I'm a Ford Mustang!

You're an American classic -- fast, strong, and bold. You're not snobby or pretentious, but you have what it takes to give anyone a run for their money.

Take the, Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.

NASCAR: 60 Years of Excitment!

So Fast... It's Scary!

So Fast... It's Scary!
Originally uploaded by Bristol Motor Speedway

Thanks to Ben Trout of Bristol Motorspeedway for this clip.

Boating - Florida Keys Style

It's not everyday I find, what appears to be, a floating, pink car. It's also not everyday I find myself down in the Florida Keys.

My kids and I found this vehicle amusing.

Las Vegas Motor Speedway Allows Racing in the Afterlife

This was a heartwarming story from this weekend at Las Vegas Motor Speedway.

Harmon takes "Big George's" ashes on ride of a lifetime in Nationwide car

LAS VEGAS -- Mike Harmon was standing at the garage gate Thursday at Las Vegas Motor Speedway, waiting for clearance to begin work on his Nationwide Series car, when a random lady approached with a bewildering request.
George Helms' remains rode along just fine in an urn on the fire extinguisher of Mike Harmon's No. 84.
She introduced herself as Mara Brodeur, an ardent race fan from Medford, Ore., who was camping in the infield with a group of friends for the race. But one of those friends was missing -- Big George.
George Helms was a diehard. He loved NASCAR, dreamed of someday attacking the high-banks at Daytona or Bristol or Darlington. But he never got that chance. They called him Big George for a reason. He stood 6-foot-5 and weighed 400 pounds and thus couldn't fit in a racecar.
So when Big George died last December -- of a heart attack at age 54 -- Mara set out to make certain his dream didn't die, too.
Continue story...

It's Been Thirty Years?

If you don't recognize this car then there is really no point in playing the Gearz video, unless you were not born yet. Then it is well worth watching.

What Does This Have To Do With NASCAR?

I tell people I’m fine, and it’s not a lie. Physically I am fine, mentally, not so much. I pretend to have days where I don’t have to think about cancer, chemo, other therapies and overall screwed-up genetics. It’s an illusion. It’s always on my mind but when someone wants to bring up “the white elephant” standing in the room, I rebuild that emotional brick wall. I lock people out with the simple words, “I’m fine.”

Cancer is a selfish disease and it can make the person diagnosed just as selfish. It makes you forget that there are people who care about you, love you and even need you to be okay. I didn’t pop into this world alone. I didn’t raise myself. Others have invested a great amount of time ensuring I stayed alive and matured. They fed me, cleaned me up, loved me, taught me, befriended me, confided in me and simply needed me.

My family and friends stand like warriors atop a hill, waiting to be called to war. They are pained to watch below as their comrade is being slain and they are not allowed to move. No voice calls them to arms and they suffer; only to watch from a distance. For that, I am sorry. I’ve decided that I am not strongest if I stand alone. I was egotistical, narcissistic and protective. Why? I thought that, that trilogy of armor would protect me and all of my faithful warriors.

How’s that working for you?

It’s not.

It’s hard to admit, I’m scared, unsure, confused and angry. All of those words denote weakness and vulnerability.

(Me, at my most vulnerable; small, thumb in mouth and protected by a dad and big brother.)

If this battle ensues, I choose no longer to stand alone. I no longer believe I can jump over canyons. I’m going to try baby steps and occasionally grab on to someone’s shoulder to steady myself.

How does this relate to NASCAR?

I have a big Daytona 500 Party every year. If the Oncologist pushes Monday morning for chemotherapy I will put him off. Nothing needs to or will happen until after that race. In the past I have had friends fly in from the Florida Keys, Central Florida and Texas, just for this party.

Cancer does not get my party this year and I’m hoping, not any year after that.

I’m choosing my friends, family and love of racing over cancer. It’s a disease. It is not who I am.