Jeff Gordon, I am Not

I had my first and perhaps my last go-karting experience of my life this past Wednesday.  I should have known when I was heading down the dirt road to the “track” that this would end badly.  I was hoping for a nice oval track but instead got one with more hairpins than Marie Antoinette’s hairdo.  And the karts were glorified lawn mowers, and I don’t mean riding mowers, but literally the engine part of the mower with a seat wedged on the end.  But I decided to give it a go.  Big mistake!  I should have hung out with cute girl running the show; maybe she would have let me be the flag enforcer.  Instead I ventured out.  Even though I knew it was the wrong thing to do, at every turn I would brake to ensure I would not spin out.  Little did I know I would probably have been safer spinning out and therefore on the grass safe from the manic interns and my lead foot colleagues (four of them were reprimanded for aggressive driving with the “black flag”; I wonder if they will include that in their resumes).

I was passed left, right, and sometime it felt like center.  I think at one point one intern, Danitella Versace, passed me on the edge of the track.  I must have been lapped a couple of times by Kashi Dan (seriously, who knew Kelloggs made Kashi?).  It was the longest 10 minutes of my life.  My only solace was that  I missed the dustup caused by Dandrea Patric who before spinning off the track nearly took out three other drivers (I think she thought we had actually picked bowling instead of go-karting). 

Just my luck, my performance is memorialized on film, video, and in the memories of all who attended.  But I vow not only to pick myself up by the bootstrap or the helmet strap but to train for a future rematch.  I am either going to enlist the little kid (who was doing 60 mph turns on the track) or the cute girl as my Yoda/Princess Leia and master this kart thing (either that or figure out how to get on the kiddie course as soon as possible).