The forging of President Trump by the hand of God...

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Scott and Patty Wells were great neighbors.

Yes, Martha, his wife was also named Patty...

Wiki: 

Alan Hale and Thomas Bopp discovered Comet Hale–Bopp separately on July 23, 1995, before it became visible to the naked eye.

 It is difficult to predict the maximum brightness of new comets with any degree of certainty, but Hale–Bopp exceeded most predictions when it passed perihelion on April 1, 1997, reaching about magnitude −1.8. 

It was visible to the naked eye for a record 18 months, due to its massive nucleus size. 

This is twice as long as the Great Comet of 1811, the previous record holder. Accordingly, Hale–Bopp was dubbed the Great Comet of 1997.

You are quite the astute, Martha...

Hoisted by my own petard...

There he is...

It would be hard to find a more patriotic and welcoming crowd for the President than at Daytona.

The possible exception would be the 

 Talladega Superspeedway

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPMrUBXU6bM

On the heels of his meeting with King Abdullah II of Jordan, President Trump encounters more royalty at the Daytona 500...

Yet another king was in President Trump's sphere.

Yes, Martha, King Richard was holding court.

87 years old - he must be on that Balance of Nature thing...

Richard Petty, an absolute living legend, is royalty in the South.  

My cousin, Jerry Pittman, and I benefitted from  yet another gift from God while my father was on the battlefield in Vietnam.

A brand new housing development sprang up, only months before the Daw family sought refuge in rural North Carolina, close to our home.  These were expensive homes, in contrast to the modest abodes of this part of the country.

This development was a multi-year project, adding a few homes each year.  The developer immediately built, as President Trump would describe it, a big beautiful oval paved road, providing access for the community of residents there.

For me, this provided a distraction from the worry for my father.

The three networks had a never-ending daily loop of two real-time scenes:

Mortally wounded soldiers being dragged off the battlefield, seen every night on television.  I would view these scenes fearful that the next scene would be my father...

...and filthy hippies and their anti-war protests.  They were the de facto enemy.

Taking full advantage of this nice half mile asphalt raceway God had provided, my 14 year old cousin, one year my senior, hopped on his awesome Schwinn Stingray 

The action bike for extra fun! Now with Schwinn Fastback handlebars, Silver Glow bucket saddle, chrome brace rods, Slik rear tire, standard 20" x 1 3/4" front tire. 3-speed model equipped with new Slik-Shift, or trigger control.
Colors: Coppertone, Sky blue, Violet.

And how cool was it that my Uncle Bill managed the local Schwinn and Honda dealership?

Consequently, my cousin Jerry had the hottest bike on the market.

Yes, Martha, and that much-coveted Slik-Shift.

A T-shaped shifter on the bike frame!

An embarrassment of riches, this 20" beauty was also my favorite color, blue.

Sweet...

Hey, my Western Flyer 20", 5 speed derailleur, mounted on the handlebar, wasn't chopped liver.

Jerry would make short work of the 12 miles or so from Belfast to where we lived.

Hours and hours were spent with just the two of us setting track records, only to  break them a few weeks later.

From a tactical standpoint, this simple symmetrical oval raceway provided two opportunities for me to slingshot Jerry.

King Richard Petty's patented 'Slingshot' maneuver decimated his foes on the NASCAR circuit for decades.

If it worked for the King, maybe it would work for Jerry and my duels.

Go high into the curve and drop low and hurtle beneath Jerry, as if launched by a slingshot...

Aye, there's the rub for the beautiful T-shifter on that gorgeous Schwinn...

Jerry and I both knew the advantage was not to be gained in the straightaways; it was in the curves.

The ability to perform an effective 'slingshot' lay in the ability to transform torque during that crucial high to low move.

Martha, you guessed it.  

Five speeds are better than three...

And without removing a hand from the handlebar...

Richard Petty and Jerry Pittman provided relief during those long twelve months as the family prayed for my father's safe return.

Thanks to both of you

and God...

 That summer of 1967 provided racing that was far removed from a racetrack that Jerry and I had hacked from a field or woods.  We were pretty good at engineering crude venues that would accommodate our lust for speed and racing.  Our cousins Eddie - I miss you, Cuz - and his little brother Robbie would lend a hand, also. 

This wide and lengthy racetrack featured pristine asphalt.  There were no oil spots, broken glass, etc., as encountered on public highways.

Those beautiful summer days, when we weren't working the farms, would find our arrival at the portal for this rural racing ritual emulating that of Maverick and Goose:

  "I feel the need, the need for speed..."  

Summer in North Carolina produced a superheated surface enabling traction unheard of in our previous bicycle racing experiences.

Nothing beyond our skill limitations slowed us down.

Until fall overtakes summer in North Carolina.  Those beautiful tall pine trees that surrounded our track started shedding pine needles...

Physics, again, won the day; too much front braking on a nice thin layer of dried pine needles results in an embarrassing front wheel collapse and a nice slide on asphalt.  Ouch.

I am a quick learner and my Spidey Sense profited from that experience.

I never front-braked too heavily on my bicycle ever again, as my situational awareness improved during my teen years.

I wish I could say the same for the Saturday afternoon I was returning home from a racquetball match with Tom Hair at the MERC...

OK, Martha, if you must know...

I preferred riding my 1100 F positioned behind my quarter fairing, avoiding the buffeting of the wind.

Further, it was more comfortable, as I was almost lying on the gas tank. The downside was all the braking was accorded by the front brake, as I used the rear pegs for this riding profile.

Consequently, this compromise of braking efficiency and physics was reserved for long rides and no interaction with traffic. 

After a few hours of racquetball with Tom, a man 15 years my senior and a Southern Manly Man stud, I was 'plumb worn out'.

Again, my circle of friends was quite small.  Tom Hair was in the mould of Lee Coker, with whom he built the finest recovery equipment in the world at Century Wrecker.

And he reminded me of my fellow Warriors with the Second Infantry Division...

At any rate, immediately smelling the recently-fallen rain as we exited the MERC, I was pleased to find I-75 dry.  Highway 153, also was dry; summer heat was doing its job.

There was little traffic on 153; I alternated my seat position as dictated.  I was cruising about 45 mph or so as I approached Northgate.  

As often is the case, a thought will  suddenly pop into my head.  

This time I recalled I needed to buy stamps from the post office.   Instead of continuing on 153, resuming full braking profile, and utilizing the perimeter four lane that passes in front of the post office, I made a somewhat abrupt turn into the Service Merchandise parking lot just off 153.

Utilization of the 'shortest distance...' principle found me passing through the large parking lot, still wet from the previous rain.

Martha, you know what happened next.

I had no concern of cars or obstructions on this huge parking lot; it was a straight shot to the post office.

Hence, my maintaining of the cruise mode, only to find a millimeter or so of water and the two o'clock position of my front wheel dictating what happened next.

After completing my hydroplaning skid, I quickly regained my footing, uprighted my bike and looked to see if anyone saw me do that...

Popeye would say "...embarrasking..."

God loves us; He takes care of folks in the face of their foolish behavior; a Band-Aid on my  knees and I was good to go.

Another violation of motorcycle protocol, resulting in the Band-Aid need:

  wear long pants.

Especially on superbikes.

God provided a most precious gift to the Petty family in 2022.

was born on the twenty-second anniversary of Kyle Petty's firstborn's  ascension to Heaven.

Adam's beautiful niece is a personification of God's grace. 

 King Richard's grandson is smiling down.

God bless the Petty family.

  Winston 500
Talladega Superspeedway
Sunday, May 1, 1988 

As I related earlier, while cruising the Talladega pits and seeing that lanky fellow in the black cowboy hat, seated by himself with a stopwatch in his hand, I eschewed any temerity and simply observed this man.

I reflected there weren't many men in this world that commanded the respect I had for Richard Petty.  That short list, headed of course by the Sergeant Major, certainly includes President Donald Trump.

1988 provided another member of that ultra-short list of Manly Men whom I respected the most: