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A Son’s First Race… Through the Eyes of a Dad 07/26/2017 David Nance |
Author’s Note:
This is a delayed follow-up to my son’s first race on July 6th. It’s a tad longer than some articles, but
then again, so was the race day. Please enjoy…
“That's the one! That's the one I want!”, said my nine year
old son as he excitedly pointed to the blue #46 Toyota truck on the infield TV
screen from his seat in Grandstand G Row 28 Seat 10 of the Kentucky Speedway.
As I wrote in my last article, the 2017 NCWTS Buckle
Up in Your Truck 225 was going to be my son's first race. It was a day I had dreamed of since I knew I
was going to be a dad. I had planned for
it for more than nine years, as I wanted it to be perfect for him. However, tonight, July 6th was nothing like
I had planned and it was far, far from perfect… or so it appeared.
My plans never included rain gear. Having him spend the entire day watching the
Weather Channel to see if the race was going to be rained out or not was not
part of the plan. I never envisioned a
last minute decision to make a flying trip up US 127 to try to beat the rain
there only to find it already there.
Having the skies opened up as if poured from a boot as soon as we bought
our tickets wasn't either. In my plans
he would see the entire “circus” that is race day. Instead, the sand sculpture was under wraps,
hospitality tents empty, show cars covered, souvenir trailers buttoned up,
product booths closed (including a rain gutter protection product which could
have been perfectly demonstrated there).
No shuttles were running for us to ride on. No Kid’s Zone open for him to play on.
He was undaunted. He was there to see his first race.
Under my plan, after walking around a while and
going down to visit Col. Sanders in Turn 4, we would have wandered back to our
seats and watched the infield TV’s show clips from past races or highlights
while waiting for the trucks to be pushed out onto pit road. Tonight, it was severe weather warnings
flashed on-screen, advising us to take cover under the grandstands. Under my plan, at 7:30, the trucks would be
taking the green flag and race for the next two and a half hours or so. Instead, it was a pack of Air Titans and jet
dryers taking to the track to race against the elements. Finally, my plan had the checkered flag
falling around 10:30 PM, a couple of hours past his usual bed time and we’d be
making our way back to the truck for a nice drive home. Tonight, at that time they were just shutting
down the Air Titans and pushing the trucks out onto the grid.
So much for plans!
About the only things from my “perfect” plan
were that we were at the track and he was going to dine on track food. Kentucky, unfortunately doesn’t have a “dish”
that it's known for like other tracks so he’d have to make do with a foot-long
corn dog. He didn't seem to mind!
Although the night wasn't going as “planned” it
was full of surprises - some nice and some, well, surprising. Even when things looked their worst, the
track workers went the extra mile to be welcoming and make the day as pleasant
as possible. Those assigned to the rest
rooms were incredible, constantly mopping the floors to keep them dry and safe
from the rain being tracked in. They put
the Air Titans to shame. The faithful
fans were positive and patient. No one
fussed about the weather. The attitude
was it was just one of those racing deals.
As the rain lightened, their spirits buoyed. With each passing lap by the Air Titans you
could feel the confidence grow, that by dog, they were going to see a
race! Tonight!
The final confirmation came when the rainbow
appeared. If it is true that the pot of
gold is at its end, then there is an RV parked in the infield at the exit of
turn two that must be positively loaded!
Seeing that though, you could almost feel a collective smile from the
gathered faithful. My son, fresh off of
the latest “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie, was ready to go treasure hunting
while we waited for the track to dry.
Track drying became the center of attention for
the longest time. The Air Titans were
running in packs of four and their noise along with the jet dryers brought out
the headphones. It wasn't racing but it
was loud and had some action, so it sufficed for a while. I had said in my previous article I would
take my son to the fence, but the rain and track drying changed all that. It was a long climb down wet steps to get
there and Air Titans lapping at 7.4 miles an hour hardly has the same
impact. The race, when it came off,
would have to do for now.
The Infield TVs switched from weather alerts to
clips from past races and scenes from tonight's race. It was there he saw HIS truck, his pick for
tonight's race that I mentioned at the opening.
I have to admit, I hadn't done my homework and
wasn't familiar with the #46 Truck. It
was a nice looking ride but I thought it couldn't be much as it was starting
deep in the field. When I asked him why
he picked that one his answer and reasoning was simple and pure. “Because it
has a kitten on the back!” he beamed from under his official Kentucky Speedway
Event Staff cap. I thought he was
joking, but sure enough, there it was, as pretty as you please, a kitten on the
right rear fender of the #46 Toyota. How
can you argue with that?
During the three hour delay we had lots of time
to discuss what he was seeing and what he was going to see. He was full of questions (which he always is)
but this was different. Usually, he’ll
ask a question and before you can answer he would be asking another. This time he was listening, digesting,
thinking about it. I could see in his
eyes the wheels turning as he was trying to piece the information together.
As the track color lightened from shiny black
to black to gray more fans came in and all things considered there were a fair
number of young fans in attendance. Free
tickets for kids under 12 didn't hurt.
You could tell some were “rookies” like mine but others clearly got “it”
and were already grizzled veterans. They
had the hats and shirts and they were comfortable in this environment. I saw many three generation packs of fans,
which also brought a smile. That is what
this is all about and it was nice to see that it is still alive. It was bittersweet because it also made me
long to have my dad there with us to make ours three generations.
Finally, as the Air Titans wound down and
exited the track you could feel the excitement rise. By then my smart phone had finally cooperated
and gave up the info I was after, which was probably the last thing not in my
plan. The #46… Banfield
Pet Hospital (hence the kitten on the fender) Toyota Tundra driver was none
other than… Kyle Busch! Of
all the trucks running tonight, somehow, someway he had picked Kyle out for his
favorite. I passed the phone to my wife
and said he will probably win this tonight.
She seemed happy that our son might have picked a winner at his first
race. I was less happy, knowing that if
he did win, my son would probably become a Kyle Busch fan for life. It was not a pleasant prospect, but I kept
telling myself if it makes him a race fan it will be OK.
As they rolled the trucks onto pit road, his
gaze was fixed on the opening from the garage waiting for his truck to roll out
to be lined up. When the #46 finally
came into view he was pointing and tugging and bumping us to make sure we saw
it as well. A lot of memories came
rushing back. Had it really been over 50
years ago that it was me and my sister doing the same thing to our parents,
pointing to our picks to make sure they saw them and try to sway them to cheer
for them with us?
His eyes were locked on his truck as they
rolled off of pit road and after a couple of pace laps he asked me for my
glasses so he could better see his “Kitten Truck”.
They continued to run pace laps to finalize
drying and make doubly sure the track was race ready. As they came down to take the green flag he
stood with the rest of us as I sent up my final prayer… “Dear Lord, please don't let him yell
‘Boogity, Boogity, Boogity.’” My prayers
were answered with a big yell instead.
Together, we watched his first race
unfold. Starting 27th, we saw the #46
make quick work of the trucks in front of him as he carved his way toward the
front. With each truck passed my son’s
smile grew. On lap 23, he saw his first
caution and his first pit stop. He also
got an introduction in fan sign language - when dad taps you on the leg and
points, look quick, because something is happening. He was upset after the stops as his truck
lost a lot of positions because of an issue in the pits. “I thought you said under yellow they
couldn't pass one another. I’m going to
tell somebody”, he protested. So I had
to then explain the exception. It made
me realize how little in our sport is cut and dried anymore, how now there is
an “exception” to every “rule”.
When they resumed racing, his truck climbed
back to 14th before they waved the green & white checkered flag for
Louisville’s Ben Rhodes, winner of Stage 1.
“What’s that?” he asked. I then
attempted to explain stage racing. He
hung on every word, trying to understand why this race was being stopped. When I finished, he was unusually silent and
then asked “Why?” I had no answer that
would make sense to him other than that’s the way they want to run their
races. I warned him they will do it
again before the race ends. His gave me
a sideways glance, shrugged his shoulders and did a little head nod as if to
say, “Really?”
Many of the trucks pitted during the first stage
break, allowing the #46 to restart in fifth.
This allowed him to restart ahead of the “Big One” in the dreaded Turn
3. As the second stage continued, my son
watched as the “Kitten Truck’s” advance slowed as the competition
toughened. I actually found myself
pulling for him to take the lead, just to see my son’s reaction. Surprisingly, that never happened, as the #46
could not get around teammate Noah Gragson, who held
on to take Stage Two.
As the field slowed and bunched up on the
backstretch things became relatively quiet, giving us a bit of time to talk - which,
if you know my son, he needed.
The usually stellar Kyle Busch pit crew muffed
another pit stop during that break, which did not sit well with my son. Once again, he wanted to tell someone that
all those trucks passed his truck under caution and that's not fair. His truck started the final stage fourteenth,
and when the green flag dropped we again watched him climb into the top five.
We were now into July 7th but my son never
showed signs of tiring. I was pleasantly
surprised he had made it this far. About
halfway through the final stage I noticed other young fans starting to lose
interest and curl up. My wife suggested
it was time for a snack, so I nudged him and motioned for him to follow
me. We wandered around for a while to
stretch our legs, before getting in line for some snacks for a final push to
the finish. “Two funnel cakes. One plain.
One with strawberries”, I said.
“Would you like powdered sugar on those?” asked the smiling food
vendor. “Sure! Put mine on his!” He had come this far, I was taking no chances
that he would not finish this race!
He and his mom shared (which is dad-speak for
she had to fight for a couple of bites) the deep-fried, double-sugared, strawberry
monstrosity. In retrospect, he probably
had more powdered sugar on him than in him, but he was topped off to go the
distance. Besides, he needed something
to lift his spirits as another botched pit stop and handling issues pretty much
took his “Kitten Truck” out of contention.
It was about 1:00 AM when the checkered flag fell on winner Christopher
Bell, who had survived a spin and a wreck to come home first.
We stood around for a bit to see the post-race
activities. Bell’s burnout was nothing
to speak of and was too far away to cause any excitement for him. Instead, he watched intently as Kyle Busch
unstrapped, crawled out of his truck, looked under the truck’s front end and
then melted into the pit road crowd, leaving the “Kitten Truck” all alone on
pit road to await the crew to come push the lonely Tundra back to the garage.
We gathered all our gear and hustled to our
truck to get in line for the trip home.
Luckily, two right turns and one brief delay and we were back on the
main road and heading south. We hadn't
gotten much past the one traffic light in downtown Sparta before things in the
back seat got quiet. A quick glance in
the rear view, confirmed that my son’s first race was officially over.
As we travelled down the fog-covered highway in
a small convoy of south-bound race fans, my wife and I finally had a chance to
talk, just the two of us… a chance to reflect on the day. Today, watching my first race as a dad with
her and our son I saw things differently.
My son’s questions made me look at racing through his eyes instead of
mine. Explaining things racing, things I
take for granted so that he, who knows almost nothing about the sport, could
understand, was for me enlightening and in a way reinvigorating. Trying to explain more difficult things like
stage racing and why things are the way they are often elicited a “Well, that’s
silly” or “That doesn't make sense” response for which I often had no
comeback. Seeing it through his eyes
made me think that maybe things have become too complicated. Maybe we have strayed too far from our roots.
The rain that I had all but cursed had provided
us with a unique opportunity. Though it
made for an extremely long day it had stripped away all the “enhancements” to
the racing experience that everyone now seems to think are essential to attract
and keep fans, especially young ones.
The rain had made this race day like the race days I grew up with - where
you went to a race to see a race… not a concert (nothing against the girl who
performed, she sang her heart out) or any of the extra trappings. My son had no distractions. When it was all said and done, all that was
left was the race (and a foot-long corn dog and most of a funnel cake). I’m pleased to report that as best I can
determine, racing, by itself, can still hold its own.
I looked over at my wife, who years ago after a
soggy slog through the Coca-Cola parking lot at a rain-delayed Indianapolis 500
said she was done with racing, had tonight, given it one more chance. I stole a glance in the rear-view to see my
little exhausted race fan who had been such a trooper today. It was then I understood that what I’ve
always heard folks say about rainbows wasn't true. For if it was, the rainbow we saw tonight
would not have ended at an RV inside Turn Two, but would instead have ended at
their seats, Grandstand G Row 28 Seats 9 and 10, for they are my treasure.
Finally, I asked her a question that I wasn't
sure I wanted to know the answer to, but I had to ask. I told her that during the race, during the
Stage 2 break he told me something and I had to know whether she had put him up
to it or not. After telling her what he
had said, she assured me she had not.
Hearing that, I felt my eyes start to fill, so
I looked out the side window for a moment, feigning checking for deer along the
roadside as the scene and his words ran through my mind again.
He tapped me on the leg twice, our signal that
we needed to talk. I pulled off my
headphones to hear him say,
“Thank you, Daddy for bringing us tonight. When we get home tomorrow, can I log on? I want to join Race Fans Forever.”
As I looked back in the rear view one more
time, I could only silently say, “You already have Son. You already have.”