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It’s been a while since I’ve felt like dangling a ladle into the shallow end of my brain and scooping out a bunch of random thoughts about the sport that has basically consumed my life since age 5. As I’ve gotten older, the need, much less “the want,” to express my pithy views has diminished to a point I find myself at the end of the year wondering what the heck did I do all year?

A big part of it is, I’m sure, is I’ve become one of those aging spectators of life finding everything rather ho-hum. Yep, I’ve become a fuddy-duddy. I managed to do some wanderering, but the euphoric feeling of raw horsepower rumbling proves too fleeting these days.

And yet, there are some things that should be said. I recently came into possession of a big batch of photos and newsprint articles from a former Miller, SD, racer that had me thinking on more than one occasion, “Gee, someone should be writing this down.”

Just as those memories evoke smiles from the now grown young fans of that era, this era, the one we are in right now, will have the same impact on those freckle-faced little guys and girls cheering on their heroes each night.

After a stunning realization that I could be one of those who could-and should-be writing all of this down … well, here we are. If I haven’t already put you into a sleep zone, here are a few tidbits from this season past.

My traveling was limited; work, family and the fuddy-duddiness tended to keep me more of a homebody this past summer. I concentrated on my home track, Black Hills Speedway, almost every Friday night, which seems to be having something of an identity crisis.

This crisis is affecting not just my own hallowed grounds of wheel-to-wheel mayhem; it seems to be countrywide. Maybe worldwide.

Car counts are down. Way down. Fan attendance is down. Way down.

Is there a connection between the weakening stature of NASCAR leading to dwindling numbers of interested participants and fans? Not likely, in my humble opinion. Dirt racers have little in common with the mega-rich celebrity-struck Sunday warriors.

One commonality does have a few links, however. Cost. Even fielding an entry level car is not for the faint of heart, especially to those new to the sport. Sponsorships, always a difficult sell, have gotten even fewer thanks to an unsteady economy and jitters of an unnerving world platform.

It seems we’ve gotten so used to “buy this, buy that” instead of doing what our motorsports ancestors did: build this, build that.

Again, the technology and safety concerns of any modern race car, no matter what its class designation, is no longer in the hands of those whose backbone was shaped working with their hands and minds in concert.

On the other side of the financial coin, operating a race track has become beyond the reach of a guy cutting an oval in a hayfield and charging those interested a few bucks to keep the water truck running.

Land values have skyrocketed to highs that are incomprehensible to this fuddy guy. The dirt we’re racing has far more value with an apartment building or mini-mall on it. As of yet, I haven’t seen a plan that can accommodate both.

There seems to be a general malaise in my neighborhood and a lot of fingers have been pointed. I wish I had an answer that made everyone want to build cars and terrorize those four corners every Friday night once again.

It’s what we have, in all reality. I long for those golden years of huge car counts and packed grandstands. It’s one of those situations we should have treasured a bit more when it was happening, but that’s not how we humans work.

To show all is not lost, a couple of racers who had great success in those years stepped out of retirement to tackle new cars, new technologies.

Ron Starkey was the man to beat, starting from his Gran National days to WISSOTA Super Stock and WISSOTA Modified mastery. I’d have to ask Butch Knouse how many features the man won, as well as a whole bunch of track championships.

Now retired from the 8 to 5 scene, at age 69, that call to speed could no longer be quieted. When I first caught glimpse of his nearly legendary enclosed hauler pulling pit side, I was curious who had finally wrangled it from his farm.

Then out rolled a familiar #00 WISSOTA Midwest Modified. Not quiet as flashy as his champ-earning rides, it was still great to see a well respected competitor ready to teach them young ’uns a thing or two.

Of course, there is that old dog, new trick chasm to vault over. As the year progressed, he seemed more at ease with the new car, which is not surprising to this observer. Anybody who can take a land yacht Caprice and park it constantly in victory lane in those early years can overcome anything.

Motor builder extraordinaire Paul Parks joined Starkey in returning to current racer rank status. While Ron had been away for a mere 12 to 13 years, Parks hadn’t twisted a competitive wheel in over 20!

He was somewhat surprised at how much the Midwest Modifieds had evolved in his absence, having purchased a relatively new “used” machine from Alan Farley over the winter. Keeping with his own tradition, the car was clad in a solid blue hue with his well-known “50” stuck on all sides and top.

That re-learning curve had him by the teeth early in the season. Constant tweaking of set-ups and plenty of seat time smoothed out a lot of rough edges by season end.

It has to be noted that plenty of victory lane parked machinery of all classes over the years have had one of his powerplants under the hood.

As for the season championship, Brandon Woodhead out-raced them all for his second consecutive title. When Woodhead is not sailing through turns at a 45 degree angle, he has a penchant for doing some “extracurricular” motor mayhem. On two wheels.

I haven’t be able to catch any of that action, but from what I’ve heard it can be breath-taking. Being a daredevil doesn’t surprise me, but his decision to sell his racing operation and put his future plans into limbo certainly did.

It’s no secret I’m a big fan of Street Stock racing. I know a large number of attendees are there for the speed of Sprint cars and fat-tired, full-bodied creations, but my heart has always been there for the Streeters.

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