As I was thinking about what I wanted to write today, my mind ran through a whole panorama of random adventures. So, today's blog is just that - a random selection of stories.

Bill Brodrick, a big man with a thick head of orangish-red hair and a beard to match that made him stand out from the crowd was known for years in NASCAR as "The Hat Man."

Bill, who worked for Union Oil Co., NASCAR's fuel supplier for years, had the difficult - almost impossible - job of organizing and managing the Victory Circle celebrations after the Cup races. Among other duties, he made sure that everyone wore the right hats with the right logos in each of the many photos that were taken during the celebrations: Hence "The Hat Man.

Al Pearce, who has written for Auto Week for many years, wrote a piece about Brodrick for the magazine in 2015. He wrote, in part: A burly 6 feet 3 with swept-back hair, a flowing orange beard, designer shades and rings aplenty, he turned post-race celebrations into performance art. He told cameramen where to stand and when to shoot. He decided who greeted the winner and in what order. He tossed around sponsors’ hats and told crewmen which ones to wear and which cameras were hot. As live television became a force, he ensured that directors got what they needed when they needed it. He became a rock star who signed autographs, had his own trading card and registered “The Hat Man” trademark. He was hailed at speedways around the world and helped the Associated Press at 20 consecutive Super Bowls and during the 1989 inauguration of President George H.W. Bush."

Bill was also quick to organize a party or invite an eclectic group of racing people to dinner. The conversations at those gatherings were some of the best I ever was part of.

One year, during a Riverside, CA, NASCAR weekend, Bill invited a small group of writers to join him for dinner in LA at the Magic Castle, a meeting place for professional magicians. You had to be a member or be an invited guest to go there.

We all rode the 60 miles to LA in a van and, along the way, Bill explained that part of the evening's entertainment didn't begin until midnight. We were going to take part in the "Harry Houdini seance."

Part of the charm of the Magic Castle is the private shows by members. We were ushered into several small rooms during the evening and a magician would soon show up and put on a show in that intimate setting. The food in the dining room was great as advertised and the evening seemed to fly by.

Finally, it was time for the seance. Our whole group sat around a large oval table. The lights were turned down and we were instructed to hold hands. The "medium" running the seance was calling for the spirit of Houdini's wife, Beatrice, to make herself known.

As I had seen in movie scenes about seances, the table lifted off the ground and there were noises like bells and scraping chains as part of the show. Still holding hands with my neighbors, I was enjoying the show and laughing a bit at the silliness when something really eerie took place.

My mom's name was Beatrice and we were very close. She had passed away just months before and nobody in that room had known her or, as far as I could tell, knew her name.

As the "Medium" called for Beatrice to make herself known, I  felt a hand caress my cheek and I also felt a strong presence as memories of my mother flooded my mind. When the lights came back on, I felt very peaceful and happy.

I asked several people if anything had touched them during the seance. They all said no.

Then I asked the "Medium" and she shook her head and said, "We're not allowed to touch anyone. That's not part of the show."

To this day, I believe that mom was somehow in that room and letting me know she was still part of my life.

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The Long Beach Grand Prix was sponsored for many years by Toyota, which also supplied the cars for a Pro-Celebrity race as part of the support show each year.

Several professional drivers were invited to race against a group of celebrities on the street circuit in downtown Long Beach. Some of the amateurs had racing experience. Most didn't.

There was a practice session each year at Willow Springs in the California desert. But that really didn't prepare them for the street circuit, with it's menacing concrete walls and tight turns.

Each year, the PR people from Toyota would hook me up with one of the celebrities for a feature story. Most years, it was just a brief sit-down with the celebrity in the Toyota compound at the track. But, one year I got the bright idea of trailing the celeb for the whole weekend and doing an in-depth piece about their experience.

For whatever reason, Patrick Stewart, the intrepid Jean-Luc Picard of Star Trek Next Generation and Professor Charles Xavier in the X-Men series, agreed to let me hang out with him, starting with the Thursday practice session.

He could not have been nicer or more open, giving me real insight into his nervous anticipation of racing on Sunday.

We met in his hotel room across the street from the track and spent quite a bit of time standing at the window looking at the narrow race course as we spoke.

"I just don't want to crash and I don't want to finish last," Patrick said, his words sounding strange in that wonderful deep voice and British accent that lent itself to so many years as part of the Royal Shakespeare Company.

The desert practice session had gone well for Patrick, thanks at least in part to his new and unlikely friendship with Bill Goldberg, a mountain of a man who had played pro football and was making a living as a pro wrestler.

The three of us had lunch that first day and Bill kept reassuring Patrick that he was going to be "just fine" if he kept his cool and his focus in the race car.

The next day was busy for me, with qualifying and covering some preliminary events. But I eventually got to spend some time in the Toyota paddock with Patrick, who was pleased with his practice that day.

"I wasn't very fast, but I kept it off the wall," he said, grinning broadly. "This is just so much fun and so frightening at the same time."

He was very nervous as the race drew closer. But also very determined to do his best.

Finally, it was race time. As Patrick put on his helmet, he smiled at me and Bill and said, "I hope I don't make a fool of myself."

Bill laughed and replied: "Just follow me and you'll be fine."

Unfortunately for Bill, he made a big mistake midway through the race and crashed out. He was so mad, he slammed his fist into the steering wheel and broke a bone in his hand.

Patrick made it to the end, finishing well behind the leaders. Still, he was very proud of himself and very concerned about Bill,

The big man walked into the room with his hand in a cast and went straight to Patrick, lifting him up in a bear hug and saying, "You did it, man. You were great out there. I'm so happy for you."

Patrick was speechless. It was a wonderful moment between new friends.

And I got a great story out of it. I also got a nice thank you letter signed by Patrick, although it sounded a little impersonal and may have been written by an assistant. Still, it was fun to spend the time with the captain of the Enterprise.

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My family and friends know that I have an uncanny ability to look at the outside of a restaurant or just the name online, on a flyer or on a billboard and know if it's going to be any good.

I rarely miss. But I missed badly one time in Montreal.

Saturday nights during the grand prix weekend in Montreal can be insane, especially if you're trying to find a restaurant where you don't have to wait hours for a table.

I got the bright idea of getting out of the heart of the city, where we were all staying, and finding a restaurant in one of the rural areas where it might be less crowded.

Looking through the phone book (remember those?), I spotted a place that looked ideal. The ad said they served seafood, steaks and a variety of Italian and Greek dishes. And it had the word Garden in the name, although I can't remember the rest of it.

Lewis Franck, Dennis Morgan, the editor of the Toronto Star's "Wheels," the auto section, and also the paper's auto racing writer, Walt Stannard, a PR man and a longtime friend, and I hopped in my car and headed out of downtown for the 8 p.m. reservation.

When we walked into the restaurant, I knew I had messed up. We were the youngest people in the place by at least 30 years. But we had little choice at that point.

Walt is a very big, good-looking guy with long hair and a bushy beard who was getting lots of attention from the plethora of older ladies in the restaurant. Many of them were outright ogling him,

The best moment of the evening came when Walt was walking back from the bathroom. A tiny, very old woman using a walker was directly in his path back to our table. She stopped still as he approached, looked him slowly up and down from head to toe and said, with a thick yiddish accent: "My, you're a beeg vun. Are you beeg all ovuh?"\

He turned bright red, grinned and said, "Yes, maam!" He then made his way carefully around her and sat back down.

We didn't stop laughing for the rest of the night. Not surprising, the food was mediocre at best. But it was still a fun night.