Filed by Nikole Dugger
Not unlike most colossaly bad decisions, it seemed like a good idea at one point.
I’m all about chalking things up as life experiences, but in agreeing to caravan to Talladega this weekend, I may be in over my head.
You see, a month ago it was funny. The reactions I got from friends who’ve known me long enough to be fully aware that participating in such activity is the antithesis of who I am (or was) were priceless.
But now, I have four days, and I have no idea what to do.
How does one pack for such an event? If it rains, I’m going to cry like a small child.
Growing up 20 miles from the “World’s Fastest Half Mile,” I’ve spent the better part of my life avoiding race weekend in Bristol and characterizing spectators as inferior individuals.
Next week at this time, I’ll be one of them.
In the spirit of comfort, I decided to splurge on a folding chair with footrest and cup holders. Unfortunately, I walked out of Target-mart with another season of “Gilmore Girls” (it was on sale) and a Dolly Parton CD (I’m weak) instead.
Anyway, as I was rocking out to aforementioned purchase this morning en route to newsroom, I remembered how “Bobby McGee” lyrics were intertwined in this article.
I must return to researching NASCAR fandom, but any advice would be much appreciated. Stone Phillips is dreamy and all, but I’d rather not be featured on his program.
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