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Renaissance Mama
Apr. 12, 2006
Redneck Saturday Night
| It has been a few days since I last posted but this time of year doesn't leave me much spare time. I wanted to get this experience down before I forgot the details.
Late last summer, I finished up with my EMT classes and passed the boards. I didn't do this to start a new career but to help fill a gap in the community. In rural areas, quick medical help can make a big diference in an emergency. Since moving to Kansas, I have found myself in situtations where I really needed more medical training, so I went back to college. It was HARD being the old lady in the class.
Anyway, last Saturday afternoon, my former instructor called me up and asked if I would like to fill in on a EMT job. I didn't really understand what the job was since we were both on cell phones but I jumped at the chance to get some much needed "real" experience.
Turns out, they needed an EMT to be at the racetrack just in case there was a serious accident. This is a car race-- not horse racing which I would know a little bit about. Quite frankly, if you had asked my to watch mold grow, I would have been more interested.
I met the other EMT and rode with him to the speedway. He was a former driver so he filled me in on how things worked. We started at about 6:30 with "Hot Laps" or to us laymen, fast practice. I was horrified at the noise level. I was even more horrified at the number of very small children running around with no hearing protection. When I mentioned this to the other EMT, he just said," We are a bunch of hillbillies around here." I thought to myself, " A bunch of DEAF hillbillies!"
As the evening wore on, we sat in the truck with the windows rolled up to protect us from the sound and I literally quivered from the vibrations as the cars made each lap. I probably have the record for the longest praying EMT at a race track to keep the drivers safe. We were stationed in the "pit". I had a radio so I had the inside scoop on how it was all working and a front row seat tot he action. I got to know the "handlers" or the guys who directed the drivers into their proper places. Each time a car lost a piece of itself on the track, someone spun out, stalled or wrecked, the yellow light went on and the clean up crew, push trucks, wreckers rushed out to do their jobs. In the begining, I thought it looked like total chaos and I was sure that someone would be killed before the night was over.
As I got used to the action, I began to see just how well orchastrated it was. I learned the sign language and signals. I must have seen a hundred wrecks and myheart went to my throat each time. They only called us out on the track for one guy who hit the wall really hard. By the time I got to him, he was out of the car and thought that I was some kind of crazy woman. OF COURSE he was alright.
I still can't tell you different classes of racers or how long they run or which division or any of the technical stuff. But something began to happen at about 8:30 pm. The blood from my long dead moonshine running ancestors began to stir in my blood. I began to recognize different body styles of cars. I began to recognize "good" driving skills and stradegy on the track. By 10:30, I was cheering for number 8 in the blue Camaro just like a seasoned NASCAR fan!
The highlight of the night was the last race. I tell you that you have not lived until you have watched souped up Chevy Cavaleirs and Ford Escorts race.....They sound somewhat like crazed bumble bees. What a night -- and I got paid for it! |
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