NASCAR BURNOUTS LEAVE STRIP UP IN SMOKE
This was all Alex Zanardi's fault. It was 3:45 p.m. Thursday, and I was standing at the intersection of the Strip and Spring Mountain Road. The acrid smell of burning rubber was imbedded in my sinus cavity, and there were little pebbles of Goodyear tire in the corners of my eyes, like "sleep" in the morning. Only this was dark sleep, the kind that leaves little black smudges when you rub it. At 3:44 p.m., the wind had changed directions. It had been coming from behind Wynn Las Vegas; now it was coming from behind Treasure Island, and then Greg Biffle did his burnout, in the No. 16 Ford. This was the grand mal of burnouts, a real Cheech and Chong. (Photo courtesy of Josh Holmberg/Las Vegas Review-Journal)
