Just in time before the 500, this is a story I just ran across in my e-mail archives. I submitted this to a local newpaper back in 1999, but was not published.
Being an avid Nascar - Dale Earnhardt fan at the time, one of my dreams over the years, had been to ride around Daytona International Speedway. My brother inlaw and I took the Richard Petty Riding Experience, May 22, 1999. It was a long awaited Christmas present from our wives.
As we waited in line for our turns to come up, I noticed they only had three cars on the track. The #88 Ford Tortoise, #15 Ford Tortoise, and the #44 Hot Wheels Pontiac. I asked the assistant handing out the helmets, where the #3 car was. He explained that it was in the garage. I replied, "Oh darn!", or something to that effect. I patiently waited to ride in one of the Tortoises, as my brother-in-law got in the Hot Wheels car. Just then, as they took off, I heard my wife holler, "Here comes the #3 car!" I had died and gone to heaven. My dream had finally come true...I was about to ride around Daytona Speedway in a 600 h.p. #3 stock car at over 150 mph!
I strapped on the 50 lb. helmet, or so it felt, and was instructed to enter through the extremely narrow window opening. Hey, I figured since Dale and I were the same age at the time, no problem! I flopped my leg up onto the opening, swung my other leg up, and my helmet collided with the roof as I attemped to slide into the seat.
With my head somewhat spinning, I was strapped in. The Richard Petty Experience photographer took our picture with a Cheshire cat grin on my face. I hung on for dear life as the driver floored it. We took off down Pit Road and swung up into turn 1. I thought immediately to myself that my personal car definately does not have the gitty-up and go that this one does.
The gravity or g-forces, took a weird position onto my stomach, as we went through turn 2. On the backstretch, I managed to still force this Cheshire cat grin on my face as turn 3 approached.
The driver drove all the way to the top of the banking, as the grip I had on the hold bar between the seats, gets"white-knuckled". I look out the window, through the safety net, and see nothing but very large wall, no further than six inches away, while going around the 31 degree embankment. Very fast.
I still somehow, manage the GRIN as the car tilts again going into turn 1. Coming out of turn 2, we "bottom-out", causing my gluteus maximus to "pucker" a lot tighter into the seat. My left hand has gone numb from it's grip.
Down the back-stretch, I watch the car ahead approaching turn 3. That driver seems to be one inch away from the wall. Stupidly, I look out the window again and see the "Superstretch" wall at about the same distance, whizzing by. Did I mention that my heart is pounding louder than the engine at this point?
My eyes are as big around as 50 cent pieces...but I still manage "The GRIN". I really don't remember the third lap that much, other than the loud thumping in my chest, white knuckles, forcing myself to actually breathe, and being 31 degree tilted to look at the Daytona wall.
While all of this is taking place, my brain suddenly is asking, "Hey, what if a tire decides to go flat?", while it seemed that we were upside down from the angle. Not to mention, the G-forces that have my puckered self, nailed to the seat and headrest. Did I happen to mention that Daytona is not a very smooth track?
Still, The GRIN is solidly plastered onto my face. The driver snatches the car off of the banking, starts to slow somewhat, and heads down Pit Road. I can only now, release the death grip that I have on the holdbar. My handprint seems to be permanently embedded into the bar. Through my GRIN, I can begin to breathe normally, as the thumping in my chest continues. We come to a stop, grin still attached, and somehow manage to ask the driver for an autograph. I hold the ticket out and it shakes as it being blown on by a jet dryer.
The assistant gets me unstrapped from the harness, and instructs me to stick my head out first. My 90 lb. helmet, by this time, thuds into the roof again as I push through. Once I am able to free an arm, I let out a war-whoop and throw my arm up, as if I have just won a race or something. It must have been the adrenaline. One of the assistants says he thinks I enjoyed it.
One thing for certain. I challenge anyone who says Nascar is not a real sport, that all they do is go around in circles, to climb into one of these cars, and take the ride of a lifetime!
Thank you Bill France Sr.and Jr. for Nascar!
Thank you Richard Petty for the Riding Experience I'll never forget!
Thank you Richard Childress and Dale Earnhardt!
God be with the Frances' and Dale...and of course their families.
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