Packed and everything, I made it as far as the gas station when I decided to turn around and go home. There was no way I was going to make a 160-mile drive at 8:30PM to make it to the gates of hell before they close at 11:00PM, not when I can only go 55, maybe 60mph. So instead I turned around, knock a can of beer down, and slept at the comfort of my own bed.
About six hours later, here I am awake, about to head out to hell in the wee hours of morning.
Hell today is known as Thunderhill Raceway at 101 degrees.
