Travel

There IS a moment – when the engines growl, the flag drops, and the throttle opens wide—that something inside me clicks.   It’s primal. Focused. ALIVE!   I wasn’t born into racing, but you could say it was gently nudged into me. As a young boy growing up on a Midwestern farm, speed wasn’t exactly part of the lifestyle (John Deere wasn’t built for speed). We measured miles by tractor, not track time. But thankfully, my aunt and uncle (my mother’s only sister; 13 years my mother’s senior) had other plans for me.   They were IndyCar fans, and they pulled me into that world before I could even spell Mario Andretti. My single-digit years were spent listening to the thunder of engines and watching cars blur past the grandstands like bolts of lightning. It was an era before safety fences and PC; what I would call the raw days of humanity.   I was hooked.   And while most farm boys were tuning in to NASCAR, I hadn’t really taken to it—not at first. Chalk it up to my “slightly sophisticated” streak. It wasn’t as ‘technical’ then as it is now.   But lately? Let’s just say Talladega has found a place in my adrenaline-loving heart. Talladega and Brotherhood   For the past 2 years, I’ve been attending the spring and fall NASCAR races at Talladega Superspeedway. What a venue to cut my teeth on this style of racing!   Not because I suddenly developed a taste for left turns—but because of a friendship that started on a little league t-ball field.   The father who coached my son’s first team has a son who eventually ended up in the same fraternity as mine. I was a Delta Chi at Ball State; he pledged at the University of Alabama. That connection, built on youth baseball and eventually beer brewing, grew into a racing ritual.   It’s not just about the race—it’s the culture, the food, the fanfare, the speed. And the way those cars move? It’s like watching gladiators in steel chariots doing battle at 200 mph. I gained a new perspective and much appreciation for closed-wheel racing. Dirt, Drag, and Family Ties   My need for speed wasn’t limited to paved ovals. A cousin on my dad’s side married a dirt track racer in the Indianapolis area—my first introduction to the raw, gritty world of sprint cars and clay-slinging corners.   Later, as a father, I found community with the fathers of my son’s best friends from nursery school. These guys enjoyed racing as well.   Dirt tracks in PA and Maryland’s drag strips became part of our weekend circuit—watching machines erupt off the line like cannon fire, with the smell of rubber and race fuel hanging thick in the air. If you’ve ever felt your chest rattle from the launch of a funny car, you know what I mean. It’s church. Just louder. Adrenaline is My Love Language   Snow skiing. Motorcycling. Winding roads in the Rockies. If it gets my heart pumping, I’m there!   I remember cruising down Route 82 into Aspen in March 2025. The curves were perfect! The sun was behind me and as I hit another stoplight, I thought: this feels like a caution flag on race day. A quick reset. Then boom – you’re back at it, chasing your spot at the front. It’s counter to what I know I should do – chill, be safe and watch my speed.   Yet that’s how I live. It’s the constant feeling of the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other!   On highways, I’m hunting the best line like a driver chasing P1. My motorcycle is my pace car.   The slopes? My racetrack.   I don’t just like movement—I crave velocity. A Question from Mom   Shortly before my mother died, she asked me something that stopped me in my tracks.   “If you could do it all over again,” she said, “what would you be?”   I didn’t hesitate.   “An IndyCar driver.”   She blinked. Stunned. I think she expected something safer. More buttoned up. Maybe preacher or professor. But truthfully, I’ve always felt most alive at full throttle. Final Lap Thoughts   We all have something in us that makes us feel fully awake. For some, it’s silence. For others, it’s stability.   For me? It’s noise. Motion. Momentum.   Racing is more than a sport. It’s a metaphor—for life, loss, rebirth, competition, and joy.   And even though I never made it behind the wheel at Indy, every ride, every slope, every stretch of road is a chance to live out that dream in my own way.   Because whether it’s four wheels, two skis, or a twist of the throttle—I’m livin’ my best life and not slowing down anytime soon.     Get your rush! Brian