All That Remains
Well what was your visit to “the Grove” like? I mean your plans to spend Saturday afternoon at the Great Lakes Dragaway?
I was not disappointed. In retrospect I received more than the fee paid for admission. The hours spent walking around the pits, lingering for a few minutes to chat with the Lumbert Brothers as they worked on their ’57 Chevy River Rats pro-mod racer. I took photos close by the staging lane as cars initiated a smoking burn-out to add heat to the big slicks, and then from the stands of the ritual of positioning the cars for launch at the starting line…
At the starting line, the motor is brought up to launch rpm. Moments before the tree flashes green, — the driver waits, in disciplined quiet. Reason has come to an end, everything has been done to calibrate the engine and chassis to a certain combination. All that remains is prayer — that at the flash of green reflex will “cut a quick light,” that the car will hook hard, and run straight to the timing lights at the distant finish line. “All that remains” is completely outside of rational control, the regression of an infinite matrix of cause and effect. When “the stars align” the outcome is positively magical, transcendent even. What I mean is a high 5 second, 250 mph pass over the finish line.
Perhaps I write gibberish, words and grammar that tenuously hold together.
There is a time where “living” means leaving behind a reasonable, rational calculation of life. What inspires, what humanizes is — “all that remains.”
