It’s impossible to take a bad photograph out here, at least in the fall. Everything is so simple and grand. And thank goodness it’s not August. If I was a real gearhead, I’d already know what that was like, but I’m not planning on finding out what it’s like to stand in an oven for a few days during the race season. It turns out that no one who works around here will EVER take their own personal car out on the Flats, because the salt not only does a number on the finish and the metal, but also will eventually corrode the wiring in a car and it will be RUINED RUINED RUINED. So, everyone parks in the little cul-de-sac (who knew?) at the end of the paved road into the Flats. From there, take your friend’s car (if you want to lose them as a friend) or just start walking. Which is all you can do if you run out of gas.