It’s a magical experience you’ll never forget–your first Winston Cup
race.
Hey, wait a minute Bob. I thought you’d been going to races ever since
#43 was a Ford.
Well yeah, I have. But the Pepsi 400 under the lights was the first
time for my daughter Lisa, and watching that race thru her eyes
was–well, an experience never to be forgotten.
My main concern as we headed east down Highway 40 was finding a place to
park. Everything I had read and heard said parking would be at a
premium. With my radio show going from 10:30 to 11:30 that morning plus
a pit stop at Burger King for lunch, we were pretty much locked into a
mid-afternoon arrival at the track.
I sure as heck wasn’t going to pay the 30 bucks the businesses near the
track charge to use their lots, but at the same time, the thought of
having to carry 60 pounds of sleepy seven-year-old back to the car after
the race weighed heavily against the idea of parking in a more remote
location. Rock. Hard place.
As I explained the possibility that we may have a pretty long walk from
the car to the race, Lisa looks up with wide-eyed innocence and asks,
"Daddy, why don’t we ask God for a good parking space?" Out of the
mouths of babes…
As I roll up Bill France Blvd. toward the track, I’m amazed to see the
driveway leading to my favorite spot, the old GE plant parking lot, is
not blocked off with a "Lot Full" sign on it. I turn in and am
absolutely astounded when a young lady directs me to a free parking
space about five minutes walk from the RASN reunion site. Prayer
answered. Thank you, Lord.
We head across the street to begin the process of keeping ourselves
amused until race time, several hours away.
"Daddy, what’s a simulator?"
"It’s kind of like a carnival ride that makes you feel like you’re
inside a race car."
"I wanna go! I wanna go!"
Several minutes later, we’re roaring around the track. "AACCCKKKK!
Somebody hit us, we’re gonna wreck!" WHAM!! Right into the water
barrels guarding the outside pit wall. Got wet too.
"Let’s go again!"
"Maybe next time."
After a bit of relax time in the air conditioned comfort of Daytona USA,
it’s time to go tie up the Sacred Scroll.
"Can I sign it? Can I sign it? I wanna sign it!"
"OK, here’s the marker."
A few minutes of intense scrutiny yields the perfect spot, right in the
middle. Slowly and carefully, L-i-s-a P-a-x-t-o-n, then a
self-portrait. The glow in her eyes brought back the memory of the
first time I ever put Sharpie to Scroll. A new RASNer is officially
indoctrinated.
Time to head for our seats. Front row, Winston Tower.
"WOW DADDY! This is GREAT!"
"Say thank you to Mr. May. He got these seats for us."
"Thank you Mr. May! THIS IS GREAT!"
"Take your binoculars and look over there. What do you see?"
"JEFF GORDON!!!! YAAAYYYYYYYYYYY! And there’s Dale Jarrett for you!!"
Gentlemen, start your engines!
"OK Lisa, it’s going to be louder than it was when we were here for the
test session."
"That’s OK Daddy. I can handle it."
GREEN FLAG! 43 engines strain against the restrictor plates to come up
to speed. The smell of rubber and hot exhaust drifts upward. Two
little nostrils swell to drink it all in.
"AHHHH! Smells wonderful, doesn’t it Daddy."
Yep. I’ve got a real race fan for a daughter. Makes her old man dang
proud.
"Here they come again Lisa. Let’s see who’s going to lead the first
lap."
"DALE JARRETT! YOUR FAVORITE! YAAAAAYYYYYY!"
With the #88 leading the way, 43 cars thunder past at full song. It’s a
sweet symphony that sweeps us both under its spell.
"OK, here they come again. Let’s see who’s in front now."
"Earnhardt! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"
That’s my girl!
John looks at Lisa in amazement. Remembering his own youngsters’
fearful reaction to all the noise and speed, he can’t believe what he
sees. Yep. I’ve got a real race fan for a daughter. Makes her old man
dang proud.
"Hey Lisa. Look who’s up front now."
"Jeff Gordon AND Dale Jarrett!! ALL RIGHT!!!!!! THIS IS GREAT!"
"Maybe they’ll finish that way."
"YEAHHH!!"
The next couple hours just fly by as we sit mesmerized by the sights,
sounds and smells washing over us. I think they call this bonding or
something like that.
"How many more laps, Daddy?"
"Not very many, we’re almost finished. OH RATS! Look at that."
"What’s wrong, Daddy?"
"Dale Jarrett. He’s slowed way down and everybody’s passing him. Must
be something wrong with the car."
"I feel some more rain."
RED FLAG with five laps to go.
"Daddy, do you think Jeff Gordon can win?"
"Well, you never can tell. If the guys behind him go to racing each
other, he can get away from them, but if they gang up on him, a bunch of
cars could draft by him."
"I hope Jeff wins."
"Me too."
"What are those things?"
"Jet engines on the back of pickup trucks. They use them to dry the
track off."
The rain stops and the engines crank up again.
GREEN FLAG!
"OK Lisa, if he can stay in front for three laps, Jeff will be the
winner."
A sixty pound bundle of perpetual motion springs into action.
"GO JEFF! COME ON JEFF!!!"
"OK here they come, last lap. Look at that! Skinner’s up racing
Mayfield. Jeff’s going to win! Oh wait a minute. Look at Bobby
Labonte. He’s passing everybody!"
"Oh NO!"
"It’s OK, Jeff blocked him! I think he’s going to make it!"
With a pack of hungry pursuers snapping at his heels, the #24 flashes
under the checkered flag. Two little fists thrust themselves skyward.
"YYEESSS!" "YYYEEEEESSSSS!!" "YYYYEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!"
Almost immediately, a touch of sadness tempers the elation of the
moment.
"I’m really sorry Dale Jarrett had a flat tire."
"Well, that happens sometimes, but let’s be happy. Dale won last week
and Gordon won tonight."
"YYYEEESSSSS!"
We thank our benefactor one more time and bolt for the car. Thankfully,
Lisa’s under a full head of her own steam and I don’t have to carry her.
Our great parking space pays off as we’re in the car and on the road
well ahead of most of the traffic.
"Well Lisa, how did you like it?"
"Daddy, this was the greatest day of my entire life."
Ten minutes later, a deep sleep replaces the boundless energy.
I look over at her angelic face and whisper to myself, "Yeah, this was
one of the best days of my entire life, too."
Yep. I’ve got a real race fan for a daughter. Makes her old man dang
proud.
–
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