Today is one of those lazy days of summer too hot to be working or sitting outside and yet pleasant enough a person should be.
Welcome as always and I do hope this finds you well. I have been sorting through some old photos and came across one in years past where the name Rolly got its origin... allow me to share a brief history.
So please do help yourself to the drink of choice, iced tea, coffee or in my case Chaga tea. All this while reflecting on a fateful day that near but surely affecting my poor mother for years to follow. It was Canada day 1967, I recall it well.
In the day I was fully involved in the local and surrounding stock car racing circuit. It was a time when you would spend all week repairing, upgrading and at times repainting your race cars. Some cars were what you would call junkers and in my case a newer model, much lighter which invested heavily into. It was a much lighter ride with many modifications. All just to be able to go out on a Sunday for yet another time of inflicting damage to be able to return home with your trophies to do it all over again.
This particular day I had finally managed to get my parents out for the big race. That was me in old faithful number 7 making my classic move the last lap to claim 1st place. The car I had at the time was built perfectly for my driving habit of entering a corner at top speed with one foot on the gas and the other on the brake. Thus feathering through the turn under full power and not losing forward speed.
That day I had tagged number 66 by mistake and lost some speed. All was going well till in the final turn the car in the rear had clipped me and I lost control and preceded to lose control. I rolled the car but managed to place 2nd in style while flipping 4 times end over end in front of the grandstand and across the finish line in front of my horrified mother.
Stock cars are built with many safety precautions, the main one is a full protection pipe roll cage, proper shoulder harnesses to hold the driver in place during serious accidents such as these. Of course helmets were mandatory. There was then and to this day great detail insuring drivers remain safe no matter the conditions.
The announcer that day tagged me as "Rolly the Roller" My mothers words were not so kind... I can laugh about it now but in hindsight having your mother watch you flipping through the air may not have been the best time for her to be there.
Such was life back in the day of having what we called fun. It was clean fun and yes the patrons generally got what they paid for and that being action. Well most of them anyway. It was the first and last time mom attending a display of my racing career... But I can tell you it was a great deal of good wholesome living. At the end of the day there would be a fire, hot dogs and a few ice cold beer, all the while having stories told.
Good old # 7 went on to place well in the following years as I added power, speed and action... oh yes I continued to be supported with the newfound name I had been dubbed with. They were good old red necked days...
© Rolly A. Chabot
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