When I was about seven or eight years old, my grandparents brought me along to a practice session at Silver Spring before the racing season started. I don't recall what month this was, but the weather was FREEZING. That's really all I remember from that particular date. It really says it all about my grandparents that they'd go out in that kind of weather just for practice. That track meant the world to them. My grandmother's brothers raced there and so most of my grandfather's dates with her were at Silver Spring races (How many guys would love to have a woman like that, huh?
). They had season tickets for about twenty or thirty years.
Later that same season, they took me back. I randomly picked some driver to root for (Larry Jackson, probably) during the sportsman events and I distinctly recall looking behind to see two very angry looking country boys glaring back at me for cheering for a driver they hated. Being a little kid, I shut up thereafter.
I didn't go to my first fullsize sprint car show until I was a teenager. Holy crap, was that amazing to a new fan! The speed! The sound of the engines idling and the engines at full roar! I've never encountered any greater rush than the first time I saw 410s fly down the front stretch at Williams Grove. Can't remember who won, and it was probably actually a boring race that night, but that didn't matter compared to how awesome the sprint cars were. Just their existence on this planet was awesome!
P.S. I miss Silver Spring.