My friend Frankie the sax player used to say, “If it don’t flow, don’t go.”

I think we all have a sense of when, prior to a planned event a series of small things happen, each of which portends bad news for the event. In other words, things are just not “flowing” in which case one ought to consider changing plans.

Well, today, things didn’t flow but we went anyway.

Today Usual Suspects Ken the Bodyguard, Jeff – Da Chef of da Future (and horseshit horseshoe player) and I assembled at the House by the Parkway to drive to Raceway Park to see our friend Willie race. We were going in Jeff’s car. Weather reports had been uniformly sketchy, but they all agreed that there would be rain later in the day (a sign). The weather was fine when we left.

We no sooner got on the highway when the car’s engine light came on and it began hesitating and sounded ready to stall (another sign). After checking the gas cap (a loose gas cap will do that) and seeing that the problem persisted, we returned to the House by the Parkway and took the Big Fat Black Capitalist Car out of its hanger for the trip. Ken said that he’d drive my car. (Ken and Jeff think I’m a shitty driver – assholes!)

We picked up Jeff at his house and hit the road. We stopped at a diner near the track for some breakfast, and ended up getting a server who looked like he just graduated from rehab. It took forever to get our breakfast (another sign), and when it finally came, the order was all screwed up (yep, another sign).

As we exited the diner, the skies turned ugly (another sign), but we decided to head for the track anyway, as it was only a few miles away. We reasoned that we didn’t have to enter the track of the weather remained as ominous looking.

We arrived at the track, and, although it was very cloudy, we decided that it might not rain, or if it rained, it might just be a shower. Besides, through the fence, we saw Willie and his crew (including Willie’s brother Paulie) on line with his car waiting to do his first time trial. We paid our $20 each for a pit pass.

We pulled into the pit area and found a good parking spot. As I was about to open the door, Ken said, “Stay in the car.”

When I looked at him as if he were crazy, he pointed to the rain drops on the windshield. Within one minute, the skies opened, producing a monstrous farookin’ storm – the End-of-the-World kind of rainstorm. We sat in the car for about a half hour, as the pit area turned into a quagmire and the rain never let up. We finally decided to bail.

Had we arrived to the track three minutes later, we could have turned around on the entrance road and saved ourselves sixty bucks. We ended up spending another hour or so driving home on badly flooded roads and kicking ourselves in the ass for ignoring all the “signs” and for not heeding my friend Frankie the sax player’s advice.

I think I’ll spend the rest of the day with a book.