When I was a kid in Montgomery, Alabama, my dad took me to the Montgomery International Speedway on Saturday nights to watch men like Donnie and Bobby Allison race Red Farmer and maybe some shade-tree mechanics from Prattville or Wetumpka or guys from local garages and car dealers or maybe former moonshiners. There I saw the visceral core of authentic American competition in brutal action without the slick, corporate polish. There was no “car of the future.” There was a dented car from the recent past with a huge engine and a homemade paint job. The cars were not yet homogenized into Stepfordish monotony. The vehicles looked like what your mom and dad drove – a Ford, Chevy or Chrysler. The men who drove these bored-out, double-barreled V8’s were hardly spokesperson material. Continue reading →