An hour outside Spokane on winding narrow highways where roads have names like Gas Line Road and St. John Gun Club Road, thousands of people set up colorful sun canopies and gather for the day on one particular hillside. They’re out there to watch Webb’s Slough sprint boat racing, the Northwest’s loud, dirty version of Nascar that smells of hot engines and waffle cones.

Nick was doing a video for the Spokesman, so I went along for the ride. The race venue was cut into the base of a hill just off the highway, with kids from a local sports team directing traffic in the cut-field parking lot. Basically, teams of two (a driver and navigator) race around a twisting course, trying to beat the clock and avoid running aground on tight corners while plumes of muddy wake water douse members of the “Slough Crew” (it rhymes). Nick got caught on the wrong side of a mud splash trying to get a shot.

It was a good time. It was very Eastern Washington, but not as “redneck” as we might have expected. The competitor teams are often families, with some second-generation drivers and navigators as young as 15 and 16. The spectators, with cowboy hats on heads and children on shoulders, sit back and enjoy the revving engines without worrying much about who’s winning for the day.

I did get a few good quotes:

Announcer guy: “There’s a philosophy we can all live by: It’s hard until you stop thinking about it.”

Random guy to Nick: “Didja get all the pictures you wanted, or did you just get muddy enough?”

Woman in golf cart to police officer: “Michael! How are you? I haven’t seen you for so long since Nascar!”