There’s a small dirt go-kart track a couple of miles from where I live. Saturday was race night and by coincidence, cheap date night, which is how we ended up there. Mexican food and dirt track kart racing. Noone can say I don’t know how to live.

This is Sara. She comes from a family of kart racers. Her dad races. Her mother races. Her brother races. They have 8 karts between them and nowhere to park the family cars, since the garage is full of karts and kart parts. She hasn’t been racing long, but has managed to learn how to project an air of confidence as she checks out her main rival. Sort of a “don’t get your hopes up” look.

This is her rival. He started on the pole, Sara on the outside. It took a couple of laps to size him up, then she gave him a little love tap on the bumper and, as Linda Ronstadt sang, she “Blue Bayou”, and that was the last he saw of her until he passed by her in victory lane. About 10 minutes later, she was out of her race suit and back in her jeans running around acting like a 10 year old girl.