Advice for Speed Crazed Morons to Live By!
By Russ Toy
My fellow speed crazed morons:
Use a hair dryer.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, a hair dryer would be it. The long-term benefits of the hair dryer have been proved by body painters everywhere, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis other than my own 40+ years of experience. I will dispense this advice ... now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your slot car. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your slot car until it's blown up. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back and recall when Pro/Slot & RJR were the fastest motors you could buy. You are fatter than you imagine.
Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to pass some bonehead that won't let you by. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your tiny mind, the kind that smacks you upside your head like a deer crossing the road at 3:00 am in the morning on the way back from the Nats.
Do one thing every day that scares your kids.
Don't be reckless with other people's cars. Don't put up with idiots who are reckless with yours.
Don't waste your time on yelling at the turn marshal. It's your own damn fault for coming off in the first place. The race is long and, in the end, you're only racing with yourself.
Remember the people that said "thanks". Forget the jerks. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
Keep your old race results. Give away your old race bodies.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your race certificates. The most interesting racers I've known at the age of 15 didn't know what they wanted to do with their winnings. Some of the most interesting 40+ year olds I know still have a pile of them.
Drink plenty of beer. Be kind to your reflexes. You'll miss them when they're gone.
Maybe you'll marry; you probably won't. Maybe you'll have children; we hope you don't. Maybe you'll discover chicks at 37, maybe you'll lose bladder control on your 57th birthday. Whatever you do, don't kid yourself or belch on your friends either.
Your choices are half baked. So are mine.
Enjoy your Ruddock. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what DiFalco thinks of it. It's the greatest slot car controller you'll ever own.
Dance naked, even if you have nowhere to do it but your hotel room.
Ask for directions, even if you'll never use them. Do not read slot car magazines. They will only make you confused. Get to know the track owners. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your fellow racers. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to forget you when they make it in the mains.
Understand that tracks will come and go, but only a few will open on time. Work hard to help out new racers, because the older you get, the faster they'll become. Race in New York City once, but leave before you get mugged. Race in Northern California once, but leave before you run out of money.
Travel to other raceways.
Accept these simple facts: Side dams will rise. Drag racers will brag. You, too, will become an old fart. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, parts were cheap, slot cars were fun, and nobody respected the old geezers.
Pity the old geezers.
Don't expect anyone to help you. Maybe you need a hot iron. Maybe you need a lane sticker. But you never know if your car's on the wrong lane. Don't mess too much with your controller or by the time you figured it out, you've already blown off the track.
Be careful whose advice you're selling, but don't fall asleep with those who supply it. Nostalgia is a form of big business. Dispensing it is a way of finding some old car, polishing it off, painting over the crappy parts and selling it on Ebay for a lot more than it's worth.
But trust me on the hair dryer.