As a boy, I would often accompany my older brother to the local dragstrip. It was famous in the greater Chicago area for its idiosyncratic radio commercials: "Smokin' US 30 Dragstrip, where the great ones RUN Run run run". I can still feel the chest thumping open exhausts of the funny cars and top fuel dragsters. So, when fellow members of the Wichita 4x4 Club mentioned an off-road drag racing event, I had to check it out.

Amarillo, Texas, is about a six hour drive from my home in south central Kansas. I got a friend and some of his entourage to join us, and we left about 5AM on a Saturday morning for the bright lights and fast pace of Amarillo. Amarillo is in the high plains of the Texas panhandle. It is sort of a plateau desert. About 15 miles north of town, the South Canadian River crosses highway 287. The area around this crossing has sand dunes on either side of the meandering stream, and is open for off-road driving.

Every year, the West Texas Outlaw club holds their Sand Drags off-road event in this area. I had contacted two of the organizers, and they promised us a spot with a good vantage point to observe the two feature events: a 100 yard sand dragstrip and a mud bog. The plan was to use CB Channel 7 to contact "shutterbug", the club photographer, upon my arrival. Like most plans, it was quickly cast aside as I arrived at the largest off-road traffic jam I have yet encountered.

Traveling south on highway 287, we turned east across the highway to travel around back north and under the bridge. We were surrounded by dirt bikes, ATVs, 4x4s, and some of the craziest home made rigs I've seen. The route from the highway to the dragstrip was a narrow trail through some dunes that could only accommodate two passing vehicles if one or both were willing to sustain some major scratches from the surrounding mesquite trees and brush. Fortunately, my truck is in serious need of a paint job, so I didn't worry about that.

We shortly gave up on hailing shutterbug amidst the cacophony of yakking that was taking place on the CB, and asked someone who looked official for the general direction of the dragstrip. He obliged, and our 31X10.5s were just adequate to navigate the loose sand and find an spot right near the staging area and starting line of the sand drag strip. Over the course of the day, many a two wheel drive found itself buried in the loose sand.

While I can't claim to be particularly quick on the uptake, I did pretty well ascertain the nature of this event in a short period of time. The West Texas Outlaws are very gracious and hospitable hosts. But this event has gotten way, way, out of hand. Professional equipment ensured that the timing for the runs was accurate, but that's about the only thing that went as planned. There was no traffic control, no crowd control, no provision for trash, or much common sense among the participants and spectators. I literally feared for my life as I traveled around the area, trying to navigate blind turns as young kids sped around on anything from dirt bikes to dune buggies.

Personal safety aside, the event had three primary sources of entertainment: the sand drags, the mud bog, and the vehicles that showed up. The sand drags took place on a 100 yard sand drag strip. When I had first heard that, I thought it was ridiculous. 100 yards is a good sprint distance for a person on foot. However, just seeing a few runs made me appreciate that 100 yards of sand is a pretty good challenge for anything from a sand rail dragster to an atv. At the starting line, a rooster tail of sand flew high in the air as the vehicle searched for traction. Soon, it propelled forward, and hurtled down the 100 yard strip. In the case of sand rails, speeds can reach 100 miles per hour.

Amidst many delays at the drag strip, and after my digital camera's batteries died, we traveled into Amarillo, got batteries and Whataburgers, and traveled back to check out the mud bog. To get from the drag strip to the mud bog, we learned, after driving along some trails and picking up a pedestrian, you had to ford the river in a couple of places. Fortunately, our pedestrian was local, and was on foot since he had recently trashed his engine by sucking water in the same area. With his guidance, we managed to find a relatively safe set of crossings, and eventually found the mud bog.

The mud bog lacked even the scant sophistication of the sand drags. Basically, the organizers marked a straight line course through some quicksand on a small island created by a recent meander of the river. Vehicles blasted down the course, traveling as far as they could before the quicksand swallowed them. The trucks pulled a cable behind them, so that a "Deuce and a Half" six axle military truck could pull them back in the other direction. Clearly, the first vehicles to run the bog had a considerable advantage, so the most stock rigs took the challenge first.

The third and final attraction was the collection of vehicles that showed up for the event. I saw a beautifully maintained Willys Overland, a radically modified Ramcharger, and a host of homemade vehicles, including a Chevy Malibu station wagon body on a short bed truck frame. Just walking around the parked vehicles was as much fun as watching any of the events.

We stayed only for part of the first day's events. Later that night, they had scheduled a trail run, and there was a whole second day of racing planned. While the remaining events sounded fun, we still had a six hour return drive waiting for us, so we hit the highway.

The Amarillo Sand Drags are a fun event hosted by a very gracious club. However, I can only recommend it if you are willing to take your safety into your own hands. As the day went by, the alcohol was free flowing, further deteriorating judgment displayed to be dubious in the first place. Trying to navigate trails surrounded by drunks was almost as harrowing as seeing people sit within 10 or 20 feet of a taut cable pulling a buried rig out of a mud bog. Good times are there to be had at the Amarillo Sand Drags, but spectators must take extraordinary precautions to avoid having their fun turn to tragedy.