September 19, 2001

How many fans hate to see the season end? How many times have you wished for just one more race?

Last night I had a dream:

New Hampshire at the beginning of the winter.

The trees were barren, the skies were ominous, and a chance of snow flurries they said. There had not been a sighting of sun for some twenty days. It's dark at 7 AM in the North East and every house along Route 106 had its lights on. Smoke was wafting from the chimneys. Cars passed on the road with a fresh balsam pine strapped securely upon the roof, and houses displayed Yuletide greetings.

Upon arriving at the track, a rosy-faced person greeted me and directed me to the parking area, ½ mile away. This person was wearing muck lucks, wool mittens and a strange looking hat that reminded me of some road kill I had seen on the highway. I wondered as I parked my vehicle, is tailgating the best idea? Something in the back of my mind said it wasn't, so I stayed in my car with the engine and heater running, turning my car off and on every 15 minutes so I wouldn't asphyxiate myself.

About 10 AM, it was time to find my seat.

After unloading the car and taking out my personal gas powered radiator that I had purchased at Home Depot, signed by Tony Stewart, along with blankets, scanner and a cooler. With both arms full, I headed towards the stands.

It was colder than expected. I stopped on souvenir row to hopefully buy something warm. The trailers were sparse. Where were those heavy jackets, sweats and fleece pullovers that were here at the July race? The only items left were a few XXL tank tops, XS shorts. Finally stumbled upon a trailer stocked with Ernie Irvan sweatshirts, priced at $50.00. I bought one figuring it would keep me warm and knew it could be sold on EBAY next week.

I also bought an official souvenir program.

The path wound through the crowds and I saw fans huddled around a fire. I stopped and threw my program into it and assured myself a front row space near the heat. As soon as my program is reduced to ashes, I was shuffled to the back.

I continued to walk towards my seat. I found it and set up my space, and turned on the heater and instantly found new friends. And guess what? They all love Ernie Irvan!

Wrapped in my blanket I surveyed the pit area. The drivers were walking to their cars sporting the newest in race apparel - LL Bean Driver Gloves! I would have given all my beer slushies just for one pair.

Much to my amazement, only ten cars were visible and all were sporting the Goodyear Ultra Grips (with advanced stud pin pattern) tires. They can scrape the bumps as they go into turn three.

As cold as it was, thankfully, there were no pre-race festivities. The cars were given the command to “start their engines”. The crowd cheered!

The pace “snow plow” led the ten cars around the track, dropping ice melt and finally turned into the pits. I held my breath, because it was just too dang cold to breath normally, and the green flag waved - as only a frozen flag could.

They made the first five laps and then on my scanner, someone spoke those dreaded words - “Snow in turn two”, and a full course RED flag came out.

It was only a few flurries at first, but the snow began to blanket the track. Out comes the track maintenance crew, headed by the Ricky Craven Snowmobile Charity Riders along with the DOT Snow Plows (compliments of New Hampshire!), a CATERPILLAR cold planner, and the official NHIS Jet “Snow” Blowers.

After five minutes most of the fans gathered again under the stands next to the fire pit. Some of the crew members had seen the smoke and raced towards their new “pit”. The concession workers passed out free hot chocolate.

I reached for my piping hot cup of “Nestle” chocolate and came eye to eye with Terry Labonte, the Ice Man. I reached for my sharpie marker and my cocoa split and I awoke.

I told you it was a dream, but was it really a dream...or a premonition?

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