Category: Apparel

I wear my team gear way too much. That’s fine. It makes me happy. And this one? It’s the 2024 Oracle Red Bull Racing Team Hoodie (Castore). Navy blue. Big bull. Loud sponsors. I bought a Medium and paid a bit over a hundred bucks. Pricey, yes. But I wanted the real thing, not a knockoff with crooked logos.
If you’d like to eyeball the exact model I’m talking about, it’s up for grabs on the official Red Bull Shop.

If you’re the type who likes an even deeper dive—with sizing pics, weight on the scale, and every nit-picky spec—I broke all that out in my extended Red Bull Racing hoodie review.
If you're after more legit motorsport merch, swing by PDV Racing where they stock a solid lineup of authentic gear. And for the brand geeks: Castore has a slick rundown of the entire 2024 team range on their official journal that’s worth a skim.

How it fits on me

I’m 5'6" and about 145. The Medium fits snug in the shoulders and chest, with a straight body. It’s not boxy, not tight. Just clean. Sleeves run long and cover the top of my hands, which I like when it’s breezy. The hood sits close to my head and doesn’t have floppy strings. Good for track wind. Bad if you love the “big cozy hood” look.

If you’re between sizes, I’d go up one. I tried a Small in store and felt like a T-rex. Couldn’t lift my arms without the hem jumping.

Texture and fabric feel

Outside: smooth, almost slick, like most teamwear. Inside: soft brushed fleece. It’s warm without that swampy feel. I wore it over a tee on a 52-degree morning and felt fine. Below 45? You’ll want a jacket on top.

The logos are heat-pressed. They’re flat and shiny. They haven’t peeled for me, but I baby them. Cold wash. Inside out. Hang dry. If you blast them in a hot dryer, they’ll crinkle. I learned that the hard way with my old Aston Martin hoodie. Lesson stuck.

Real-life tests (not just the couch)

• COTA last fall: It handled that weird Texas wind in the main grandstand. I tucked my hands into the kangaroo pocket during the safety car. Felt warm enough, even after the sun dipped. A guy behind me yelled, “Checo!” and tossed me a thumbs-up. I smiled, then sipped my flat soda.
• Coffee run on a misty Tuesday: Hoodie under a denim jacket. No bulk. The cuff didn’t snag my watch, which sounds small, but hey, it matters at 7 a.m.
• Local kart track: I got a mustard drip from a hot dog on the lower pocket. Blotted it with club soda, then washed it when I got home. Stain gone. Small win.
• School pickup line: A dad asked, “Is that Max’s team?” I nodded. He said he’s Ferrari. We both laughed. Sports are funny like that.

For a broader comparison, I spent an entire autumn rotating through multiple pullovers and laid out the winners and losers in this roundup: I wore three racing hoodies all fall—here’s what actually worked.

The little things I liked

• The pocket is roomy. Phone, gloves, snack bar—no problem.
• Stitching looks clean. No weird threads.
• Colors pop in photos. The bull looks sharp and bold.
• It doesn’t shed fuzz on black jeans. My old hoodie did. I’m still salty about that.

What bugged me a bit

• The price hurt. This is not a budget hoodie.
• It runs a touch small in the shoulders. If you lift or have broad lats, you’ll feel it.
• The hood is shallow. When it got gusty at the track, I had to keep a cap on under it.
• No zip pocket. My keys slid out once when I slouched in the bleachers. That was a fun scramble.
• Sponsor logos are… a lot. I like them. My sister said I look like a billboard. She’s not wrong.

Warmth and weather talk

Think “spring game day” warm. Great for 50s and 60s. In light rain, the top beads water for a minute, then it soaks. I tossed a shell over it and was fine. It layers clean under a bomber or a denim jacket. Under a thick parka, it gets tight at the shoulders.

When temps dip into the low 40s, I swap in something heavier—usually the retro outer layer I covered in my real-life take on a vintage racing jacket.

Care tips that saved my hoodie

• Turn it inside out.
• Cold wash, gentle cycle.
• Skip the dryer. Hang it or lay it flat.
• Don’t iron the logos. Please don’t.
• Lint roller only; no harsh fabric shavers on the decals.

I’ve washed mine six times now. No peeling. No warping. The cuffs show tiny fuzz pills, but I snip them with small scissors. Quick fix.

Who it’s for (and who might pass)

• You love Red Bull Racing and wear your fandom on your sleeve.
• You want a polished look that still feels sporty.
• You’re okay with a slim, teamwear fit and a bold logo front and center.

If tees are more your jam than hoodies, check out my years-long notes on throwback tops: I’ve been wearing vintage racing shirts for years—here’s what’s real, what’s fun, and what’s fussy.

Skip it if you want a heavy, thick cotton hoodie. This one is lighter and more technical. Also skip if you hate sponsor logos or need zipper pockets for keys.

Before we jump to my final gripe, here’s a quick side path: if you ever want to meet up with local motorsport nuts to swap extra merch or plan a watch-party carpool, plenty of fans lean on classifieds-style personals sites such as Doublelist explained here where you can post locally, vet replies, and set up safe, face-to-face exchanges without the flaky social-media runaround. Speaking of off-grid meetups, a couple of Oregon track buddies sometimes road-trip south for a change of scenery and tap into the Cottage Grove swingers scene for laid-back lifestyle gatherings—the listings break down events, venues, and etiquette tips so you can line up an adults-only evening that dovetails neatly with a race-weekend itinerary.

One small gripe, then a praise lap

I wish they added a tiny zip stash pocket in the kangaroo. Just one. For keys or a card. That would make this thing near perfect for me. But you know what? Every time I wear it, at least one person nods or says something. That’s fun. Clothes can be a conversation starter. This one is.

Final lap: My verdict

I’ve tried plenty of team hoodies. Some feel cheap. Some look good but wear hot. This Red Bull Racing hoodie threads the needle. It looks sharp, fits clean, and works in real life. It’s not a furnace, but it’s comfy and easy. Pricey, yes. Real fan piece, also yes.

Would I buy it again? Yeah. I already reach for it more than my plain navy hoodie. And when I toss it on for race day, it just sets the tone. Lights out, and away we go.

I’ve daily driven my 2010 Lexus IS250 for years. It’s clean, comfy, and a bit sleepy. I wanted a little spark without ruining the Lexus feel. So I tried the RR Racing tune. You know what? It made my car feel awake. Not wild. Awake.
For authoritative information on the RR Racing ECU upgrade tune for the Lexus IS250, you can refer to RR Racing's official product page.

But let me explain.

My car, before the tune

• 2010 IS250, RWD, 6-speed auto
• 128,000 miles when I flashed it
• Stock cats and exhaust, just a drop-in filter
• 93 octane most of the time (I’m on the East Coast)

It ran fine. Smooth as ever. But the throttle felt lazy, and the car lugged around town. I had to dig deep into the pedal for simple passes. Kinda dull.

Ordering and install (the nervous part)

I paid $495 during a spring sale. I got the cable in the mail and an email with simple steps. I used my old ThinkPad, the OBD port, and a battery tender. Flash time took about 12 minutes.

While I sat staring at the progress bar inch across the screen, I needed something to occupy those long 12 minutes. If you find yourself looking for an off-beat distraction during a flash or any other waiting game, you might enjoy skimming this quick comparison of where to find the hottest live cam performers on the web at InstantChat’s blog — the article’s side-by-side breakdown can save you the hassle of trial-and-error and point you straight to the most popular platforms.

The steps felt slow and careful, like baking bread. Key on, read stock file, send it, get the tune file back, flash it, wait. I had one hiccup. My laptop tried to sleep mid-flash. I nearly had a heart attack. I turned sleep off, started again, and it worked. RR Racing support replied the same day when I asked about it.

After the flash, I did the idle relearn they suggest. A/C off, let it idle, then a calm drive. It felt a bit rough for the first few minutes. Then it settled. I put together a longer photo-heavy version of the whole flashing ritual in my step-by-step Lexus IS250 RR Racing tune write-up for anyone who wants a more granular look.

If you need a reliable source for cables, battery tenders, or any other DIY tuning essentials, take a look at PDV Racing – they stock the little bits that make a home flash go smoothly.

First drive: did it change my car?

Short answer: yes. Longer answer: it shifted how the car behaves in small, daily ways.

• Throttle: way sharper. The tip-in lag is mostly gone.
• Mid-range: stronger pull from about 2,500 to 5,000 rpm.
• Top end: it hangs on longer; the engine doesn’t give up early.
• Transmission (Sport mode): holds gears a touch longer, downshifts come sooner on hills, and it’s less shy.

The car still feels like a Lexus. It’s not loud. It’s not harsh. It’s just… eager. Dialing in the new rev range also had me thinking about shift points; this quick primer on how high you should rev before you shift lines up nicely with what I’m feeling on back-road pulls.

Real drives that sold me

• My exit ramp test: there’s a curved uphill merge near my grocery store. Before the tune, I’d press deep and wait. After the tune, the car leans in and climbs the revs fast. I hit the gap with less sweat.
• City crawl: gentle pedal now gets me rolling cleanly, without that weird stumble. No more “come on, go” feeling.
• Two-lane pass: 45 to 70 mph is the sweet spot. It used to feel stuck. Now it pulls in one smooth push, no hunting.
• Family ride: my brother asked if I got a new exhaust. Nope. It’s the same. The engine just sounds a bit more alive after 3k rpm.

If your weekend Lexus cruises ever steer you toward Connecticut’s picturesque town of Avon and you’re looking for some post-drive nightlife that’s a little more adventurous than the usual bar hop, the Avon Swingers resource offers a concise rundown of local clubs, upcoming events, and etiquette tips so you can skip the guesswork and dive straight into a memorable evening.

Numbers, not just feelings

I did a quick session at a local shop with a Mustang dyno. Baseline versus tuned, same day, 93 octane, same filter.

• Before: 171 whp
• After: 179 whp

Eight wheel horsepower isn’t a big headline. But in this car, it’s enough to change the mood. Plus, the area under the curve in the mid-range felt better. That’s where I live day to day.
Additionally, for a comprehensive review and dyno test results of the Lexus IS250 ECU tuning, you might find this article from Vivid Racing informative.

The incremental gains remind me of a recent track-night session I wrote up that focused on chassis feel over raw numbers—if that sort of nitty-gritty resonates with you, check out my hands-on Calvert Racing track-night story.

Fuel economy and noise

• MPG: about the same when I drive calm. On a long highway run, I saw 29.3 mpg, which is normal for me. If I play, it drops. Shocker, right?
• Sound: cold start is a bit more eager. Not loud, just more presence. Warm idle is still Lexus-quiet.

Small quirks I noticed

• First 30 miles after the flash felt a little “thinky.” The car was learning. It smoothed out fast.
• One time I ran 91 octane on a road trip in the mountains. I emailed support and they sent a 91 map. That helped.
• Emissions: I passed in New Jersey after about 120 miles of mixed driving. No CEL on my stock cats. If you run headers or high-flow cats, your story may change.

Support, the human part

I dealt with two people by email. Straight answers. Same-day replies. No fluff. When I sent my stock file, I got my tune back within a few hours. That matters, because flashing your car is stressful. I felt taken care of.

Pros and cons (straight up)

Pros:

• Snappier throttle and better mid-range pull
• Holds gears smarter in Sport
• Keeps the quiet, comfy Lexus vibe
• Easy flash at home, clear steps

Cons:

• Gains aren’t huge; don’t expect a race car
• First miles feel a bit odd while it relearns
• You need good fuel to get the most out of it
• Flashing always carries a little risk (so use a battery tender and a calm head)

Who should get it?

If you want sharper response, cleaner passes, and a bit more fun without turning the car into something it’s not, this fits. If you expect a night-and-day jump, you’ll be let down. It’s a nudge. A good one.

My verdict after three months

I’d buy it again. The tune made my IS250 feel like it took a deep breath and stood up straight. Morning coffee runs are quicker. On-ramps feel less dicey. And the car still rides smooth, which is why I love this thing in the first place.

Funny thing: I thought I’d miss the old lazy throttle on rainy days. I don’t. The pedal is easy to modulate. It’s not twitchy. It’s just honest.

So yes—RR Racing’s tune gave my 2010 IS250 a little soul back. Not fireworks. More like a strong cup of tea on a cold morning. And that’s enough for me.

Note: This is a creative, fictional first-person review written to read like a real day at the track.

First, the vibe

I showed up early, helmet in one hand, coffee in the other, and a TS Racing kart waiting on the stand. Clean welds. Tight fit on the bodywork. Simple, tough. The kart looked like it wanted to run. You know what? So did I.

They had me in a VLR 206 package. That’s a steel chassis built for Briggs LO206 racing. (New to the platform? Check out this detailed Briggs LO206 info sheet for specs and class rules.) The seat felt snug at first. Too snug. Then, after two sessions, I was glad it held me still. Funny how that works. I dive deeper into the build choices in my full weekend breakdown with TS Racing Karts.

Setup that made sense

We started basic:

• Tires: MG Reds, 12 psi cold, bumped to 14 for the sun
• Gearing: 17/65 for a tight course
• Front-end: neutral caster, a touch of toe-out (just a hair)
• Rear width: middle setting, then 5 mm wider after lunch

I’m not picky, but I do like a kart that tells the truth. This one did. Turn-in felt light but sure. If I missed the apex, it didn’t fight me. It just said, “Try again.” Brakes? Firm, no grab. I could trail brake a bit without drama.

First laps: nerves, then a grin

Out of the pits, the clutch bit clean. The LO206 isn’t loud or wild, but it pulls steady. I rolled into the gas, heard the engine hum, and felt the seat press on my ribs. In the long right, the rear stayed planted, not chattery. I clipped the curb, floated across the bump, and the kart forgave me. That’s big. Compared to rental-kart outings like my afternoon at K1 Speed in Torrance, the 206 package felt more alive yet just as approachable.

Lap times started at 42.1. By the third session, after a small rear-width change and one tooth up on the rear sprocket, I saw 40.8. It wasn’t magic. It was just a stable kart that liked a tidy line.

Little hiccups? Yeah, a few

• One seat bolt backed out after session two. My ribs ratted me out first. We added blue thread locker and a washer. No issues after.
• Chain slack grew fast in the heat. We nudged the motor back and slid the bumper in a touch. Quiet again.
• Throttle cable felt a bit gritty near full travel. A touch of lube helped. Next time, I’d pack a spare.

I thought the pedal position was perfect. Then my left ankle started to bark. So we moved the brake pedal one hole up. Small change, big relief.

What made me nod and smile

• The chassis talks. It doesn’t shout. If you overdrive, it pushes slow, not sudden.
• The LO206 package is low stress. Fuel, chain lube, tire pressure—that’s most of it.
• Spares were easy. I swapped rear hubs to slightly longer ones and felt just a hair more bite off the slow hairpin. It’s nice when changes make sense.

I also liked the steering wheel shape. Thick at 10 and 2, where my hands live. Small thing, but it matters.

Support and parts

The crew had the right stuff on hand—sprockets, hubs, seat stays, fuel line, even a spare clutch drum. For an even deeper catalog of spares and setup accessories, I often turn to PDV Racing, whose online shelves seem endless. If you need a brand-new LO206 engine out of the box, Krybaby Performance offers race-prepped packages worth a look. I asked for gearing advice and got a straight answer, not a shrug. “If it falls flat near the end, add a tooth.” It did. I did. It worked.

I’m also the kind of person who geeks out over any tool that makes real-time interaction smoother—at the track or online. Speaking of tech that brings people together, how adult video chat is changing online dating explores the newest ways live video platforms are reshaping digital connection; it’s a quick read that might just spark ideas for how you keep the camaraderie alive when you’re away from the circuit.

Comfort notes

I wore a rib vest, which I always do. The seat felt firm on the edges, so we added a thin pad for the left rib. Not fancy, just smart. I also wrapped the steering column with grip tape where my right hand grazed it on exit. No more hot spots. For anyone curious about lid choice, here’s my go-kart helmet story and what I learned along the way.

A quick example day

• Morning: 12 psi, 17/65, neutral front, mid rear. 42.1 best.
• Late morning: +5 mm rear width. 41.3. Smoother in the long right.
• After lunch heat: +1 tooth rear (to 66). 14 psi. 40.8. Cleaner drive off the hairpin.
• End of day: same setup, chain retensioned, seat bolt secured. Consistent 41.0–41.2. Felt steady, not sketchy.

Who it fits

• New club racers who want a kart that’s honest.
• Weekend laps folks who don’t want to wrench all day.
• Light to mid-size adults. Taller drivers may want longer pedals and maybe a different seat angle.

If you’re still shopping for your first rig, check out the karts I'd buy again after I personally tested a few options.

Stuff I’d tweak

• Include thread locker in the tool bag. Those seat bolts love to wiggle.
• A better chain guard would be nice. The basic one worked, but I’d want a wider one.
• Pre-drilled pedal extenders in the box would help taller folks.

Tips I’d share with a friend

• Start at 12 psi on MG Reds and go up as the track gets hot.
• If you’re flat too early down the straight, try one more rear tooth.
• Bring one spare chain, a cable, and two seat bolts with washers.
• Keep rear width small on cool days; widen a touch when the grip comes up.

Away from the circuit, a race weekend on the road often means scouting for a good meal, a cold drink, and sometimes a bit of after-hours social life. If your travels ever steer you toward South Georgia and you’re curious about meeting open-minded locals once the checker flag drops, the Thomasville swingers guide gives you an up-to-date look at venues, house-party etiquette, and event calendars so you can decide whether to add a different kind of thrill to your motorsport getaway.

Final word

Did it put a grin on my face? Yep. The TS Racing kart felt sturdy, predictable, and fast enough to make me chase one more lap. It didn’t punish small mistakes, but it still rewarded clean hands. That balance matters.

If you want a kart that lets you focus on driving, not drama, this one makes a solid case. It’s not flashy. It just works. And sometimes, that’s the secret sauce.

I’ve run barrels for a few years now. And yes, the saddle matters more than cute tack. If you’re still sorting through options, keep in mind Martha Josey’s emphasis on a deep seat and forward-hung stirrups—a quick primer worth skimming in this rundown of what to look for in a barrel saddle. I learned that the hard way, with sore hips and a sliding pad. You know what? The right saddle feels like a seat belt. The wrong one feels like a bar stool on ice.
For the full back-story on how I dialed in the rig that finally stuck me to the pocket, check out the deeper breakdown in My Barrel Racing Saddle: The One That Kept Me In The Turn.

Here’s the one I keep grabbing: my Double J Pozzi Pro barrel saddle, 14.5-inch seat, regular tree, roughout jockeys, suede seat. The deep-pocket design—highlighted in the Double J Pozzi Pro Barrel Saddle spec sheet—does exactly what I need when I knife into a turn. I also spent a full season on a Circle Y Josey.
That long stretch reminded me of the year I spent chasing big-track action—much like the journey captured in I Spent a Season Following John Stewart in Horse Racing—Here’s How It Felt. I can tell you how each one behaved when it got real. Because it did. More than once.

My setup (because little stuff counts)

• Mare: Willow, 14.3-hand Quarter Horse, catty and quick.
• Gelding: Blue, 15-hand, bigger shoulder, longer back.
• Cinch: 28-inch mohair.
• Rigging: 7/8.
• Pad: 3/4-inch wool felt (5 Star).
• Stirrups: aluminum with rubber tread.
• Back cinch: snug but not tight.

This is the stuff no one brags about on Instagram. But it makes or breaks your run.

First ride feel

The Pozzi seat has a sweet pocket. Not too deep. Not flat. The cantle holds you when you sit, but it doesn’t trap you. The fenders hang a bit forward, so my feet found the stirrups fast. I liked the horn height for my free hand. I could grab and go without jamming my wrist.

On Willow, the tree cleared her withers. No pinches. No white hairs later. The saddle didn’t rock much. The pad stayed put in hard turns. I still checked my cinch like a nervous mom, but it held.

The leather broke in by week two. The roughout gave me grip without chewing up my jeans. It squeaked a little at first. A drop of oil fixed it.

Real runs that told me the truth

• Friday night jackpot, fresh drag, deep dirt. I spotted my first barrel late (my bad), and Willow still snapped it. I felt the seat catch me in the pocket. No sliding. My time dropped four tenths from the week before, with the same pattern and a clean track. I didn’t ride better. I rode safer.

• County fair arena, hot and slick, second barrel got wide. I reached for the horn. My hand stuck just enough. No overreach. We left the barrel up. That horn angle saved me from a classic tip.

• Fun run on Blue, the gelding. He’s thick in the shoulder. The regular tree was a hair snug on him. He sweated heavy around the front. After three runs, I saw a dry spot high on the left. Not great. I swapped to a thinner pad next time. Better, but still not perfect. Blue liked the Circle Y Josey tree more.

What I loved

• Grip without glue. Roughout + suede seat = steady.
• Forward stirrups. I could stand and sit quick.
• Pocket that holds, but lets me move.
• Light enough to throw on alone. Mine’s about 25 pounds.
• Clean skirts. No weird bulk under my leg.

What bugged me

• Price. Mine was used and still spendy.
• Stirrup leathers stretched uneven after a month. Not a ton. I had to punch a new hole on one side.
• Conchos backed out once. Blue Loctite fixed it.
• On slow trail days, the seat felt narrow on my hips after an hour. It’s a barrel saddle, not a couch.

The Circle Y Josey side story

I ran the Josey for a season. It held me tight in the turns. Great for a green horse that drops a shoulder. The seat felt deeper. The fenders were stiffer and took longer to break in. My knees talked to me after a long day. Also, it weighed a bit more than the Pozzi. On Blue, the Josey fit better. On Willow, the Pozzi won by a mile.

Funny bit: the Josey’s rubber stirrup tread was so grippy that I had trouble resetting my feet mid-run. Great until it’s not. I swapped to a smoother tread and it was fine.

Fit talk (the not-so-fun part that matters)

• Willow (short back, medium withers): Pozzi regular tree + 3/4-inch pad was money. Even sweat marks. No saddle roll.
• Blue (wider shoulder): Needed a wider tree. The thinner pad “worked,” but it wasn’t fair to him for a full series.

Let me explain. You can’t pad your way out of a tree that’s too narrow. Check sweat patterns. Feel for hot spots. Your horse will tell you, even if you wish it would just fit.
If you’re curious how other corners of the industry wrestle with “fit” and perspective, my seat-level look at a recent rule change in I Tried Historical Horse Racing—Here’s How Louisiana’s Ruling Felt From My Seat offers a different—but surprisingly relatable—angle.

Hauling to new arenas sometimes throws curveballs you don't see coming. When I trucked the rig all the way to a clinic near Lille, France, I needed a fast way to link up with locals who could point me toward reliable overnight stabling and a decent warm-up pen. I fired up PlanCul Lille and within an hour I had messages from area riders offering spare stalls, feed-store directions, and even a dinner invite—local know-how that saved me hours of wandering and let me focus on keeping my horse fresh for the next run.

Likewise, when our circuit rolled into Chico, California for a Labor Day jackpot, some of the trailer-parked crew wanted a laid-back way to unwind once the time-onlys wrapped. They pointed me toward this guide to Chico swingers—a quick browse lists upcoming meet-ups, venue reviews, and etiquette tips so you can gauge the social vibe and decide if it’s a fit before you ever unhook the trailer.

Little quirks and care

I oil the seat and fenders light. Not soaked. I wipe dirt off the skirts with a damp cloth. One day, the horn cap rubbed my glove and left a tiny blister. Only once. My fix? A strip of athletic tape for the weekend. Classy? Nope. Smart? Yup.

When weather keeps me out of the arena, I still feed the competitive itch by breaking out a tabletop diversion that scratches the racing itch—I Rolled My Way Through a Horse Racing Dice Game has become the go-to in our trailer tack room.

The back cinch billets stretched a hair after two wet shows. I re-holed them and let them dry slow. No sun bake.

Times and feel

My average in our local 2D sat around 16.9 on the old saddle. With the Pozzi, most runs fell at 16.5–16.6 when I kept my head on straight. Some of that was me. Some was Willow growing up. But here’s the thing: I didn’t fight my seat anymore. I could ask for more speed without bracing my legs. That’s worth real time.

Who this saddle fits (and who it doesn’t)

• Great for riders who like a steady pocket, quick feet, and a horn you can trust.
• Nice for shorter-backed horses.
• If you’ve got wide shoulders or a big, flat back horse, try a wide tree. Or test a Josey tree. Your horse will thank you.

For me: I’m 5'5", about 135 pounds, and a 14.5-inch seat sits right. Shorter legs? Get pre-turned fenders or twist them. Your knees will be happier.

Value talk

New price can sting. Used ones hold value. I sold the Josey for close to what I paid. The Pozzi cost more, but I haven’t wanted to sell it once. That says a lot. If you need a sanity check on current prices—or want to compare the latest

I race most weekends, small track life. I fix sandwiches in the pits, then I strap in and stare at one thing—the tree. Those lights feel like a heartbeat. They make me calm and jumpy at the same time. Wild, right?

If you want the expanded version of how those bulbs mess with your head, I unpack it step-by-step in this full tree breakdown.

Here’s what I’ve used and what actually helped me cut a light without going red.

What I ran, no fluff

• Track trees: I see RaceAmerica LED trees at our club nights. I’ve also run on an old bulb tree at a tiny strip two towns over.
• At home: I own a Portatree Pocket Practice Tree. My buddy lent me his Portatree Mini Pro set with a foot switch for a month.

So I’ve hit both real track gear and garage gear. More than once. In heat, in wind, and under those buzzing lights at midnight.

Setup and first feel

The RaceAmerica LED tree at the track is bright. Like “you can see it in July sun” bright. No warm-up. No hum. Clean staging bulbs. The older glass bulb tree at the small strip? Warm, a little dim, and the yellow can look washed at noon. I had to squint. At night it’s fine, but in the sun I missed a bulb once when a cloud shifted.

At home, the Portatree Pocket Practice Tree is simple. It runs on a 9V battery. I plug in a hand button or a foot switch. I put it on a shelf at eye level. Done. The Mini Pro has its own little face and a foot pedal. It feels closer to a transbrake button than tapping a phone screen, and that matters. My thumb learns a rhythm. My foot learns it too.

Real laps, real numbers

Let me give you the good and the ugly:

• Sportsman Tree (.500): My first night on the LED track tree, I was a .120, then a .095, then a .071. After two weeks of practice at home (10-minute sets), I lived around .058 to .066. Best was a .017. I wanted to frame it.
• Pro Tree (.400): First time, I went red at -.023. My heart sank. I adjusted rollout on the practice tree and got to a safe .416 to .430 range by the next race. One final, one runner-up. Not bad for me.
• Deep staging: On the bulb tree, I tried a soft deep stage. It shaved about .02 off my light, but it made me twitchy. I got a .498 then a red -.006. That told me I was rushing the hit. Backed out, fixed it.
• Sun glare: Midday, old bulbs made the second amber hard to read. I got a sloppy .168. That same week at night, same lane, I ran a .041. So yeah—brightness matters more than folks admit.

Features that actually helped me

• Switch between Sportsman and Pro: Sounds basic, but flipping quick keeps my brain loose. The Portatree makes it easy. The track LED tree does too.
• Rollout settings: Huge. My car has a tiny delay off the button. I set rollout on the practice unit, and my home times matched my track times within .01 to .02. That built trust.
• Audible beep on start: I turned it off. It made me jumpy. But my friend uses the beep to train focus with earplugs on. Different brains, same goal.
• Staging bulb clarity: Clean pre-stage and stage lights mean less guesswork. The LED tree wins here. No flicker, no glare bloom.

That same focus drill even translated when I took a break and ran 1/10-scale machines—here’s the crazy weekend where I drag-raced RC cars and tracked what really worked.

Stuff that bugged me

• The Portatree Pocket battery door pops loose if you fumble it. Tape helps. Silly fix, but it works.
• The Mini Pro foot pedal feels a bit soft. I prefer a stiff button. I like a click I can feel.
• The old bulb tree at our small track can look greenish in sun. It messes with your eyes and your timing.
• Phone practice apps? Fine for a flight or a hotel room. But thumb screens lie. Real buttons teach better.

Build and grit

• RaceAmerica LED track tree: Solid base, clean lenses, easy to see from both lanes. We had a crosswind and dust. No problem. It just works.
• Portatree Pocket: Light, rides in my glove box. I brought it to work and used it at lunch. Might look nerdy. Worth it.
• Portatree Mini Pro: Heavier than the Pocket, steady on a bench. Foot switch cord is long enough. I wrapped it once so I wouldn’t trip.

The importance of sturdy gear really hit home during my own track-night suspension test session—this Calvert Racing hands-on story shows how much a solid setup can calm your launch.

Who should use what?

• New racer on a budget: Grab the Portatree Pocket. Pair it with a cheap hand button. Practice three sets a day, five days straight. You’ll feel it.
• Bracket regular, Pro Tree nights: The Mini Pro is better. You can tune rollout and pacing. It mimics a real hit even with gloves on.
• Track owners or clubs: LED tree, no question. Easy to see in the sun. Fewer arguments at the line. Fewer red faces… other than mine.

Little tips that made me faster

• Lower the unit to your exact eye line. Don’t crane your neck.
• Practice at odd times. I did sets at 6 a.m. and 10 p.m. It trained me to focus when I felt tired.
• Try a calm blink before you bump in. Sounds weird. It reset my eyes.
• For Pro Tree, count “one thousand” fast once and hit. It sets a rhythm. Then stop counting—feel it.

Money talk, quick

• Pocket Practice Tree: usually around a couple hundred bucks. Worth it if you race more than once a month.
• Mini Pro set: a bit more, but it feels closer to real.
• Full LED track tree: pricey and not a home toy. That’s for tracks or clubs.

For a fuller breakdown of tree gear, pricing, and pro-level tips, swing by PDV Racing and browse their deep catalog.

Final verdict

Did these trees make me faster? Yep. More steady too. The RaceAmerica LED tree at the track gave me clean, fair looks. The Portatree gear at home took my .120 lights and nudged them into the .050s. On a good night, I flirt with teens. On a bad night, I stay safe and don’t go red. That’s a win.

Would I buy the Pocket Practice Tree again? Yes. I use it more than my torque wrench. Would I run a full LED tree at every track if I could? Also yes. My eyes say thank you.

You know what? The tree doesn’t care who you are. It blinks, and you move. These tools just help you meet that blink with calm hands.

Confidence isn’t just a race-day asset—it’s a life thing. If you want a cheeky, off-track reminder of what it looks like when someone unapologetically puts everything on display, check out cette courte séquence “Je montre mes seins” for a bold lesson in owning the moment and embracing full-send attitude wherever you are.

After a long Saturday of time slips, some racers still have gas in the tank for a different kind of night run. If you’re cruising near the Bay Area’s strips and want to swap burnouts for bold social connections, swing through the local alternative nightlife guide at Alameda swingers where you’ll find party calendars, venue reviews, and etiquette tips to help you stage perfectly before you even walk through the door.

Fast takeaways

• LED track trees are easier to read in sun and wind.
• Portatree practice units match real timing if you set rollout right.
• Buttons beat phone screens for training your thumb.
• Bright, steady bulbs = fewer “what just happened?” moments.

If you’re chasing a clean light and fewer reds, spend on the tree before you chase power. Weird advice, I know. But it paid for my entry fees more than once.

I’ve run a set of Volk Racing GT-V wheels in 19×8.5 on my own car. I bought them used. Mercury Silver finish. A few nicks. Clean faces though. I was nervous about the weight, so I put them on a scale before anything else. You know what? They’re lighter than they look.

For anyone hunting factory literature, the archived spec sheet for the GT-V can still be found on the Upgrade Motoring site.

If you want every last measurement and photo of the weigh-in session, my detailed GT-V write-up lives over on PDV Racing.

My setup (so you know the context)

• Car: 2010 Infiniti G37S Coupe (5×114.3)
• Square setup: 19×8.5 all around
• Offset: +35
• Tires: Michelin Pilot Sport 4S in 245/35R19
• Extras: metal valve stems, Volk center caps, aluminum hub rings (73.1 to 66.1)

Small side note: I set toe and camber mild for street comfort. Nothing too wild. Fall weather, around 60°F, so the tires were not super sticky at first.

The scale story (real numbers)

I used two scales at home:

• Accuteck ShipPro digital shipping scale
• A basic bathroom scale as a cross-check (just me holding the wheel, then subtract my weight)

Here’s what I got for the bare wheels:

• Lightest GT-V 19×8.5: 21.8 lb
• Heaviest GT-V 19×8.5: 22.1 lb
• Average: 22.0 lb

Notes:

• Those numbers include the valve stem and center cap.
• Without the cap, each wheel was right at 21.6–21.8 lb.
• My aluminum hub ring adds about 0.1 lb, but that stays on the car.

For a fair compare, I weighed my stock G37S front wheel (19×8.5 cast). It was 29.1 lb with the cap. So I dropped about 7.1 lb per corner on the fronts, and about the same on the rears since I went square.

Likewise, for readers exploring ultra-lightweight drag-oriented options, my hands-on review of Bogart Racing wheels shows how a forged 17-inch setup compares on the scales.

Now the full setup with tires:

• GT-V + PS4S 245/35R19: 46.2–46.6 lb each (my tires weighed 24.2–24.6 lb)
• Old wheel + old tire: 54–55 lb each (my old tires were heavier by about a pound)

So total rolling weight saved was about 8–9 lb per corner for me. That’s not small. That’s the kind of cut you can feel. For anyone cross-shopping other wheel models and sizes, PDV Racing keeps a constantly updated database of real-world weights that makes side-by-side comparisons easy. You can also browse the broader Wheel Flip weight database to see numbers submitted by enthusiasts across dozens of brands.

How it felt on the road

First drive, I said “oh.” The steering felt light, but not twitchy. Turn-in was sharper. It held a line without fuss. Over bumps, the front end didn’t crash as much. It kind of skipped less and settled faster. That’s the un-sprung stuff at work—less weight bouncing up and down.

Off a stop, the car pulled a bit cleaner. Not night and day, but enough that I noticed right away. Parking-lot speeds were nicer too. You can feel it in your hands. It’s like your wrists got a break.

Brakes? A touch more bite at the start of the pedal. That makes sense, since there’s less stuff to slow down. On the highway, no weird shake. I checked runout by eye while spinning them on the balancer. Looked true.

A small tangent that matters

I balanced these with stick-on weights behind the spokes. The finish is smooth, so use clean alcohol wipes before the weights. Otherwise, they slide. Ask me how I know. I had to redo one rear. Annoying, but fixable.

The looks vs. the weight

Funny thing. The GT-V looks chunky and bold in photos. In person, the spoke shape is lean. The wheel isn’t as heavy as the face suggests. That’s a nice trick. I like the way the lip catches light at dusk. My neighbor thought they were heavier than stock. He lifted one and laughed.

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Real-world notes and quirks

• Center caps: add a couple of ounces each. I weighed them because I’m that person.
• Hardware: metal stems weigh more than rubber ones, but not by much.
• Finish: my Mercury Silver hides brake dust well. Chips? I’ve got a tiny nick from a socket slip. You’ll want a snug socket and tape on the walls.
• Torque: I stuck with 80 ft-lb on my lugs (Infiniti spec). Rechecked after 50 miles. All good.
• Clearance: Plenty for my factory Akebonos. If you run massive brakes, measure, but this face clears a lot.

If you’re curious how a tougher, budget-minded steel wheel survives actual dirt-track abuse, have a look at the season-long Bassett Racing story.

What the weight change did for me

• Steering: quicker and lighter, but steady on-center
• Ride: less hop over broken city streets
• Accel: feels a hair snappier in first and second
• Braking: a bit more eager at the top of the pedal
• MPG: up about 0.5 on my same route (could be traffic too, but it stuck for two weeks)

Who will love this

• Folks who care about feel more than crazy stretch or show fitment
• Daily drivers who want a real weight drop without going to a tiny wheel
• Weekend track folks who still want a nice face and easy-to-clean spokes

The good and the not-so-good

Pros:

• My set weighed around 22 lb per wheel in 19×8.5—light for a 19
• Real, seat-of-the-pants change in steering and ride
• Strong and straight, balanced easy
• Design holds up; it looks fast without trying too hard

Cons:

• Hard to find clean sets now; they’re not new on shelves
• Finish can chip if you’re sloppy with sockets (guilty)
• Center caps aren’t cheap if you lose one
• If you want the absolute lightest 19 on earth, there are a few rarer wheels that weigh a bit less

My bottom line

If you’re hunting for the weight of the Volk Racing GT-V in 19×8.5, here’s my plain answer: mine came in right around 22 lb each, give or take a few ounces with caps and stems. On my G37S, that cut about 7–9 lb per corner compared to stock. And yes, I felt it every day.

Would I buy them again? Yep. They made my car feel awake, but still calm. And when the sun hits that lip in the late afternoon, I kind of just stand there and stare. Silly? Maybe. Worth it? For me, totally.

I’m Kayla, and yes, I really went for it. I typed “barrel racing lessons near me,” called around, showed up with my goofy bay gelding, and got dust in my teeth. Worth it. Let me tell you what worked, what didn’t, and why I’m still grinning like a kid.

I live in North Texas, so there are barns everywhere. But even here, finding the right fit took a few tries.

Where I Started (and why my stomach did flips)

I hadn’t run barrels since high school. My gelding, Rio, is kind and a little spicy. He’s more whoa than go. I wanted control, not chaos. I also wanted to feel brave again. That part was harder to say out loud.

So I booked three things:

• A weekly private lesson with a local trainer
• A one-day clinic at the county fairgrounds
• A couple of low-key jackpot nights with our local NBHA district

Three lanes. Three very different vibes.

The Private Lessons: Quiet arena, bright lights, real progress

My trainer (I’ll call her Megan) runs a clean place with good ground and poles set straight. She’s a former 1D rider (that’s the top division). Calm voice. Sharp eye. No drama.

Real drills we did:

• Pocket cones: We set small cones out from each barrel. I learned to ride to the pocket, not the drum. Sounds simple. It’s not.
• Rate at the rib: She had me breathe out and sit two strides before the turn. Who knew a breath could slow a horse?
• Square drill: We used a square to fix my shoulders. No leaning. No diving. Just balance.
• Fence arcs: We practiced half-moon shapes along the fence so Rio would pick up his shoulder.

Gear notes:

• Helmet: Troxel. I wear it. No shame.
• Boots: Classic Equine Legacy. They stayed put in the lope.
• Bit: Josey “Million Dollar” bit. Rio liked it better than my old short shank.
• Saddle: My Martin barrel saddle fit, but we did add a felt pad shim on the left (I share the full breakdown of the barrel saddle that kept me in the turn here).

Numbers don’t lie:

• Week 1 exhibition time on a small pattern: 19.3
• Week 4: 18.1
• Week 7: 17.6, clean and even

Not blazing, but clean. Clean felt like magic.

What I loved:

• Clear fixes I could feel right away
• Simple homework: walk the pattern, then trot circles till it feels like butter
• Haul-in fee was fair, and the arena lights actually worked

What bugged me a bit:

• If it rained, the outdoor was closed, so we rescheduled
• She ran tight on time; I learned to tack early and be ready

Price I paid:

• $75 per hour lesson
• $10 haul-in fee

The Clinic: One day, big brain dump

The fairgrounds clinic was a whirlwind. About 12 riders. Good hands. Good eyes. We split into small groups by level.

What we worked on:

• Hands low, eyes up, inside leg steady
• First barrel approach, because that’s where I was getting late and wide
• Short spurts of speed, then rate, then leave the barrel like you mean it

They also checked tack. Saddle fit. Bit pressure. Even my breast collar was moved up a hole. Small things that made Rio relax.

What I loved:

• I took home a page of notes and three drills I still use
• A volunteer reset the barrels so the pattern stayed true

What I didn’t love:

• Fast pace; not much one-on-one
• No shade for horses; I brought extra water and a fly sheet

Price I paid:

• $200 for the day
• $15 stall fee with one bag of shavings

Jackpot Nights: Nerves, dust, and happy tears

I ran two local NBHA jackpots. Nothing fancy. Good people. You can feel the buzz when the timer beeps.

My results:

• Night 1: 18.4, 4D money by a hair
• Night 2: 17.8, nudged into 3D and missed a check by two spots

What I learned:

• Warm up longer than you think. A slow jog with bend made our first barrel safer.
• Exhibition runs matter. I paid $5 to trot the pattern and breathe.
• Ground changes. I switched to a deeper rim shoe after seeing Rio slip a little in the back.

Costs:

• $35 per run
• $5 per exhibition
• $7 office fee

You know what? Hearing my name on the speaker again felt brave. I got goosebumps. I’m not ashamed of that.

The Good, The Meh, The Real

The good:

• My seat got quiet; my hands got softer
• Rio started hunting the first barrel like he knew his job
• I shaved real time, not just “it felt faster” time

The meh:

• Windy nights made him spooky
• Rain messed with my schedule
• My thighs complained for two days after the clinic (worth it)

The real:

• This sport will humble you. One late cue, and you’re wide. Or worse, you hit a barrel. I tapped one. It rolled. I laughed and learned.

What Actually Worked For Me

• Slow work, a lot of it: Walk the whole pattern. Then jog it. Then lope. Don’t rush the turn.
• Count strides to rate: “One-two—sit—look—ride.”
• Lay down pocket cones: They saved me from cutting in.
• Video every run: I saw things I didn’t feel (like my inside hand creeping up).
• Protect his legs: Boots every ride, ice boots after jackpot nights if the ground was deep.

Hidden Stuff People Don’t Always Say

• Saddle fit changed as Rio muscled up. We punched new holes. My pad setup changed. That’s normal.
• Hooves matter. Fresh trim and good shoes made more difference than a new bit.
• Fitness is huge. For me too. Planks, a few squats, and walking stairs helped my balance in the turn.
• Shadow a pro if you can; spending a season following veteran trainer John Stewart opened my eyes to track strategy (full story).

One more sneaky challenge is the full-on “woolly mammoth” coat many horses grow when the weather turns. Clipping lines, shedding tools, and sweat management can get overwhelming, so I popped into an active grooming chat at InstantChat where riders crowd-source real-time hacks for keeping performance horses sleek, cool, and ready to shave seconds off the pattern.

If You’re Searching “Near Me,” Here’s How I Found Good Help

• Ask your local NBHA district who’s teaching beginners and who’s great with “hot” horses, or lazy ones like Rio.
• Check Facebook groups for your area. Look for videos, not just pretty flyers.
• Call boarding barns. Many know a quiet coach who doesn’t advertise.
• Go watch first. You’ll feel if it’s your crowd.
• Try one private lesson before a full clinic. Less stress. More feedback.

While barrel racers love swapping tips in tack rooms and Facebook groups, I’ve learned that every passion-based community has its own go-to directories. If you ever find yourself passing through the Netherlands and want to see how another tight-knit crowd organizes meet-ups and events, take a peek at the Holland swingers scene—you’ll find venue reviews, etiquette guides, and practical advice on connecting safely with like-minded, adventure-seeking adults.

For an online hub that lists clinics, jackpots, and gear reviews all in one place, I’ve bookmarked PDV Racing and check it whenever I need fresh barrel-racing intel. I also keep an eye on Lady A Horse for honest, rider-tested gear reviews.

Safety Stuff I Actually Use

• Helmet, always. I’ve got kids. I like my brain.
• Walk the pattern first. Every new arena has surprises.
• If your horse stumbles, check feet and the ground before you blame attitude.

What I’d Change Next Time

I waited too long to fix my stirrup length. I also changed my inside spur to a bumper, not a rowel. Rio thanked me with smoother turns. Funny how small things add up.

Final Take

Was it worth it? Yes. I got faster, but more than that, I got brave again. I’m still not a rocket. That’s fine. Clean, calm, and a little faster each month feels good.

Would I book the same lessons again? Yep. Private lessons for skill, a clinic for fresh eyes, and jackpots for guts. That trio worked.

If you’re on the fence, start small. Trot the pattern. Count your strides. Breathe out. Then smile when your horse snaps that second barrel like he owns it. I did. And I

I dusted off my old teal DS and slid in my Mario Kart DS cart. Then, for testing, I also used a legal backup of my own USA copy. Same game, same chaos. You know what? It still pops. Even with that little hinge squeak and my R button sticking now and then, the game runs smooth and fast. I even brushed up on a more comprehensive hands-on overview that echoed my own blue-shell highs and wipeout lows over on PDV Racing. For a quick refresher on how the critics felt back in 2005, the game still sits at an impressive score on Metacritic.

Let me explain how it felt, what worked, and where it punched me in the gut (blue shell, I’m looking at you).

The feel in my hands

It’s the D-pad era, so drifting uses the shoulder and little zigzag taps. After 30 minutes, my left thumb had a dent. I could still hear the click-click-click of snaking down a straight line. I’m not proud, but I did it. My kid heard me mutter, “One more lap,” like twenty times.

• R to hop and drift felt sharp.
• Steering is tight, but the D-pad can feel stiff.
• Mini-turbo sparks come quick if you wiggle just right.

One night I tried to snake through Figure-8 Circuit. I nailed five boosts in a row, then hit a stray banana at the finish. I laughed, then I groaned, then I laughed again. That’s Mario Kart.

Tracks that still sing

The USA version gives you all the same courses. The text is in English, and nothing feels cut or weird. And wow, some tracks still hit hard:

• Waluigi Pinball: Bright lights, casino bounce, and a pinball that scares me every time.
• Delfino Square: Tight streets and a sneaky shortcut over the crates.
• Airship Fortress: Cannons, rocky walls, and windy ramps that feel brave and dumb.
• Luigi’s Mansion: Moody turns and wet dirt that slides just a bit.

If you want to see how real kart racers tackle tight corners and hunt for speed boosts, PDV Racing keeps an excellent library of track breakdowns that lines up surprisingly well with Mario’s more chaotic circuits.

And the Retro Cups? Nostalgia lane. You get old tracks from the SNES, N64, GBA, and GameCube. I took my nephew to Moo Moo Farm (N64), and he said, “Why is it so bumpy?” I said, “Respect your elders.” For further old-school kicks, I also revisited some SNES-era mayhem by testing a pile of cheat codes in Rock 'n Roll Racing—turns out a few still work wonders when you need extra nitro (full results here).

Mission Mode is the secret sauce

Here’s the thing: the missions make this game feel fresh. It’s not just racing laps. You:

• Drift through gates in order.
• Burst item boxes under a time limit.
• Race a rival one-on-one.
• Gather coins and keep them safe.
• Face a big foe in a “boss” run at the end of a set.

I chased a star rank on a drift mission and kept missing the last gate. Three tries later, I finally slid through with a squeak of the R button and a happy yelp. Quick, bite-size, and oddly tough.

Items and tiny heartbreaks

If you’ve ever stared at a puzzle trying to remember the exact phrase for a “Mario racing vehicle” in a crossword, someone finally broke it down in a fun little explainer over on PDV Racing. Now, back to the bruises and boosts:

• Blue shell: still a mood. I got hit right before the line on Desert Hills. My heart sank.
• Triple red shells: saved me in Peach Gardens, where the paths twist past those hedges.
• Banana peel: the best friend I ignore until a red shell is coming. Then I love it.
• Lightning: great when you’re behind, but it always zaps me mid-jump on DK Pass. Mean.

A small win: I once dodged a red shell by dragging a banana and then cut the corner on Delfino Square. Felt like a magic trick. Probably looked messy. Don’t care.

Local play, big smiles

Online is gone now, which is a bummer. But local play still rocks. We set up four DS systems in my living room. My cousin didn’t own the game, so he joined through Download Play and raced as Shy Guy (that’s the default for guests). He whooped me on Yoshi Circuit. Then we did Balloon Battle and had to blow into the DS mic to inflate balloons. Yes, blowing into the mic looks silly. Yes, someone laughed so hard they fell off the couch.

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Performance notes without the fluff

• It runs smooth in single player. Never felt choppy.
• Sound is thin but catchy. The Waluigi Pinball music lives in my head now.
• Load times are short. I reset races a lot, and it didn’t bug me.
• The kart stats screen is clear. Speed, handling, and drift feel honest.

Back in the day, GameSpot’s review zeroed in on the same silky frame rate and addicting multiplayer, so it’s nice to see those strengths still shine nearly two decades later.

Real moments that stuck

• I used Toad with the Mushmellow on Cheep Cheep Beach. Light, twitchy, and perfect for tight cuts by the water. Won by half a second.
• I tried Bowser’s heavy setup on Tick-Tock Clock. Bad plan. I scraped every wall and ended third. Switched to a mid-weight kart and felt way better.
• I chased my Time Trial ghost on Wario Stadium. Missed a boost pad, lost by 0.22 seconds, and yelled “Nooooo” loud enough to scare my cat. She blinked and left. Fair.

Good, less good, and what I wish was different

What I like

• The tracks are clever, and they teach you better driving without shouting.
• Mission Mode gives quick goals when you don’t want a full cup.
• Local play is easy and wild. Shy Guy guests make it simple.
• Snaking is there if you want depth. Or ignore it. Your call.

What bugged me

• Blue shells pile up. It’s part of the fun, but also… not fun.
• D-pad fatigue is real. My thumb needed a break.
• Some tracks feel narrow, so one mistake can wreck a lap.
• Online is gone, so you need friends nearby for big chaos.

About the “USA ROM” thing

I tested with my own USA cart and a legal backup. That gave me English menus and the same full set of content. DS systems aren’t picky about regions, so it all felt standard. I won’t tell you how to get a file, but I’ll say this: my backup matched my cart, and it played smooth and clean.

Who will love it most

• Kids who like bright tracks and silly items.
• Families who want four DS systems screaming on the floor.
• Speed fans who want to master drift timing and maybe snake a little.
• Anyone who misses older tracks and wants a tight, clean kart game.

My verdict, plain and simple

Mario Kart DS (USA) still slaps. It’s fast, bright, and fair enough, even when it isn’t. I got mad at a blue shell, blew into a mic like a dork, and cheered on a perfect drift line. I felt ten years younger for a minute. That’s worth a sore thumb.

If you’ve got a DS and a little time, grab your cart, pick Waluigi Pinball, and let it roll. And hey, if you lose on the last turn, same here. Wanna race again? I already pressed Start.

I’ll be honest. I used to guess on fuel. I’d splash some in, cross my fingers, and hope the car didn’t cough in a long right-hander. Then I bought a fuel scale. That little square pad changed my pit routine more than new pads or fancy tape ever did. (Here’s the full story of my first race weekend with the scale if you want the nitty-gritty.)

What I Used, Where I Used It

I race a Spec Miata in club events. Small team. Big cooler. Simple plan.

• My main unit: Intercomp digital fuel scale, 0–70 lb capacity. Big, flat, backlit screen. Runs on a 9V.
• A buddy loaned me a Longacre fuel scale at Road Atlanta. Similar size, same idea. That one had a nicer rubber pad.

Both work the same way. You set the jug on the pad, hit zero, and the scale tells you the weight of the fuel you add or burn. No math drama. No guesswork.

After juggling a few containers over the years, I eventually put the VP Racing fuel jug through its own torture test and was pleasantly surprised by how much cleaner the pours felt.

First Weekend It Paid Off

Buttonwillow, CW13. Hot as toast. I’d been cutting it close with fuel and getting tiny stumbles in Riverside when the tank was low. Not full-on fuel cut. Just a hiccup. Enough to make me lift.

On Saturday, I started with 4.0 gallons. I knew my gas weighs about 6.1 lb per gallon. So 4.0 gallons is about 24.4 lb. I wrote that on tape and stuck it on the jug.

• 20-minute practice: burned 1.8 gallons. The scale said I used about 11 lb. My notes said that matched 1.8 gallons. Nice and clean.
• 25-minute qual: burned about 2.1 gallons. Still smooth. No coughs.
• Race: I planned to finish with around 0.8–1.0 gallon in the tank, because that keeps my car happy in long rights.

I added fuel based on the exact burn. Not a guess. I crossed the line with about 0.9 gallon left. Felt light. No stumble. My lap delta dropped a tick. It wasn’t magic. But it was a real, calm change.

You know what? That calm matters.

Road Atlanta Was Even Clearer

Different track. Longer pulls. A lot more load.

I used a borrowed Longacre scale and tracked two sessions:

• 25-minute practice: 2.4 gallons burned.
• 20-minute qual: 1.9 gallons burned.

The scale’s “hold” button saved me when the paddock was busy and the jug wiggled. I ended up adding 2.2 gallons for the race and finished with roughly 0.7 gallon left. No starve through T12, which had bit me once last fall when I eyeballed it. Lesson learned. The weigh-in beat my gut feel by miles.

How I Use It Without Overthinking

Here’s the simple loop that stuck:

• Put empty jug on the scale. Hit zero.
• Pour in the fuel you want. The number on the screen is fuel weight.
• I use 6.1 lb per gallon for pump gas. E85 runs heavier for me, closer to 6.6 lb per gallon.
• After a session, I set the jug back on the pad and see what I burned. Then I write that down. That’s it.

I made a small “burn chart” on tape:

• 15 minutes = about 1.5 gallons
• 20 minutes = about 1.8–2.0 gallons
• 25 minutes = about 2.1–2.4 gallons

Heat and pace move it a bit. Draft helps, too. But the chart keeps me from guessing wild.

Little Setup Tricks That Helped

• The paddock is never flat. I set the scale on a piece of plywood. Then a thin towel on top. That stops the wobble and helps with glare.
• Wind will jiggle the reading. The “hold” button fixes that.
• Cold mornings can fog the screen. I keep the scale in the trailer until I need it.
• I bring a spare 9V. The battery door on my Intercomp is a bit flimsy, and the last thing I want is tape holding it shut. I still taped it. Because race week.

Waiting around between sessions also leaves plenty of time to scroll your phone for a little human connection. If you find yourself killing those paddock hours and want an easy, anonymous place to chat with like-minded guys, check out this gay Omegle alternative—it pairs you in one click for video or text conversations without any signup, giving you a fun, spam-free way to pass the downtime until the next green flag.

Traveling racers who extend a European schedule often squeeze in sightseeing (and night-life) between rounds, and Dublin’s open-minded social scene can be a memorable detour; the curated guide at Dublin swingers outlines the best clubs, house parties, and etiquette tips so you can add some discreet after-hours excitement without derailing your grid-time focus.

If you’re comparing containers as hard as you’re comparing scales, you might like the time I hauled, poured, and spilled my way through a batch of racing fuel jugs to see which ones were worth keeping.

What I Loved

• It’s fast. I know my burn before I even get my gloves off.
• The backlight helps when you’re fueling under a canopy at dawn.
• Tare/zero makes funnels and hoses a non-issue.
• Peace of mind. No more “will it stumble out of 9?” talk on grid.

What Bugged Me

• The screen will drift if the pad rocks. You need a steady base.
• Condensation makes buttons cranky at sunrise.
• Not cheap. It’s a race tool, not a kitchen gadget.
• The platform fits a 5-gal jug fine, but those tall narrow cans tip if you bump them. Ask me how I smell after that one.

Real Gains, Not Hype

Weight matters. Fuel is weight. With the scale, I trimmed about 6–10 lb off my usual “safety splash” without risking a hiccup. That’s a little time on every climb and a bit less roll in transitions. It’s not a new motor. But stack small wins, and you feel it.

Also, I got fewer black-flag chats on drips. Clean pours. Clean pit. Small thing, big vibe shift.

Who Needs One

• Club racers who want tight fuel planning
• Endurance teams tracking stints and top-offs
• Kart folks chasing ounces (a simple postal scale can work, but the fuel pad is nicer)
• Anyone switching between pump gas and E85 and trying to keep notes straight

If you’re shopping for your own fuel scale, I found a concise roundup of current models on PdvRacing that’s worth a look before you click “buy.”

A Few Notes I Wish I’d Had Sooner

• Record temp. Hot days bump burn. Wild headwinds do too.
• Mark your jugs with “empty weight.” Saves time on math.
• Gas can foamy fill readings. Let bubbles settle before you lock a number.
• If your car coughs on rights when low, aim to finish with at least 0.8–1.0 gallon. Your number may vary. My Miata is picky.

My Verdict

I’d buy the Intercomp again. I like the display and the simple buttons. The Longacre was great too; it felt a touch sturdier under the jug. Both do the job.

Score? 4.5 out of 5 for me. It’s not flashy, but it’s the calm, steady tool that keeps my race plan clean. Less guessing, less stress, and fewer “did I add enough?” heart flutters on grid.

Funny thing—I thought a fuel scale was overkill. Now, it sits by the jack, right where I can grab it. And the car? It just runs. That’s all I want on race day.

I’m Kayla, and I love Quarter Horse racing. Short burst. Big heart. Blink and it’s over. This past season, I used Q-Racing Video (the AQHA streaming service) to keep up with the meets I can’t drive to. I watched on my laptop at the kitchen table, on my phone at the barn, and on my TV when I could wrangle a cable. Did it replace being at the rail? No. Did it get me close? Closer than I expected. If you’re curious about experiencing the streams yourself, the AQHA offers a free trial of the platform right here.

How I Watched (And Where)

• Laptop: Chrome on a basic Dell. No fancy setup.
• Phone: Safari on an iPhone while I mucked stalls or waited for tacos.
• TV: I used an HDMI cable. No “cast” button on my end, which is fine, just old school.

Sign-in was quick. I didn’t jump through hoops. I clicked a track, saw the feed, and that was that. Simple is good when post time is five minutes away and you’re still hunting for the remote.

Real Race Nights I Still Remember

Let me explain how it actually felt.

• Labor Day, Ruidoso Downs, All American Futurity final. I had family talking over the call (of course), the dog begging for chips, and I still got that chill when the gate popped. I rewound the break twice because I wanted to see if the outside horse bobbled or if I just blinked. The replay scrub bar made that easy. No guessing. I saw the stumble. Tiny, but it was there.

• Early spring, Remington Park trials. A friend’s filly drew the 4 hole. She’s green but fast. I watched from my phone in the truck, parked under a cottonwood. The stream held up on my so-so signal. When she finished second, I scrubbed back to check her first jump. Clean break, but she drifted a hair. I texted a screenshot to her trainer. He just wrote, “Yep.”

• Late night, Los Alamitos. Everyone asleep. Lights low. I watched an 870-yard race while folding towels. There’s something about the red glow of the tote board and the hum of the announcer that hits right. I could hear hoofbeats under the call—soft but there. I forgot I was in my living room for a minute.

On the off weekends when the Quarter Horses were dark, I chased speed on four wheels instead; the most eye-opening was a weekend buzzing around with TS Racing karts—my full hands-on take is here.

What I Liked

• Track choice felt broad. I bounced between Ruidoso, Remington, Los Al—no fuss.
• Replays were quick to find by date and track. No rabbit holes.
• The stream was steady for me most nights. Not perfect, but steady.
• Rewinding the break was smooth. For Quarter Horses, that’s huge. The break is the race.
• It worked fine on my phone. I didn’t need a special app.

If cabin fever ever hit, I swapped the couch for an electric kart and knocked out a few laps at K1 Speed in Torrance; you can see how that experiment went in this recap.

What Bugged Me (A Little)

• Quality looked “good,” not great. I’d call it TV-clear, but not razor sharp. I could see saddle towels and numbers fine though.
• Sometimes the feed showed up a few minutes late before first post. I refreshed twice. Then it showed.
• Audio levels moved around. The call would spike, then the paddock mic felt quiet. Not the end of the world, just a tiny seesaw.
• No casting button for me. I had to plug in with HDMI, which is fine, but I do like one tap.

Here’s the thing: I’m picky about the break and the angle into the first jump. If I can rewind and catch it clean, I can live with the quirks. The only other time I sweated the clock that hard was lining up miniature dragsters—my trial-and-error session with RC car drag racing is right here.

Little Things That Helped

• I refresh five minutes before a big stakes race. Clears the hiccups.
• If your Wi-Fi is moody, switch to cellular for the last minute. Yes, I’ve done it.
• Keep a notepad open for saddle towel colors and post positions. Quarter Horse races move fast, and my brain does not.
• Want to watch on TV? HDMI is your friend. Boring, but it never fails me.
• When I need quick form lines or to double-check a horse’s last out, I pull up PDV Racing in another tab—it loads fast and keeps me from missing the walk-up.

One Sticky Moment

During a summer thunderstorm, my feed froze right before a futurity trial at Remington. My heart sank. I did a quick refresh, then dropped the stream to a lower quality in the player. It popped back in time for the break. Was it pretty? No. Did it work? Yep. I’ll take real-time over pretty any day.

Who It Fits

• Fans who live far from the big Quarter Horse tracks.
• Owners and grooms who need to watch trials without leaving the barn.
• Casual fans who want a clean feed and simple replays.

On the flip side, when the races wind down and I’m back to scrolling my phone for something completely different, I’ve learned that the dating-app world has its own form lines. If you’re specifically interested in meeting confident, voluptuous women, the most thorough breakdown I found is this guide to the best apps for hooking up with big girls. It compares sign-up tricks, community size, and safety pointers so you can spend less time swiping and more time actually matching. Meanwhile, if your travels swing you down to South Florida and you’re curious about the real-world lifestyle scene, the local intel collected at Pompano Beach swingers paints a clear picture of the venues, etiquette, and event calendars so you can step into the night confident instead of guessing.

Need a deeper dive before you commit? I’ve found the insights and free past performances on TwinSpires’ Quarter Horse racing page handy for sizing up trial nights.

If you want super-high video with fancy graphics and tons of bells, you might be fussy here. But if you care about the jump, the drive, the nose on the wire—I think you’ll be happy. And if you prefer fenders to fetlocks, my spin in a Bandolero racing car was a blast you can read about here.

My Bottom Line

Q-Racing Video gave me what I came for: the race, on time, with replays that made sense. It’s not perfect. It’s steady. And for this sport, steady counts.

Would I keep using it this next meet? You know what? Yes. I’m already setting reminders for Ruidoso trials, even though I’ll still miss the dust in my face and the hot dog that costs way too much.

Quick scores from my couch:

• Content and tracks: 9/10
• Stream stability: 8/10
• Picture and sound: 7/10
• Ease of use: 8/10
• Overall: 8/10

If you love Quarter Horse racing, this feels like the right lane—short, sharp, and honest. Just like the races themselves. And if you ever wonder how that adrenaline translates to clay ovals, my night running with Jeffrey Oliver’s sprint car team paints the picture right here.