Watching Sunday’s Daytona 500, I couldn’t help but think about my mother Donna, the person most responsible for my lifelong obsession with automobiles and racing. Some of my fondest childhood memories involve watching racing with my mother and my brother Blake at dirt tracks in the 1970s and ’80s.
My earliest recollections of racing are from attending weekly races at Kirksville Raceway. Among my favorite drivers was a man named Larry “Pee Vine” Pipes, who was the uncle of a classmate of mine at La Plata Elementary School. Pee Vine had a long and successful career, but more often than not, a driver named Sonny Findling managed to take the checkered flag—often by putting his competitors in the fence—much to the chagrin of my dear old mother, who booed Sonny so vociferously that she could easily be heard over the sound of the roaring race engines.
To this very day, whenever I smell burning oil, I am reminded of sitting in the crowded grandstands with my family on those action-packed Saturday nights, cheering with my mom for anyone who was racing Sonny for the win while my little brother slept as if the sound of the screaming engines was a lullaby.
One night, the car dealership Mom worked for sponsored the feature race and offered her the chance to drive the pace car. Always thinking of her boys, she got permission to let us ride in the pace car with her. To this day, it is the only time I’ve ever been on a race track, despite my lifelong dream of being a race car driver.
When my family moved to Hannibal, we started attending races across the river at Quincy Raceways. Many of my favorite drivers from Kirksville raced there, and good ol’ Sonny Findling was also there to root against every week. Years later, we would find a new “home track” to watch races at; Capital Speedway in Holts Summit, where we watched a kid named Carl Edwards tear up the track.
Prior to Carl’s success in NASCAR, I was a fan of racing legends like Richard Petty, A.J. Foyt, Cale Yarborough, and Jeff Gordon. It took years before I warmed up to Dale Earnhardt because his driving style reminded me so much of Sonny Findling’s. The Intimidator was nothing but a bully in my opinion, and like Sonny, he was fun to root against. But when Dale won the 1998 Daytona 500, on his twentieth attempt, I had tears of joy in my eyes just like everybody else.
Exactly twenty years ago this week, I called my mother on the phone after the thrilling and terrifying conclusion of the 2001 Daytona 500, broadcast live by Fox Sports. She and I agreed that it was one of the most exciting finishes to a race we had ever seen.
Mom was not an Earnhardt fan, but she expressed her concern for his well-being after the seven-time Cup champion crashed hard on the final lap while blocking for the two cars he owned; one driven by his son Dale Jr. and the other by Michael Waltrip.
Michael’s older brother Darrell, a NASCAR legend himself, called the race from the broadcast booth as Mikey won his first race in 463 career starts. The Waltrips’ elation quickly changed to concern as the medical crew worked on Dale Sr. for a prolonged amount of time. When NASCAR president Mike Helton later made the announcement that we had lost Dale Earnhardt, I called my mom and choked back tears as I broke the news to her. Stunned and heartbroken, neither of us knew what to say, so we ended the call with “I love you” and hung up.
Watching Dale Earnhardt, Jr step out from his father’s bigger-than-life shadow and witnessing the rise of local favorite Carl Edwards kept Mom and I interested in NASCAR over the next few years. After Mom died of cancer in 2008, and as rules changes and driver retirements made NASCAR less appealing to me, my interest in racing gradually waned, but I still watch the Daytona 500 every February, even if I don’t watch another race all year.
I was genuinely excited to watch last Sunday’s race because I had a new girl to watch it with—my granddaughter Freya. Sure, she’s just a baby, but at five months of age she loves cuddling with her Pop while watching TV and taking catnaps—a perfect way to enjoy a three-hour race.
Unfortunately, with the lengthy rain delay, Freya didn’t get to watch much of her first car race. Pop did stay up to watch the 500 in its entirety, however. It was another thrilling finish, with a fiery crash on the last lap that looked much worse than the one that claimed Dale Sr.’s life, but after the flames were extinguished, everyone walked away and another driver named Michael emerged victorious after a long winless streak. After competing in 358 Cup races over a 13-year career, Michael McDowell notched his first career win at The Great American Race.
NASCAR, you have my attention once again. Freya and I will see you next week.
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