There they were, aged remnants of the competition, standing
like old soldiers waiting their final resting places, to be remembered only by
those who experienced the thrill of the race.
At an earlier time, it was a manly pursuit of personal
pleasure, speeding down a narrow asphalt drag-strip in a speeding contraption, passing
adoring fans at the 1/8th mile pole, toward the finish line, trying
to shave off a second or two from their personal best time.
And it was a place for motocross racers riding over the humps and hills, digging into the dusty curves like surfers riding a difficult wave toward their own triumphs, as the dirt swirled up like a mini dust storm from waves of bikes chasing each other, like dueling hummingbirds, now had long laid down and covered the evidence of what had been.
But now there was an eerie quiet where fans once cheered,
where the sound of roaring engines came to life, where the smell of gasoline, nitro-methane fumes,
and hot oil wafted over the crowd, and rubber tires screeched against the hot
pavement propelling pride to the checkered flag.
A hand-painted sign at the entrance of the old racetrack
reminded fans that it was now closed. Chains and locks prevented passage. The ticket booth with its “Stop” sign would
no longer be in command of the crowd.
Even the snack shack leaned against time, empty and out of sweets, and tall,
swaying weeds were the only spectators poking up through the crumbling
bleachers.
Discarded rubber tires were stacked on the track like
tombstones to remind drivers that the “end” was near. The control tower, long abandoned, stood
tall above it all like a lone sentinel watching over his province. And a rusting van advertised the “Carlsbad
Raceway” in faded letters, hidden in tall grass where no passerby would see it.
No longer are sleepy Sunday mornings interrupted by the
sounds of excitement and fun, of mechanically engineered rumbles and reverberations,
and a loud speaker barking out the results.
The covenants which nearby homeowners were required to sign, alerting
them to raceway impact issues, no longer applied.
It is all quiet now, save for the hum of the increased
traffic which flows steadily along the airport road, situated above the remains
of a past vestige, racing toward new destinations. The ruins of the old raceway are long gone,
replaced by cold, hard concrete and shiny shimmering glass with the symmetry of
planned development. It is progress,
they said.
Now, all that’s left is a modern postmark which incorporates
a bygone era with a new direction. It is
a sign near the site of the old asphalt track which announces: Carlsbad Raceway Business Park.
Author's note: These images were taken in Aug/2008 by the author who used a Rolleicord and Holga film cameras. The Dragstrip and Motocross divisions of the Carlsbad, CA raceway ceased operations in 2004.
