Friday night I covered my first NASCAR event as a reporter. Here are my thoughts regarding the experience.
Sometimes, it’s difficult being a race fan. NASCAR, IndyCar, Sports Cars, et al. Sometimes, race fans can get a bad rap because they see something in these sports that a lot of people don’t. Sometimes, fans can get generalized into stereotypes that may be the complete opposite of who they really are. Sometimes, it’s difficult to explain why someone loves racing. In my case, the best terms I can put it in is that I was raised in it. Those of you in the know, understandthat I was literally indoctrinated with racing.
I can try to put it like this. For some people, it’s about the cars. For others, it’s about the people. Some are drawn to its history. But for me, it’s the race. Not the competition or anything like that. If I can sound kind of cheesy for a second, it’s the entire dance; high speeds, maneuvering, strategy, science, sound. It’s the little things that make up the sound and the fury of motorsports. I don’t watch a race to get hammered and watch cars make left turns all day; no. I watch to see these little things in action because as a whole they make up a very large, enthralling story. I have no favorite drivers and I don’t hate any driver. As long as they keep doing what they’re doing, I love them all.
Go to a race, an actual, sanctioned, full-length event. That sound you’ll hear, that deafening cacophony coupled with the constant shaking of the ground, is intoxicating. It’s like a power chord coming through the world’s largest amp while that one song that fires you up and moves you is playing, man. It’s something that provokes that deep down emotion and pulls it out of you and holds it in your face, still pumping, still dripping. I felt that Friday night standing by the fence while those drivers came rushing past me. I saw beauty in that. Some saw a race, I saw art.
Remember how I said that sometimes fans have it rough? They do because often their access is limited. They don’t get to really be immersed in the midst of it all. Sure, there’s social media and all these nifty thrifty doodads that “immerse” the fans, but it’ll never really put them in the action. It pacifies them. That’s all. That may come across as a jerk thing to say, but that’s not my intent. That’s just how it seems to me.
I’ve been to Texas Motor Speedway multiple times as a fan. I went first in 2001, then again in 2003 and 2004. In ’01 and ’03, the most we could do was bring a cooler and some lawn chairs and sit in the infield grass right by the tunnel and only watch the turns. It was all we could really afford. I’m not complaining; I had fun those times and again in ’04 when we were brave enough to camp in Tent City along the backstretch. The most we could do was bring in the lawn chairs for the IROC race, the Busch race, and the NEXTEL Cup race. When you’re a fan, you take what you can in terms of a race experience.
Still, the history of that place has always gotten to me. I’m a sucker for motorsports history. That stuff really fires me up; I love talking about it. Although it isn’t even 20 years old, TMS still has plenty of history. Name a year between now and 1997 and I can tell you who won that year. Some of the names I’ll mention have gone on to do great things; Daytona 500s, Indy 500s, championships galore and multiple Hall of Famers. History.
Driving my Impala through the tunnel underneath turns one and two at the track, I’ll admit that my blood was pumping. Here I am behind the wheel of my own little sedan going through a tunnel where many great men before me have driven. That carried over to the garage. Here I am in my dusty old Vans walking a stretch where many racing heroes have walked and driven. On pit road after the race when I was walking among the trucks I almost didn’t do my job of gathering content for some stories because I was so awestruck walking that pit road. Some of racing’s biggest names have driven down this very pit road and pit in these very pit boxes. And here I am! Me! Am I really here? Do I really belong here? Sitting in the Media Center I’m thinking of the many racing greats who have sat behind that desk just a few feet from me. History.
I’d look at people looking grumpy or looking bored like it was another day in the office. I wanted to shake them. ‘Do you have any idea where you are? Do you have any idea how lucky you are?’ Of course, to do so would have been bad form. So I just kept to myself, all eyes, while experiencing a sensory overload of epic proportions.
One of the best parts of the night wasn’t when I was in the press box or the garage or on pit road or the media center. It was when I stepped foot out of the tent set up behind the media center, well past midnight. Work was done, and I stepped into that little road just outside the fence that surrounded the media center and the garage. A movie was on the Big Hoss, undoubtedly for the campers that stuck around for the IndyCar race. There were a few security guys zooming on golf carts, and when I say a few, I mean three or four. Other than the four other journos in the Media Center, I realized there was only me. The stands were empty, the NASCAR trucks and haulers were gone, The majority of the people parked in the Infield Paddock Parking were gone, and there was silence. Even the movie on that monstrously huge screen on the backstretch was silent.
I literally felt like I had the track to myself.
This place, where Dale Earnhardt Jr. got his first NASCAR win, where A.J. Foyt kicked Arie Luyendyk’s ass, where Brad Keselowski got his kicked by Jeff Gordon, where Justin Wilson got his final IndyCar win…was silent. It was as silent as could be, empty, vacant, vast. And I could actually savor that.
What an experience!
