Mid-Summer Fun Guide: New Egypt Speedway
Please note: This article is published as an archive copy from Philadelphia City Paper. My City Paper is not affiliated with Philadelphia City Paper. Philadelphia City Paper was an alternative weekly newspaper in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The last edition was published on October 8, 2015.
Every Saturday in the summer, deep in the Pine Barrens, the gates of hell open. Or at least, that's what it sounds like as you approach New Egypt Speedway, when what starts as faint humming becomes a fearful buzzing, like a chorus of chain saws gone haywire.
$20 | 45.6 miles/1 hour away | New Egypt Speedway, 720 County Rd. 539, New Egypt, N.J., 609-758-1900, newegyptspeedway.net.
Every Saturday in the summer, deep in the Pine Barrens, the gates of hell open. Or at least, that’s what it sounds like as you approach New Egypt Speedway, when what starts as faint humming becomes a fearful buzzing, like a chorus of chain saws gone haywire.
The dirt racetrack bills the gut-wrenching sound it produces as “thunder in the Pines,” and that’s not the end of the sensory assaults. As you walk closer to the entrance, the dirt kicked up by the cars climbs up your nostrils and down your throat. If it’s been an especially dry day, you will leave cloaked in dust. Gravel kicked up by the spinning wheels pings protective walls erected between the spectators and the track, but some stones find a way between the chain-link fence and will pummel you if you get too close.
Despite these deterrents, the 2,000-seat bleachers were packed when I visited in early July, although the crowd thinned out near the turns, where cars were most likely to spiral out of control. Most people had brought earplugs or acoustic earmuffs, but some unprepared parents covered their children’s ears with their hands. The man next to me seemed unfazed by the noise. He tossed back Busch beers he kept in a cooler decorated with stickers that read “Redneck and proud of it!” and “Kiss my rebel ass.”
It is impossible to have a conversation during a race, let alone hear the announcer’s commentary, so the crowd watched in silence, transfixed by the circling of modified stock cars that looked as if they were made of cardboard held together with gum. That made their ability to stay upright on turns even more impressive than their speed — although there were a few minor crashes that pleased the crowd. During an intermission, with the smell of cigarettes, gasoline and fried food hanging in the air, a voice in the stands said approvingly, “Good, clean fun. Done.”
