salesmen.
Pearson looks as if he could climb right back into a stock car and run five hundred miles. He seems far more robust than a man who underwent open-heart surgery a few years back. He has the same barrel chest and broad shoulders he boasted when he was winning eleven races in eighteen tries in 1973.
After a few minutes of chitchat, though, the proud ex-champion was getting a little restless. With a small sense of urgency, I excused myself and returned to the garage stall, where Stewart had been intercepted by someone else.
“Hey, Tony,” I said, “the best stock car racer who ever lived is out there, and I don’t think I’d make him wait much longer.”
Stewart looked up. “Don’t let him get away,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”
Thirty seconds may have passed before Stewart strode out into the desert sunshine.
“Hey,” he said, shaking Pearson’s hand, “I need you to drive my car for me at Darlington. I ain’t worth a damn at that track.”
Pearson didn’t flinch. “All you got to do is drive that thing as high on the track as you can get it,” he said.
“That’s what I’m doing,” Stewart said, smiling.
“You ought to have driven it when it was hard,” replied Pearson, who won there a record ten times. “It’s easy now.”
By this time, a small army of photographers had descended, snapping what must have been hundreds of shots as another writer and I ducked out. I felt like saying, “Hey, guys, you’re welcome.”
After a reasonable period of photo ops taken while they chatted, Stewart and Pearson walked over to the Joe Gibbs Racing transporter and went inside to chat a while longer. Pearson came out with an autographed photo for his grandson, aptly named David.
Say what you want about Stewart, but he is nothing if not mindful of the past and respectful of its heroes. At any given time that he isn’t embroiled in high-level discussions on just how he’s going to manage to win the next race, a visit to Stewart’s transporter will find him talking shop with a Red Farmer or a Donnie Allison. Stewart feels at home in the company of the hardscrabble men who preceded him.
No one needs to remind Pearson of how great he was. He’s a proud man, but he’s not one to elaborate on his great works and deeds. Pearson grew up in a textile mill village, and when he rose to prominence, he knew well the feeling of being looked down upon by the society folks. I wasn’t kidding when I told Stewart he was the best stock car racer ever to strap on a helmet. That’s my opinion an d it’s unlikely to change.
“They’re going to have to change at least two right-side tires.”
—NBC anchor
ALLEN BESTWICK
calling the 2002 Budweiser Shootout
“[Crew chief] Tommy Baldwin would like to say he’s going to Disneyland, but actually, he’ll be going to Rockingham next week with the rest of us.”
—Motor Racing Network’s
JOE MOORE
after Baldwin’s driver, Ward Burton, won the 2002 Daytona 500
“Depends on the day.”
—MATT KENSETH
asked what it was like to drive for Jack Roush
“It’s been a whirlpool week.”
—WARD BURTON
obviously meaning to say “whirlwind”
“I wonder a lot about what I would have been had my dad not been a race car driver. I’d probably have ended up in the cotton mill somewhere.”
—DALE EARN
“I can run ten miles. I don’t think driving five hundred miles is going to be a problem.”
—STEVE PARK
prior to making his comeback after suffering a severe head injury in 2001
“I’ll trade ’em [Chevrolet] three rule changes for Jeff Gordon.”
—Dodge owner
RAY EVERNHAM
once Gordon’s crew chief
A nother driver who bridges the generation gap is Dale Earnhardt Jr., and, naturally, part of the reason is the legacy of his late father. Just being the Second Coming of Dale isn’t enough, though. Earnhardt Jr. manages to be mindful of where he came from without coming across as a cheap imitation of his father. No one’s
Pearson looks as if he could climb right back into a stock car and run five hundred miles. He seems far more robust than a man who underwent open-heart surgery a few years back. He has the same barrel chest and broad shoulders he boasted when he was winning eleven races in eighteen tries in 1973.
After a few minutes of chitchat, though, the proud ex-champion was getting a little restless. With a small sense of urgency, I excused myself and returned to the garage stall, where Stewart had been intercepted by someone else.
“Hey, Tony,” I said, “the best stock car racer who ever lived is out there, and I don’t think I’d make him wait much longer.”
Stewart looked up. “Don’t let him get away,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”
Thirty seconds may have passed before Stewart strode out into the desert sunshine.
“Hey,” he said, shaking Pearson’s hand, “I need you to drive my car for me at Darlington. I ain’t worth a damn at that track.”
Pearson didn’t flinch. “All you got to do is drive that thing as high on the track as you can get it,” he said.
“That’s what I’m doing,” Stewart said, smiling.
“You ought to have driven it when it was hard,” replied Pearson, who won there a record ten times. “It’s easy now.”
By this time, a small army of photographers had descended, snapping what must have been hundreds of shots as another writer and I ducked out. I felt like saying, “Hey, guys, you’re welcome.”
After a reasonable period of photo ops taken while they chatted, Stewart and Pearson walked over to the Joe Gibbs Racing transporter and went inside to chat a while longer. Pearson came out with an autographed photo for his grandson, aptly named David.
Say what you want about Stewart, but he is nothing if not mindful of the past and respectful of its heroes. At any given time that he isn’t embroiled in high-level discussions on just how he’s going to manage to win the next race, a visit to Stewart’s transporter will find him talking shop with a Red Farmer or a Donnie Allison. Stewart feels at home in the company of the hardscrabble men who preceded him.
No one needs to remind Pearson of how great he was. He’s a proud man, but he’s not one to elaborate on his great works and deeds. Pearson grew up in a textile mill village, and when he rose to prominence, he knew well the feeling of being looked down upon by the society folks. I wasn’t kidding when I told Stewart he was the best stock car racer ever to strap on a helmet. That’s my opinion an d it’s unlikely to change.
“They’re going to have to change at least two right-side tires.”
—NBC anchor
ALLEN BESTWICK
calling the 2002 Budweiser Shootout
“[Crew chief] Tommy Baldwin would like to say he’s going to Disneyland, but actually, he’ll be going to Rockingham next week with the rest of us.”
—Motor Racing Network’s
JOE MOORE
after Baldwin’s driver, Ward Burton, won the 2002 Daytona 500
“Depends on the day.”
—MATT KENSETH
asked what it was like to drive for Jack Roush
“It’s been a whirlpool week.”
—WARD BURTON
obviously meaning to say “whirlwind”
“I wonder a lot about what I would have been had my dad not been a race car driver. I’d probably have ended up in the cotton mill somewhere.”
—DALE EARN
“I can run ten miles. I don’t think driving five hundred miles is going to be a problem.”
—STEVE PARK
prior to making his comeback after suffering a severe head injury in 2001
“I’ll trade ’em [Chevrolet] three rule changes for Jeff Gordon.”
—Dodge owner
RAY EVERNHAM
once Gordon’s crew chief
A nother driver who bridges the generation gap is Dale Earnhardt Jr., and, naturally, part of the reason is the legacy of his late father. Just being the Second Coming of Dale isn’t enough, though. Earnhardt Jr. manages to be mindful of where he came from without coming across as a cheap imitation of his father. No one’s
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