Last year on the day after Thanksgiving,  David’s father-in-law Larry took us all slot car racing, i.e. racing miniature electric cars on a curvy track.  We had a lot of fun.
This year on the docket was go-kart racing, i.e. racing full-sized race cars around a curvy track.  Larry and David had done this before.

Our first challenge was understanding the young attendant, who gave a breezy and semi-inaudible description of the procedure and the risks.  I asked him several times to repeat himself, because half of the time his remarks were aimed completely away from us.  The next challenge was getting fitted for helmets.  First the attendant handed out yellow head liners which covered all but our eyes.  I told him that I had a very large head and he pointed me toward the black helmets which are extra large.  They were too small for my head.  “Hang on a sec”, he said and got another black helmet.  That one fit, just barely.

Next, I climbed, with help, into the snug race car.  Then the attendant helped me to fasten the chin strap and told me to lower the visor.  The visor lowered with a click, and, satisfied, he walked away.

I got the panicky feeling that the visor was locked shut, but with some prying was able to open it.  I closed it again.  I reviewed my situation.  Here I was, sitting in a strange vehicle.  My head was effectively encased in a black helmet.  My nose and mouth were covered with a cloth liner.  A plastic visor was covering my face.  The race would be fourteen laps long, so once it started there would be no bailing out.  I felt a crescendo of claustrophobia.  I pried the visor open again and called out to the attendant. “I’m not doing this!”

“What?”

“I’m not doing this!  Get me out of here!”

I ripped off the helmet and liner and threw them to the attendant.

I had an odd sense of pride as I returned to my wife and friends.  This was dampened when I saw that Larry had pulled his liner down below his nose so that he could breathe better.  Maybe I should have thought of that.

We watched as Larry, David, and Jonny raced two races.  Larry and David drove easily and quickly.  Jonny drove cautiously at first, and then got the hang of it.

I felt the inevitable feeling of shame after the pride wore off.  I did not envy the racing experience.  After all, driving a car 80 mph on the highway must be as much of an adrenaline rush, I rationalized.  I did recall the time I got claustrophobic while getting an MRI done of my head.  (For you doubters, it showed that the contents of my skull were normal!)  The incident did seem to reveal some mental weakness on my part.  On the other hand, the pride came from the feeling that I did not have to do this, that I had nothing to prove. I found that last thought more comforting.

So another adventure from my adventure-filled life…

Thanks for reading.