The spirit of Florida's panhandle lies not in it's white sand beaches or its famous Emerald Coast. The military presence dotting the coastline has little influence on the underlying culture of the region. This Panhandle possesses a timelessness that no outside pressure dilutes. Oh no. It is, dare I say, an ever-fixed mark that looks on hurricanes and is never shaken.
To understand the true essence of this area of the country, travel down Avalon Highway in Milton to a major cultural center and prepare to have all your wildest stereotypes confirmed. The Hus and I, along with some good friends, recently experienced this most redneck of entertainments. At the Southern Raceway.
While paying for tickets, our friends stood behind a pregnant girl smoking a cigarette.
Paul showcases the boiled peanuts. They look like something else.
The Hus and I enjoy betting money on things. Since it is only between the two of us, we're really not gambling, seeing as the money belongs to both of us anyway. That being said, we placed bets on the cars for several of the races. Jon currently owes me $14,001.
Guess where we sat...
Rule: whenever a wreck occurs, so does mass cheering. I really think it's a rule.
During one of the races the Hus' car (remember the betting) was harassing my car, driving into his bumper, etc, eventually causing an accident between the two. So the driver from MY car got out, ran over to the HUS' car, grabbed the top of the door and swung his foot in to kick said driver in the face. He then proceeded to punch him until the officials (on four-wheelers, of course) pulled him out. I cannot describe the cheering in the stands. It was world-series-esque. The punched-out driver was allowed to finish the race, but mine was not. Mine got kicked out.
But as the Hus said at the time, "Better to get revenge than a measly two hundred dollars."