Hole Shot

Podunk race at nowhere town,

The local “Shoes” do abound.

Pick my spot upon the line,

All suited up, lookin’ fine.

Focus on that first turn,

Inside line or outer berm?

Spot a rut that offers traction,

Hit it right ye’r in the action.

Blip the throttle, rev it up,

Maybe win that trophy cup.

Click her down to first gear,

Engines drownin’ out y’er fear.

Thirty second sign goes out,

This is it, there ain’t no doubt.

Flagman has a poker face,

Read it well to win the race.

Waitin’ for the gate to drop,

Hopin’ that you don’t flop.

Drop the clutch and hit the gas,

All these turkeys you must pass.

Thirty riders want your line,

Bangin’ bars, engines whine.

Two guys bump then go down,

Ain’t no room to go around.

Aim for a wheel, not a man,

Gotta’ do the best you can.

Muscle through the crowded turn,

As the knobbies claw and churn.

You end up in nineteenth place,

It’s gonna’ be one long race!

LDT Aug 24, ‘21

In ten years of racing, I pulled one hole shot. For me, the biggest thrill was passing the guy in front of me. It didn’t matter if he was in first or twenty-first place.

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