Formula One. IndyCar. NASCAR. Breakfast in Monaco. Lunch at Indianapolis. Dinner in Charlotte. Mimosas. Bloody Marys. Beer. This is racing's highest of holy days, and it's not even close. A motorsports harmonic convergence that doesn't happen every year but does more often than it does not. Thank the horsepower heavens. That perfect octane-drenched Sunday when one ... two ... three signature events snap into alignment like the perfect chassis setup, riding the ragged edge of speed from the time that those of us in the United States wake up until we collapse back into our pillows like it was a SAFER barrier. One could literally begin and end their day watching racing while lying in bed. And...
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