Flying downhill at the speed of AWESOME!!

while actually going about 15-20 miles per hour.

Recently (wink, this isn't actually a week old story, wink), Sand Springs held it's first ever (to my knowledge) downhill soapbox race! (Actually a series of many one-on-one time trial events) and I was there to capture all of the action.

Although, saying that I was there capturing the action would be like saying that Hunter S. Thompson was capturing the action of the Mint 400 in Fear and Loathing. But I was physically there, taking pictures, which you'll see dispersed throughout the text, and that's what I'm trying to say.

It was a very interesting affair, and for the entire hour I was present, I was captivated. Every few minutes, the horn would blow and you'd see two kids in hastily manufactured, wheeled, death-chariots, careening down the road at relatively slow speeds until they finally anti-climaxed by plowing into either a bale of hay, a pile of sand, or each other. It was awesome.





I also realized that Sand Springs was now home to it's very own cycling shop. It happened to be on the same street as the sweet racing action, so during one of the breaks, I went in to take a look. As much as it pains me to say this...I was very disappointed. It appeared as though what they were calling a cycling shop was nothing more than two racks of tiny, tiny mountain/bmx bikes and a catalog. The people there, while coming off as slightly needy, were nice, and shoved one of their business cards into my hands as soon as they ascertained that I was horrified, as the hardcore road biker that I am, at the limited nature of their shop.

But the feeling of horror soon subsided as I entered the real world once again and was immersed in the world of juvenile street racing. Looking around at the proceedings, I was amazed to see that, in the distance, an entire section of downtown which was devoted to the gastronomic impulses of the lookers-on. There were, across the street, improvised stands selling the likes of funnel-cakes, fried [insert any item here], and cotton-candy. Of course, because whenever you've got loads of people standing around staring at asphalt, you're going to sell loads of unhealthy food.

But all good things must eventually come to an end, dear reader, and after my sister was content in buying a ridiculously overpriced bag of spun, molten sugar, we left the scene behind, which was still buzzing with activity long after we were gone.

Oh, and I'm pretty sure that I spotted Rocco from Boondock Saints while I was there.