Driver #8: Dale Earnhardt, Jr.

(Page 6: The Start)

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

The slow pace laps seem to take forever, just like the rest of the buildup to this season. Then, finally! The green flag is waved by honorary starter Jackie Joyner-Kersee, a track-and-field star and new NASCAR team owner.

Once the race starts, it's like a hyper rush replaces the slowmotion buildup. It's as if it's happening with the fast-forward button mashed down hard on your VCR. Guys jockey for position, and I'm pretty happy to leap into the top five, working in the lead draft, using the cars ahead of me to slice through the air. The wind is swirling much stronger today than at any time during the month, which makes the cars do things that they haven't done before. It's disturbing to the car and the driver, but the conditions are the same for everyone, so you get used to it.

The entire pack of cars seems to be running in one large lump, almost as if they are connected by one big tow chain—the first-place car towing the others behind. Things quickly become tense and the traffic around me goes to two- and three-wide, everyone dicing hard for position.

I really don't say anything on the radio for the first twenty laps or so, as I'm just trying to comprehend everything around me. Dean Middlemiss, my spotter, is doing his best to help me move through traffic. He says, "Outside . . . outside . . ." when another car is running on the right side of my car, or "Inside . . . inside . . ." when there is one on the left. Sometimes he says, "Three-wide, you're in the middle . . ." when it gets really hairy.

The spotter keeps his eye on the action ahead. When the cars are running in large bunches so close together on the high-banked turns, it is impossible for me to see beyond my own bumper, so the spotter is a necessary second set of eyes. He is also an amateur psychiatrist, helping me balance my emotions. The rapport between the two of us is critical to a smooth race.

Many fans bring their own scanners and listen in to the radio chatter between the drivers, teams, and spotters. It really gives them a much better insight into the race. It's like eavesdropping on the huddle in football.

However, the 2.5-mile oval is a huge track, and my spotter becomes confused when the several similar-looking red cars run close together. Several times he calls out commands while watching the wrong red car. It sounds like the tension of the biggest race of the year has gotten to him.

"What the fuck are you doing, man?" I scream into the radio when I narrowly avoid making some serious contact with several other cars. "What car are you watching? You're gonna get me killed out here! . . ."

I calm down, and as the race progresses, my confidence grows with each lap. I declare some new goals near the halfway point of the race. "Guys, I am so happy to make this race, but my goals have kind of changed. We can race at the front. We gotta shot here."

As the race continues, I make contact with other cars several times—it's part of the game when you're running so close together—but I'm being raced hardest and treated roughest by the man in the No. 3 car—my car owner. I end up with a few "donuts" on the side of my car—black circles left on the sheet metal when another car's tire rubs against it.

Copyright © 2002 by Dale Earnhardt, Jr. All rights reserved. Posted with permission of http://www.twbookmark.com. Click here for ordering information for "Dale Earnhardt, Jr.: Driver #8" at Amazon.com.