By Will Nonnamaker
When I was a kid, all I seemed to care about was racing cars. I loved going to the track with my dad. I enjoyed watching the cars zip around Summit Point’s Carousel, dive into Mid-Ohio’s Keyhole, or run up through Turn 5 at Road Atlanta.
At home, I would hoon around the neighborhood—first on a Big Wheel tricycle and later on my banana-seat bicycle. I think that by the time I was 12, I’d taken about five Big Wheels out of commission with excursions down steep driveways, e-brake turns and other shenanigans. In fact, I had such a passion for racing that I organized my own Big Wheel races, taking two wins out of three events.
My young son, Ian, shares my automotive obsession, but with a twist. What does he want to be when he grows up? A racing mechanic.
Now, I can use tools; I just don’t really care to work on cars. It doesn’t give me any joy to fix a mechanical problem. My son, though, thinks it’s the greatest thing in the…
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