We spent Friday night at the Robert Mitchell Speedway south of Fairbanks, tag line: "Thunder on the Tundra." You can't make this stuff up. This is the bomber class who, true to form, started the race with 17 cars and ended with 8. The rest either crashed or started smoking too badly to continue, and one person ended up with a tire bent completely sideways so it was flat against the ground. Good times.
These are the sprint cars. I'll bet they were more than a bit worried about crashing into someone they couldn't see.
This guy crashed into a wall in the first race, lost most of his hood, and came back for the second race. He did not finish the second race due to the copious amounts of black smoke coming from his engine.
We just started going to the races last summer. They've really become a summer guilty pleasure (like our nightly ice cream cones). Summer rules.







