I’ve heard some pretty loony ideas proposed in my long life here on what’s left of earth, but a “country club’” in River Falls for racing enthusiasts takes the cake.

I know, I know all towns make mistakes. Like Dallas, Texas, which built an airport so large you have to board another plane to conveniently get from one terminal to the next.

Minneapolis years ago bowed to the wishes of K-Mart and blocked one of its most important thoroughfares in the city, so folks had to drive out of their way to get around the emporium of inferior merchandise and fake shaved ham sandwiches. Finally, almost 30 years later, its ugly structure is being torn down.

Venice, Italy, built its city on a swamp in the Adriatic, where it’s so mushy the town is sinking. All the palazzos' first floors are full of saltwater and you practically have to swim to get to that all important goblet of Prosecco. Perhaps Venice was just trying to capture the high spirits of the Western Hemisphere’s Tiki bars.

San Francisco tore down its old library and built a new one that didn’t hold as many books as the old. Solution to the problem: Toss the first editions into dumpsters because they weren’t checked out as often as Barbara Cartland bodice rippers. If you don’t believe me look for an entire book written about it.

River Falls itself has floated some rather weird ideas, like an underground parking lot that would run the length of Main Street. I don't know why it never floated, but I'm glad it didn’t.

So recently I’ve been talking with Town of River Falls Plan Commission member Mary Foster, who recently told the realtor, a “Music Man” from the Twin Cities (where else?) to “Go back to Minnesota.” His pitch? Build a highly exclusive car track and a posh country club on land that now is settled by woodlands, farms and the United Universal- ist meeting house. That's right, ou Highway 65 between River Falls and Ellsworth.

Membership in the club could cost around $40,000 per year; speed limits on the track would be non-existent. What owner of a Fer- rari or a Jaguar would not be thrilled to find a spot where the sky’s the limit?

And I’m certain it’s not because Mary knows the ritzy dudes with the Porsches and Maserati’s wouldn’t allow her husband Nick’s 1950 Studebaker Commander on the track because it couldn’t hope to keep up.

My colleague Sarah Nigbor did a bang-up one entire page-long job, covering the meeting which attracted a horde of Bugatti-less Chevy owners to the meeting. Curiously, as of this writing, the Star Observer hasn't brought up the subject. Perhaps they figure Hudson would like to wrest this hair-brained idea from our Pierce County clutches. Let’s hope so. By the way, whatever happened to Hudson’s dog track?

But, you say, think of the financial oppor tunities that the race track presents. Certainly, there will be enough land left in the township to grow a few stalks of corn and even lots of mint, which the Aston-Martin drivers will demand for their juleps. And the possibilities for a flock of restauranteurs to gather at the Kinni. The high-powered auto owners aren’t going to settle for the fabulous breakfast sandwich at the Kinni Cafe, which will mean that Tattersalls will spring up like mushrooms on rainy spring morns with shuttle service to boot.

Also, these speedsters can’t drive naked. They’ll need togs.

And not just sweat suits from the late lamented Shopko. Soon there’ll be a Brooks Brothers outlet down in the hole where Aldi is parked and, of course a Gucci for les mes- dames de North Oaks et Wayzata who'll also be pressing the pedal to the medal.

A word of warning. B.W. and I had a printer friend who owned a cottage up north, which his printer father purchased for $75 during the Great Depression. Our friend upgraded the modest cabin until it had six rooms, which he rented to us and other Star Tribune employees. He was forced to rent because his property taxes skyrocketed after Paul Newman built a $3 million cottage across the lake from him, so he and Joan Woodward would have a place to crash during the two days a year, driving at the Brainerd Raceway, followed by star after star who did the same—just to watch old blue eyes press his pedal to the metal. I don’t think Newman is likely to show up at Firestone for a tune-up, but I guess anything is possible in this loony world.

` Dave would like to hear from you. Phone him at 715-426-9554.