A dream comes true, literally
Busch Series Director John Darby closed the door of his trackside office and said in as gruff a voice as he could muster, "Have a seat."
Several thoughts began racing through my head. What had I written recently that might've riled Darby? We'd never really had any problems before, so this had to be serious. Hours away from the Nov. 11 season finale at Homestead, John Darby had my full attention.
"Rick, it's been a long, hard season," Darby began, and looked toward the championship trophy that sat on a nearby desk. He continued for a couple of seconds and then said the one sentence that caught me more by surprise than any other I'd ever heard. "Today's the day that we're going to let you drive the pace car."
Yeah, right. This is a bad joke, I thought. My dumbfounded reaction brought a grin to Darby's face. Dang. He ain't kiddin'.
There's more, but first some background. When I'm extremely tired, my wife, Jeanie, says that I have a tendency to talk in my sleep. One night, I evidently voiced my somewhat sordid approval for "those Alabama cheerleaders." On another, Jeanie claims I told Andy to give Barney his bullet back.
Hey, don't ask me where this is comin' from. I don't know if it's simply exhaustion or some sort of deep-seated emotional problem. At any rate, earlier this year, I woke Jeanie up spouting obscenities at a certain follically challenged, high-ranking NASCAR official.
"That John Darby's a s.o.b.," I fumed repeatedly, but not using the abbreviation. "(Dang) it, John. Why not?"
Jeanie nudged me, and asked why I was so upset. Normally, I'm not one to curse much, so my tirade had caught her off guard.
"Because that s.o.b. (again, not really using the abbreviation) won't let me drive the (fudgin') pace car." I went back into a fitful slumber.
The next morning, Jeanie told me what had happened. I honestly don't remember a thing about it, but the next race weekend, I couldn't wait to tell Darby about the dream. He got a good laugh out of the story, and soon, it became a running joke between the two of us.
When I'd ask Darby about some serious matter, he'd answer the question, but then tell me I was just giving him a hard time because he wouldn't let me drive the pace car. When I missed the Myrtle Beach race in June, I told Darby the next week that I'd been too depressed about ... well ... not driving the pace car. Never once, though, did I actually think I'd find myself behind the wheel of the decaled, lights-a-flashin', honest-to-goodness pace car.
Mike Helton, NASCAR's senior vice president and chief operating officer, heard John and I discussing the matter in the press box at Michigan, and asked about it. That's how the most powerful man in NASCAR whose last name is not France came to be in on a joke involving little ol' me.
At Charlotte, I got some grease on the backside of my jeans. When Mike spotted me, his reaction was as swift as it would've been to a crew chief with a 450-cubic-inch engine.
"Look at you. You're not driving my pace car looking like that," Helton quipped. "You'll get it dirty."
Back to Homestead. Once I figured out that Darby was indeed serious about his offer, I told him that I wasn't going to come in when the green flag fell, that I was going to do my best to lead at least the first four laps of the race. "Wanna bet?" Darby replied, immediately quashing that goal.
As it turned out, my duty was in the second pace car, which sets the pit road speed for cars in starting spots 23-43. As prearranged by Carl Simmons, the regular second pace-car driver, Ron Hornaday roared to our outside coming off turn two on the first lap. Buckshot Jones then came up on the inside going into turn three, making us momentarily three-wide, door to door, with not the width of a piece of paper between us.
Me? I was worried about finding the cruise-control button. Finally, I got things sorted out, set the cruise at 45 mph, radioed Darby in the control tower and went on about my merry way down the frontstretch, Jones and Hornaday now safely tucked in behind us.
Just like that, it was over and I was on my way to the press box. Chip Warren, another Busch Series official, was more than happy to critique my debut after the race.
"It's a good thing you can write, because you sure can't drive a pace car."
Thanks, Chip. Thanks, a lot.
