he was just sneaking in for more money or maybe something worse or doing something worse.. 5 minutes later he came running around a different corner.

As we headed back towards where I found him, he called someone and whispered about being lied to. After the call he mumbled at his phone as if recording the moment, something about staying away from her.

“Hey, I’m changing the stop to a casino.”

Vincent on Hosmer

Every city has its dark places, areas once normal – likely even prosperous before Now rotted Then. Each of these zones have local warnings of; don’t go there, oh I wouldn’t, have you heard about the latest. The signs are there if your eyes dare wander..chain link fences, plywood windows, spray painted scars, litter, shopping carts loaded with discarded treasures and other modern assorted souvenirs of broken urban meets transitional decay. Streets run through all of them, connecting normal through necessity and back. Once significant names like Hosmer, Pacific and Aurora fade on tired metal signs. When the sun goes down those brave, uniformed or dumb enough are there along with those who subside in the darkness, where choices collide on edges of perspective.

Now as requested needs and wants of others drive me to and down these stained streets I am reminded of an old late night scary television series hosted by Vincent Price. His age old voice hissed with dark danger and hair raising laugh warned of dangerous tales. Vincent dared you not to while teasing you back for more.

Driving through these places the voice of my GPS changes over to Vincent’s. At least in my ear.

Spirit

In darkness I picked up a couple at a Motel 6 and dropped them at a Dollar Store. The gal moved slowly, as if to be around eighty but on closer observation probably around forty maybe fifty. A weathered hand tattoo showed the world she once had it by the tail or another appendage. As I opened the back for her walker she gave a grateful smile and a warm, “Thank you.”

For a moment I stared. For a minute she made me think of my deceased friend Dori; and not just because she looked like her.

Focus Wonder

While waiting for three drunk young guys to get a box of beer and assorted snacks at a gas mart by a casino around 1:00 AM (before dropping them at an extended stay motel); some parking lot action caught my people watching tendencies.

Two stalls over a guy in white vans (without socks) was spray painting his engine, and using a propane torch to speed up drying time..as it was 33degrees. Pausing to finally light the cigarette bouncing around in front of his face, he traded the torch into the trunk for a second color (or maybe just a second can for a second coat). The painter had a modern Vanilla Ice wannabe look about him. The sedan he was ‘improving’ looked as if it had done some slaloms down overparked streets during a recent snowstorm – not an unscathed panel on it.

When my passengers finally finished shopping I pointed out the action.

“He’s painting his catalytic converter.”

“No! He’s painting the head gasket.”

“You guys stop looking at him.”

As we drove off so many questions collided in my head leaving me with nothing, nothing to focus wonder on.