With so many hobbies in the universe from which to choose, I am terribly glad that my husband chose slot car racing – among other vehicle-related adventures. The (rarely) oval tracks pit man against trigger, and slot car against turns, curves, banks and speed.
Each month the club meets at a different track – all of which have distinct names like South of the Border, or The Squirrel. The dozen or so men arrive with toolboxes filled with HO scale cars and requisite spare parts. They set up work stations at long tables under the florescent glow of basement lighting to tweak, improve, and repair the cars in order to compete for bragging rights.
These men are great guests. They fill the house with laughter and friendship. No matter what I bake or cook, they make me feel like a pastry chef or a culinary magician. When delivering another tray of brownies or a fresh pot of coffee, I watch their faces as they race the cars or talk strategy with one another, and it is a beautiful thing to watch a group of people invest so much into their passion.