The shiny stock cars rocketed past us at nearly 200 miles per hour, their rubber tires gripping the asphalt as they shot through the first turn at Talladega speedway.
The noise and tremors caused by the NASCAR cars as they passed us caused our perch to shake, even a hundred feet away in the track's infield.
My girlfriend reached a hand out and gripped my shoulder to steady herself atop the roof of the trailer we had parked in the infield. From our spot, the two of us and our small group of friends who came along could see the entire track, watching as the Winston Cup drivers made their circuit of the super speedway asphalt.
Along the backstretch a few moments later, the red No. 8 car belonging to Dale Earnhardt, Jr. pulled out of the long line of cars, and slipped alongside and in front of a competitor, drawing cheers from the appreciative crowd as the driver took the lead.
"Alright Dale! Go, baby, go!" yelled my girlfriend Kelly, who clapped enthusiastically and even jumped up in the air once before remembering where she was.
My face broke into a smile as I watched her. Kelly's favorite driver was, of course, Dale Jr., or just "Junior" to most of his fans. She was decked out in clothes and accessories glorifying Dale Jr., the number 8, and Budweiser.
Though Kelly's tight denim shorts didn't have any such advertisements, she had on a red t-shirt with the Bud logo from Junior's car on the front. She had on a red Dale Jr. wristwatch she picked up at a fast food restaurant, her beer cozy sported the young driver's face, and a red Bud baseball cap sat atop her head, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail through the hole in the back. She even had on red slouch socks which peeked out of her little white tennis shoes and ended a short ways up her slender ankle.
Kelly may have looked like a walking Bud billboard, but she was stunning even in her outfit. Her short denim shorts left little to the imagination, and her well-tanned legs were slender and long. She had her shirt pulled up and tied in front to expose her flat stomach, and her ample C-cup breasts distorted the shirt's logo. The easy smile she wore as she watched her favorite sport topped off the perfect package.
As she turned around to follow Dale Jr.'s lap, her face swept over mine, and she paused, lowering her sunglasses and looking me in the eye.
"Thanks so much for helping me set up this trip, babe," Kelly said, leaning forward and planting a kiss on my lips. "This is so much fun!"
"No problem, hon," I replied. "I knew we'd have a great time."
We sat down in our lawn chairs then, joining the other two couples who had traveled with us to the race in Alabama. Matt and Joanna, who I knew from work, and Tim and Beth, who were Kelly's longtime friends, were all as big NASCAR fans as we were, and jumped at the chance to join us at Talladega this year.
The racing continued on as we drained our cans of Bud, but less than 50 laps into the race an ominous looking storm cloud appeared in the distance behind turn one. As the drivers continued their laps, the cloud moved closer and closer, until finally it started dropping rain on the racetrack.
The red flag came out – NASCAR Winston Cup cars have slick tires, and aren't designed for wet driving – and the race was stopped, with Dale Jr. still in the lead. Kelly, clearly disappointed by the rain delay, sat under her umbrella and sulked. Matt and Joanna, who were big fans of Bill Elliott, got out their red Dodge waterproof pullovers to protect themselves for the rain, and Tim and Beth did the same with their Jeff Gordon DuPont gear.
"Hey guys, we're gonna go scope out the garages again, see if we can spot a driver," Matt finally said, and the four of them filed over to the trailer's ladder. "You want to come along?"
One look at Kelly's despondent face told me she didn't want to go.
"Nah, you guys go ahead, we'll just stick around here," I replied. "We might go inside and take a nap or something."
After our companions left, Kelly looked up at me.
"Actually, a nap does sound like a good idea. Want to go in?" she asked.
"Sure."
So we climbed down the ladder and went inside, both of us kicking off our wet shoes at the doorway before walking over to the bed. Kelly and I laid down on the full-sized mattress, still unmade from the night before, and I flipped on the tiny TV nearby.
"Mmmmmmm," Kelly moaned, as she stretched her arms and legs outward, her fingers laced above her head and her toes pointed straight out within her bright red socks.
She curled up next to me then as I searched for NBC's race coverage; she slipped one arm around my waist, and tossed one of her legs over mine, rubbing her socked feet against my own.
"Hmmmm…I like playing footsie with you," she giggled, and I worked my feet against hers, the cotton of my white and gray ankle socks sliding against the material on her red-clad feet.
