I think I understand why the Asheville Motor Speedway has such a hold on the people in this area. It’s about speed.
I have never been to a car race in my life, much less driven in one. But I do know something about speed. I know the feeling of opening the throttle wide on a vastly overpowered vehicle, and feeling the adrenaline rush as it blasts you instantly into warp drive. It’s the ultimate kick; a sense of thousands of thundering horses coupled with head-snapping acceleration.
When I was in high school, four friends of mine had Honda Gold-Wing motorcycles. These were smooth machines: luxury touring cruisers with 1000cc engines and plush padded seats. My friends would tool all over the Great Lakes region on those big bikes, “looking for adventure and whatever came their way.”
They never took me with them on longer trips, but I occasionally got to sit in back for rides around town. Sometimes they would even let me go out solo. And that, for me, was the biggest thrill. I was always afraid that I would get into an accident, or even just drop the bike and scratch a crank cover. But my fear was more than overcome by the sheer joy I felt when controlling one of those awesome snorting beasts.
My most fervent desire in life at that point was to own my own Honda Gold Wing, so I could go cruising with my friends. But of course my parents would not allow it. They told me that if I bought a motorcycle, they would not pay for my college education. Obedience won out in the end, and I headed off to the university.
Years later, degree in hand, I landed an unusual job that afforded me extremely flexible hours. I took advantage of it by spending my mornings sailing on the Charles River, and working until midnight. Boston, like many large cities, has diabolically tricky wind currents. These are set up by its towering skyline, including skyscrapers like the Hancock and the Prudential Tower. I spent many pleasurable summers mastering these shifting winds. They say if you can sail a dinghy on the Charles, you can sail anything anywhere. That’s not strictly true, but I know that I have sailed much bigger boats on the open ocean with relative ease.
In a sailboat, speed is not an issue. Small dinghies rarely exceed 5 knots, which is about jogging speed. It is true that sometimes you go faster than others. However, the challenge is more in getting the boat to go where you want it to, without capsizing in the process. Once you push off from the dock, you never know when you’re going to return. With luck, you might be back in time for lunch. Then again, you might not.
If you’re good, you can trim the sails to take maximum advantage of the wind. Doing so makes the boat highly unstable—but in different ways, depending on the wind direction. When heading upwind, the boat will heel over, forcing you to hike out on the gunwale to keep from capsizing. Heading downwind, the sail will blow all the way to one side. Then it will suddenly blow all the way across to the other side, with surprising force. If you aren’t careful, it will knock you into the drink, putting a big bump on your noggin in the bargain.
So on the one hand, you have a manmade force (internal-combustion engines). And on the other, you have a natural force (wind). Taming both of these requires training, skill and precision to reach even basic proficiency. Considerably more of all three is necessary to reach the competitive level.
Racecar drivers may dispute this, but I claim that there is more subtlety involved in sports that employ a natural force than a manmade one. And I know for certain that while sailing, you can feel a kind of spirituality and oneness with the universe. This is something I have never experienced on a motorcycle.
But getting back to Asheville Motor Speedway: this beloved facility, though the beneficence of RiverLink, is now destined to become an ordinary park. Access to the French Broad River will be opened up, and people will stroll along its banks once again. Maybe they’ll even allow sailing—who knows?
Given the choice between racing on the speedway and sailing on the French Broad, I know which one I would pick. Petroleum power is seductive, but I’m glad my parents steered me away from it. For me, the natural force wins out every time.