Well, it didn't exactly go that way. Looking back, as we got closer to the gate in front of turn four, there was a clear change in atmosphere from the campgrounds closer to the center of the infield where you have the expensive-type trailers and more elaborate set ups. Out here at the East End of the track there were still fires smoldering from the night before and people seemed a lot less to nod their head at you in a "Good morning" or "How are ya?" type fashion. We came up on a guy sitting on top of a platform he fastened to the top of his pick-up truck and before we even asked anything, he was shouted: NOT HERE! NOT HERE! We don't want that here! Now, aside from the fact that I have no clue what he meant by "that," he also told us that the guy next to him didn't want "that" in his little oasis either. He even started making his way down his makeshift staircase to emphasize his point. I could only guess he was referring to my small camera? Or, at least, that's the explanation that would give that guy the most credit.
We found a good spot to get some video of the cars (video forthcoming), but as we continued walking through the East End of the infield it was apparent that he wasn't alone in his fear of "that" and whatever the hell it is and that these weren't the friendliest bunch of campers in the world. I knew I wouldn't be invited in or back that night to sing around the campfire while we made 'Smores. At one point it felt like one of those movies where a big city out of towner goes walking through a small town wearing his fancy clothes and the townspeople all come out of their shops and homes to shoot him a dirty look and let him know that: WE DON'T WANT THAT AROUND HERE.
Later I was told that the East End of the infield is somewhat famous for being a section made of true hardcore campers who are very serious about protecting what's theirs.