My dad should have known better. He took me to the 1961 Indy 500 - me, a thirteen year old kid at the time. I'd never been to any kind of a race - nothin'! We had seats just past the brick line on the main straight, on the outside, about five rows up from the fence. The pace car pulled off after the parade and warm up laps and thirty-three Offy's on methanol roared past, blanketing us with rubber dust and exhaust smell. More than fifty years later I can still remember the thrill, the excitement, and smell.
And from that I've ended up spending way more money than is reasonable, just to go land speed racing so I can live the dream. Thanks, Dad.