Ever since the age of nine I’ve been a Formula 1 fan. Growing up in the southern Midwest U.S.A. made it difficult to follow on television. Sometimes there would be a race on the The Wide World of Sports, out of a St. Louis station. Jackie Stewart was my favorite driver at the time, it must have been around 1970.

My mother loved racing, and used to take me to the dirt-oval sprint-car races, but I found them boring, driving around in a circle until they wrecked didn’t hold any allure for me, what did was the fact that there would be strange girls there, different from my school and town.

My father on the other hand disliked all types of auto racing and was famous for saying “if one of those races ever came to my town, why I would get in my car and drive as far away as possible’.  My reaction would be “Oh, you must be talking about NASCAR, Dad”.  It would inspire me to debate him over a few pints at the local Canadian Legion Pub in south-western Ontario, where I grew up from the age of 12 to 18. Try as I may, I never couldn't get my father interested in F1, and lost him to a drunk driver.

In 2004, I decided to try to go to both Montreal and Indy for the F1 races, but the most affordable way for me to travel was to fix my Dad’s car and take it. The brake lights would not work, and I had to take the steering wheel off and replace the turn indicator switch (‘95 Buick Regal). Driving all night from Windsor, Ontario, where I now live, to Montreal, was a 10 hour trip.

I arrived at eight in the morning Thursday, the day of the pit walkthrough, and paid for my campsite. It was $125.00 Canadian for four days, and I didn’t even set up my tent. Somehow I managed to find my way to the subway terminal, and got to the track just in time to catch one of the buses that were leaving. A general admission ticket was $90.00 Canadian. How neat it was to drive around the Circuit de Gilles Villeneuve. It was a gloriously sunny day, and life was starting to feel better.

The next day, I happened to wander up into the inner casino hairpin grandstand, section 34, and went all the way to the top and sat right in the middle. A fan next to me said to just sit there until the real ticket holders show up, and then just go sit on the aisle. So every day I sat up there in that seat watching it all. It was perhaps the closest I’ve ever come to a religious experience.

Montreal is a fabulous city. I have to say that I have never seen so many good looking women in one place before. It would be a dream come true to be able to move there, except for the winters, they can be pretty rough. I even took my guitar downtown one night and played like a street busker. The din from the street was quite loud and no one could really hear me play but, still made a dollar and a half for about 15 minutes. Wandering through the crowded downtown area, taking in all the sights and old architecture,  I heard  the sound of a saxophone being played, so I followed the music and came upon a little girl playing a huge baritone saxophone, it was as big as her. I stayed and talked with her for an hour.

Awakening just before dawn the next day, it was raining and kind of nasty outside. Packing up my things and departing the campsite, there was only one last terrifying bridge to cross, and then I was making good time towards home. All the way back there just wasn’t anything on the radio worth listening too. Past Toronto on the 401 Highway, a death trap in bad weather, I finally settled on a Neil Young Anthology.