• Romantic Getaways

Romance and Romantic Destination News



A Richmond romance

Filed under:

It’s a special romance. Lust at first sight, Richmond International Raceway has long since elapsed the seductive stage and has firmly rooted itself in Commonwealth lore.
A teenager’s first trip baking father-side atop the bleachers or a grandmother’s umpteenth rendezvous in an asphalted infield, Virginians know RIR - feel it even - and rave over the three-quarter mile with first-car pride and enthusiasm.
Racing swashbuckler Rusty Wallace called RIR perfect. Governor Mark Warner said it’s an economic escalator. Anyway you look at it, RIR means home.
“If you talk to a lot of the drivers, I think most of them will tell you that Richmond is one of their favorite tracks,” Nextel Cup driver Greg Biffle said.
That’s Biffle today. It’s a good representation of current sentiment; however, the present oval perspires a well-chronicled legacy.

Grassroots. Time warp. The year is 1946 and racing fans cram nooks and crannies at Richmond’s “Strawberry Hill Speedway” to eyeball Ted Horn, in a clunky champ car, drive to victory lane over half-a-mile of caked dirt. It’s the lust stage, the inaugural dash in the state’s capitol.
Scoot forward seven years later to NASCAR’s first sanctioned race, a Grand National Division event at Atlantic Rural Exposition Fairgrounds (RIR was still under a different calling). Lee Petty prevailed on that April 19, 1953 afternoon, leading from flag to flag in the 100 mile, two hour, eleven minute, 46-second gitty-up. Petty pocketed $1,000 for the checkered flag while Coleman Lawrence, who closed in last place, walked away with a cool $25.
Sometime later, after Paul Sawyer and legendary racer Joe Weatherly purchased the facility, NASCAR’s top series began hosting two races per season and have done so ever since. The year is 1959 and lust has gone by the wayside. Familiarity swirls in the air.

Pages: 1 2 3 4

Related Travel Information

Mid-Life Romance: Worth Writing About?

In my high school and college English classes, I was always told to write about what I knew, and that's what I finally did at the age of fifty-eight -- when I was old enough to know a lot more than I used to. That's when I wrote and self-published my first novel, "I Started a Joke." As a preacher's kid and a Christian, I could have attempted a predictable and preachy work that would satisfy the strict standards of the Christian Booksellers Association (CBA). But that wouldn't do; I wanted to write for everyone, including non-believers. So I delved into

Marvellous day for romance

TO HELL with neutrality and objectivity, I'm barracking this afternoon. Barracking for the story, and the story is the Swans. Yeah, yeah, I know, people true to their role in the media should be neutral and objective, and I like to think most of us are most of the time. Occasionally, though, the romance of a particular story is irresistible. It dwarfs everything else, as romance can do. Like 1990, when, for the first and perhaps only time in my life, I adopted Collingwood in the Grand Final. Watching the outpouring of emotion on the ground immediately after the final siren when the Magpies