Life on the Fast-Track

It was Devin's birthday on Monday (he's one of Brian's good buddies, and mine by association). The plan was to get a group together for Go-Karting to celebrate. I have never go-karted before, but have always been curious to try. It was mid-day Monday that I started questioning if I should go or not, and began thinking of excuses to abort mission Fast-Track. (To be fair, my knee was giving me a fair amount of grief until later that afternoon.) But I also worried that I was going to be in the way of "guy time" or whether I would severely embarrass myself in a way that only seems possible when it happens to me. Despite my better judgement, I hitched up my proverbial pants and psyched myself into going. 

There were about 12 people (including myself) in our group, I was the only girl but I didn't mind that; (I kid myself into thinking I can "roll" with the boys.) I signed up and got my racing license, racing name: Travelbug. I was ready to make some boys cry. So we strut out to the track to gear up in our racing helmets and pick our karts for the line-up. I sat down and reached behind me for my seat belt, then looked at it puzzled. Was it one that goes around each arm and connects in the middle? Nope, just one loop. I looked around and everyone else had a simple no-questions-asked, car-type belt that extended across the body over one shoulder. I looked at mine again. Nope, definitely not the case. The "pit crew" attendant saw my struggle and pointed out that it was to go over my head and then connect to another that's fixed on the seat. Again, I looked around puzzled. Mind you, the whole time I'm wearing the bulky helmet, the kind that hinders your view no matter what contortions you can put your neck through. There wasn't anything to connect this belt to! Finally I wriggled myself (rather clumsily) out of the tiny awkward cart so the attendant could yank the other side of the belt from where it was jammed under the seat (go figure.) Meanwhile, every guy waiting in their carts for me to figure this out had this face:

Luckily, being stumped by a seat belt is not high on the list of things that can easily damage my ego. Then we were off! The 10 lap (dis)qualifying round began and I was quickly in last place. If you've never driven a go-kart before - it's a lot different than driving a car. Not hard, but different. Apparently the only beginner in the crowd, I floundered all the way around the track screeching and bumping...at about 10 mph. But getting the hang of the kart was the least of my problems. The racing helmets, though safe, block your peripheral view entirely. Might as well squeeze your noggin into the hole of a cinder block. (And I get claustrophobic in an airplane.) So about 3/4 of the way around my second lap, I was hyperventilating and shaking so dramatically that I turned off into the pit stop where the crew attendant cut the engine and helped me out of the aforementioned seat belt.

I splashed my face with some water and sat with my head between my knees for awhile, after which I was completely fine. From that point on I watched from the lobby window and silently cheered them all on. All the while mumbling to myself in a deep announcer voice. I'm certain the employees all thought I was insane. Actually it was probably more fun to watch them all bump in to each other and watch their faces as they screeched around tight corners, not sure if they would make it. Boys. They never grow up, they just get bigger. After two rounds, they all came back through the lobby with their chests all pumped up and big ol grins on their faces like:

They stood around the final ranking board and compared stories on which of their group was the most difficult to pass, who blocked who on what turn, etc. So even though I didn't actually get to race, I was very well entertained. My go-karting days are far from over. I will conquer the track one day. But until then, I guess I'll have to stick to the freeways.