You know why it's so easy to meet the guys from Realtime, King, and the rest?

Because nobody cares.

What that means is that in the grand scheme of things the celebrity of most racers is so slight that they are both accessible and approachable. No need to stalk them - general admission tickets will suffice to get you close enough to say something like "Hi, what spring rates you runnin".

How cool is that?

Recently I was talking over breakfast with an English car magazine writer, and I was asking him about my favorite writers. He said they all bow before Nigel Roebuck. I asked about Mark Hughs, and he told me that both Mark and his brother were brilliant kart racers, and that at some point Mark gave it up to write, while his brother has gone on to a factory MG ride. I told Richard that I'd have to read his magazine a little more often and look for his stuff - but he self-effacingly told me not to bother. But I did anyway later that day.

It was my good luck to have picked that day to do it. The premier article was on the McLaren F1. In one of the articles panels there was mention of the effort to get the color on George Harrisons F1 just right. As the lengthy effort was reaching it's conclusion the McLaren guys noticed George seemed kind of sad. When they asked him, he said he was - "because now I don't get to keep coming here".

Here's a guy who'd ridden the pinnacle of celebrity. And, Sure, the F1 is pretty exclusive hardware. But it adds up to something familiar doesn't it? GFCP! And McLaren as the ultimate head shop.

The whole hanging around the shop milieu is timeless and universal.

I was talking to Shad's father a couple of weeks ago, and heard yet another such story. When Stan was going to Portland State in the early 60's it was his habit to hang out just about every night at Rambo Motors, and watch Pat Connolly build the TR4-V8. Later he graduated to hanging out at his own shop. I sure wish I'd been able to hang around the shop during that era.

When I was a kid, and old enough to be mobile, my friend John and I used to ride our bikes all over the eastside to hang out in motorcycle shops. Throughout life that pattern has repeated itself. Now as an the arrested 13 year old in the body and life of an adult it's the same thing all over again. Only the destination changes - Las Vegas, Elkhart Lake, Portland, Laguna. The Pro's have replaced the guys at the shops, but I still feel like a kid in a candy store.

There are some perks to being grown up. When I run into Alan McNish coming out of the head I just think "short little bastard isn't he". And of course knowing what I'm looking at most of the time is nice too - as all that glitters isn't necessarily gold.

The other thing is that the distance between what the hero's do, and what I do is nowhere near as great as it was when I was a kid. This lessening difference is the fullfillment of that seemed at the time unlikely hope that when I grow up....

And how cool is that.

Scott, who if he knew then what he knows now would still be a kid on the inside now anyway so what's the difference...