In the Blink of an Eye Page 8

  Mikey just got another upgrade.

  CHAPTER 12

  ALL-STAR

  When Wood Brothers decided to hand over the famous family ride to me, I was honored—and a bit nervous. Their car was a big part of NASCAR Winston Cup history. When I took over behind the wheel, the #21 had been to Victory Lane ninety-six times.

  I had to get the Woods their ninety-seventh.

  It had been a few years since they had been to Victory Lane, and we all know about my sterling record.

  The ’96 season started off well. By the time we got to Charlotte in May, I’d had some really strong runs—four top tens and a top five at Talladega. But ever since the season started, I’d had Charlotte circled on my calendar. I had it circled because the Charlotte Motor Speedway was my favorite track, and it was a track Wood Brothers had experienced a lot of success on over the years.

  We spend two weeks racing at Charlotte. The first weekend is the All-Star Race. That’s followed the next week by the Coke 600 (once known as the World 600), the same race I’d run in my NASCAR Cup debut in 1985. When I got to Charlotte for All-Star weekend, Wood Brothers and I weren’t qualified for the All-Star Race. That meant we had to run the All-Star qualifying race, which was held just prior to the big event.

  To secure a transfer spot, you had to finish in the top five in the qualifying race. That sounds easy enough, right? It’s a bunch of people who haven’t won. Surely I could qualify, considering how well I’d run up to that point in my new ride. When I headed to Charlotte, I assumed it was a given.

  You know what often happens—right?—when you make assumptions. It looked like that was about to happen to me. I was barely hanging on to the fifth position. The guy in sixth was all over me, trying to grab the last transfer spot. That guy? The next NASCAR superstar, Johnny Benson Jr. The young phenom was all over my old tail.

  Wow! I was finding it hard to overcome that crucial two-month difference in our age.

  With just a few laps to go and the young lion all over me, I changed my line down in turns three and four as a last-ditch effort to hold onto the all-important fifth position. And it worked. Using my new line, I pulled away from Johnny and finished fifth. That meant I would start twentieth, last in the All-Star Race. But I was in. I leaned on the two months of experience I had over Johnny, and I grabbed the last spot in the show. I had turned the young cub away.

  After the qualifying race, we had about a half hour to make adjustments and be ready to start the All-Star event. I explained to Eddie and Len that the car was a mess. We needed some major chassis adjustments to get in the game. My Wood Brothers crew went to work. A couple springs, a couple shocks, and a sway bar change. We were ready to start from the back of the field for one of the biggest events of the NASCAR season.

  It was a big deal to be a part of the All-Star Race. All the great teams were in it. Wood Brothers had always been one of NASCAR’s elite teams. I was relieved I’d been able to put them back in the company where they belonged.

  When I say All-Star event, don’t get confused. This isn’t like the all-star games in Major League Baseball or the NBA. This isn’t just dancing around having fun. This is a serious car race. At over 190 miles an hour. People can get hurt. And the All-Star Race has one of the largest purses in all of racing. Some crazy stuff goes down when that much money is involved.

  When the green flag flew and we headed into turn one, I could tell right away the adjustments my guys had made were right on. I needed some major changes. I got them. Now I could really race.

  The All-Star Race is run in three segments. After the first segment, they turn the field upside down. So if you win the first segment, you start last in the second—and last starts first. I began the night from the back. One might think, why not just stay there? That would have meant I’d start first in the next segment. But I didn’t like that strategy. I believed I needed to push my car as hard as I could to see what I had. If I just simply rode in the back, I wouldn’t have known what to do to the car when we got a chance to make adjustments. So I charged. I made it halfway through the field in the first segment and finished tenth.

  I got a couple of reminders over the radio along the way from Eddie Wood about what I was doing. “You know, if you pass those guys, you’re just gonna have to pass ’em back,” he said. And one of the guys I passed in that segment was Dale Earnhardt.

  After the break, the field was inverted. I finished tenth, so I started segment two eleventh. Dale was just ahead of me in eighth. During the next segment, he and I both charged to the front. Dale won the second segment and I finished fourth. Now it was time for a pit stop and a ten-lap shootout to see who would win one of the biggest races of the year and the two hundred grand that went along with it.

  After the second and final break, it was time to come to the green. The cream had risen to the top. Three Cup champions—Dale Earnhardt, Rusty Wallace, and Terry Labonte—lined up one, two, three. There I sat, right behind them, me and all my wins—strike that, I didn’t have any of those. But I was lined up fourth. Do you think I was a bit overmatched? Yeah, me too. A little. The only thing that stood between me and victory were three of the best NASCAR drivers ever, three Hall-of-Famers for sure.

  But you know why they have the races? Because in sports, you never know what’s going to happen. And I can guarantee you, that was certainly true that night.

  On the second lap of the ten-lap sprint to the checkered flag, I cleared Rusty and was right on the bumpers of Terry and Dale. They were side by side as we dove into turn one, when Dale’s car slipped up the track. He and Terry rubbed. I cut to the bottom and drove off turn two with the lead.

  A lead I never relinquished.

  I beat all those champions and won NASCAR’s All-Star Race.

  The Woods and I had done it.

  I had finally won, and it was the All-Star Race. After so many losses, I could finally celebrate being a Cup winner.

  “Michael Waltrip Passes Rusty Wallace, Terry Labonte, and Dale Earnhardt in the Final Ten Laps to Win the All-Star Race!” If someone had written that headline before the race was over, the editor would have been fired for sure.

  But this win was real.

  As I rode toward Victory Lane, I was thinking just how good it felt. I wanted to win for Wood Brothers more than I wanted to win for me. The #21 car now had 97 wins. This was my first. We were all going to enjoy it.

  I pulled into Victory Lane, climbed out of the car, jumped onto the roof, threw my arms in the air, and saluted the fans.

  Fireworks were going off above me. I’d beaten the best of the best in NASCAR on one of the biggest nights of the year. And I did it for the Wood brothers. Eddie, Len, Glen, and Leonard all flashed smiles that were priceless. These boys hadn’t been to Victory Lane for a few years. Man, I was so glad I was able to take them back there.

  As I stood on top of the car with all the accolades of the fans showering down on me, and me feeling so good about what I had accomplished, I thought, “This is big. Finally, no more 0-fer. I am a winner.”

  Or was I?

  It hit me harder than I had ever hit any concrete wall. My arms still in the air and a huge smile still on my face, I thought: This doesn’t count.

  “It don’t count.”

  I didn’t allow the smile to fade from my face, but my feelings of joy faded. I hadn’t changed a thing. I was still that same person, the 0-fer guy. Isn’t that crazy? I was the All-Star champ. But all it got me in the record book was an asterisk.

  You see, like in other major sports, the All-Star Race is a special event. The results of it don’t count in the official record book.

  Oh, you might get rich. Or you might get hurt. But either way it doesn’t count.

  I don’t think anyone else in Victory Lane or anyone I had beaten on the track—or even the fans probably—really cared that it didn’t count. But not a single one of them were 0-fer-300. I was the only one with that special distinction.

  So with a smile on my
face, I climbed off the car and Glenn Jarrett from TNT television was there to interview me. Glenn, a former racer himself, looked at me and said: “What a night, Mike. What a night. How does it feel to be here in Victory Lane with the Wood brothers?”

  I answered that it was a big event. It was a huge night for Citgo and Klaussner Furniture. I said all the things a driver’s supposed to say, the God, Goody’s, and Goodyear speech I’d learned from DW.

  “Glenn,” I said, “I’m gonna build my mom and dad a house. I’ve been wanting them to move to North Carolina. This’ll pay for their house.”

  I got a little excited there for a second and forgot about what I knew was coming next. I could have lip-synched Glenn’s next question. He said: “Mike, after all this time, a big win like this, but it’s not an official points race.”

  “I know, Glenn. It don’t count.”

  Other than Glenn, no one else in Victory Lane cared if it counted or not. We were just living it up. Partying on a Saturday night in Charlotte.

  This win validated the Woods’ hiring me. And I needed that. I didn’t want to let them down. I could tell by the way they were looking: There wasn’t anybody in the world they would rather have driving their car than me.

  While I was celebrating with Wood Brothers and my whole team, Dale came by Victory Lane to say congratulations. He had put me and the Woods together. He knew what a big deal it was for us to win one of the biggest races of the year. My brother Darrell came as well to give me a hug. Both Dale and Darrell had won the All-Star Race. Darrell and I are the only brothers to ever win that event.

  My first win with Wood Brothers, the win that didn’t count, was my last win with them. At least I got them one.

  Sorta.

  CHAPTER 13

  HELPING DAD

  When I won the All-Star race in 1996, I said in Victory Lane that I was going to build my parents a house with all the money I’d won.

  Mom and Dad still lived back in Owensboro, Kentucky. I wanted them to move to Sherrills Ford, North Carolina, and be neighbors to Buffy and me. We lived out in the country and had plenty of room to build them a place they’d be proud of. Mom and Dad were into it. They wanted to move. We were excited and began working right away on their house.

  Before the house was finished and Mom and Dad could move down, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. We were sad, but Dad was ready to fight. He began his treatment in Owensboro and told us to keep building their house in North Carolina. I loved my dad’s attitude. “We’re going to beat this cancer, Pop,” I told him. Buffy and I were researching where we could get the best care for him.

  We talked to Rick Hendrick, a NASCAR team owner and a friend of the family who was fighting cancer himself. I asked Rick about the doctors who were treating him. He put me in touch with them, and they suggested we take Dad to the University of Kentucky. The team at UK could make a plan for treating Dad and hopefully cure his lung cancer. Not only were Dad’s doctors some of the best in their field, UK was a short drive from Owensboro. And all the Waltrips were big University of Kentucky Wildcats fans. So in addition to the care Dad would receive, he thought it was cool he was being treated at the university.

  We had it all set up. When Mom and Dad moved to North Carolina in late 1996, the team at UK handed Dad off to the same doctors who were successfully treating Rick. They then began treating Dad. Dad’s spirit was strong. His attitude was amazing. And man, was he ever proud of me.

  “You got me the best doctors in the world, son,” he would say. “These are the doctors who cured Rick. I know they’re gonna cure me too.”

  And it was a good thing Dad had such a positive attitude. The chemo and radiation were hard on him. Dad was in his seventies, and he’d had a rough year. Before the treatment for cancer could begin, Dad had to have heart surgery. He had a leaky aortic valve that needed to be replaced. They’d performed the operation in Owensboro, and it was a success. The replacement valve came from a pig. Dad liked the fact that he had a piece of a pig in his heart. He would always say, “That ol’ pig is pumping away in there. She’s doing her job.”

  Once Dad recovered from the heart surgery, we started our trips to the University of Kentucky for his cancer treatments. Every time I showed up to take him for treatment, he would always be standing there waiting for me with a positive attitude, all dressed up and ready to go. He loved me being there for him. He was confident we were going to beat this thing together. We were a team. We were going to win.

  After Mom and Dad moved to North Carolina, we wanted Dad to maintain his zest for life. Despite the fight against cancer, this was a special time for me and my dad. A typical day for us would begin with Dad’s treatment. Then we’d have lunch and maybe even play golf if he felt like it. Sometimes, Dad would go to the races with us. I always wanted him to be looking forward to something.

  One day at lunch I asked Dad if he wanted to go on vacation. “Tell me where you want to go, and we’ll plan it,” I said.

  Dad said he’d always wanted to take Mom to Hawaii. “Can we go there?” he asked.

  “Hawaii it is,” I announced.

  That was November 1998. If you had a picture of our group in Hawaii, you would definitely have laughed. We brought Macy, our baby girl, who had just celebrated her first birthday. So we had her stroller. Mom was there. She couldn’t get along very well at all because of her stroke. So we had her crutches. Dad was battling cancer. He needed a lot of help. There we were, all of us, laid up on the beach in Hawaii, coconut drinks in our hands, complete with frilly umbrellas. I really appreciated Buffy signing up for that trip with the in-laws. It was a challenge, but oh, so worth it.

  Dad loved being able to show Mom Hawaii, and Mom loved being there. I just loved that everybody was feeling so much love.

  Who doesn’t love love?

  It was so special for me to see those two enjoying life. After Hawaii, we stopped in San Francisco for a couple of days. Dad had been stationed there in World War II, and he wanted to visit the base where he’d lived.

  The next summer, I was always doing something with Dad. One of the things we enjoyed the most was going to the Bristol races in August. The North Carolina mountains sit between Sherrills Ford and Bristol, Tennessee. Dad loved going to the mountains to golf. This was a guys’ trip for us. It is always as hot as Hades in Sherrills Ford in August. But about seventy miles away and a mile up, the mountain air is cool and fresh. Our last trip there was in 1999.

  We arrived late on a Tuesday evening. We always stayed with our friend, Knox Hillman, God rest his soul.

  Knox had a condo overlooking the golf course where we played. Early Wednesday morning, just as the sun began peeking through my bedroom window, I could already hear Dad in the kitchen making coffee.

  It got quiet after a few minutes, so I got up to check on him. What I saw made me really happy. There was Dad, standing on the balcony of the condo with a cup of coffee in his hand. He was already dressed; my dad always liked to look good.

  There were times when he wouldn’t exactly match right. I’d even seen him accidentally wear one black shoe and one brown shoe. Not this time. He was looking sharp. If you’d seen him, you’d have thought he just stepped out of a Sears catalogue. He was wearing a pair of light-brown cotton pants and a burgundy plaid polo shirt. He was looking fine and ready to golf.

  Knox’s condo had a great view of the course. Looking down from the balcony, you could see the well-manicured fairways and the picturesque mountains that surrounded the area and helped to frame the course.

  It was a fabulous morning that Wednesday. The dew was still shimmering on the grass as the sun began shining over the mountaintops. As Dad stood there, leaning slightly over the railing with his coffee, I just watched. I tried to imagine what my daddy was thinking. I wondered if he was saying to himself: “This is why I’m going to beat cancer.” Or maybe it was just, “Thank you, Lord. Every day’s a gift.”

  After a few minutes of observing Dad, I walked up from behin
d, put my arm around his shoulder, and said: “It’s something, isn’t it, Pops? What do you think?”

  His response was 100-percent Leroy. “I will bet you, son,” he said, “I will bet you they make us stay on them damn cart paths.”

  If you ever wanted to know what Dad was thinking, all you had to do was ask.

  I was thinking the reply I would get would be, “It’s beautiful.” Or perhaps, “I just saw a deer walk by.” I certainly didn’t see the cart path comment coming. Because the place was so beautiful, Dad was afraid we’d have to stay on the cart path instead of driving up to wherever he hit his ball. He wasn’t up to walking all over the place.

  I quickly reassured him. “We don’t have to stay on those paths, Dad,” I told him. “I’ll get us one of those orange flags.”

  Sometimes golf courses give orange flags to golfers who are older or physically challenged. And with an orange flag, you can drive anywhere on the course.

  Dad smiled.

  “You can get me one of those flags that old people have on their carts?” he asked. “You can do that, son?”

  “Yes, Dad,” I told him. “For you, I can. I will get us a flag.”

  Dad shook his head in amazement. “You’re the best.”

  After a couple of days of golfing it was time to go to Bristol. We had really enjoyed the mountains, but it was time to get back to business, the business of racing. The Bristol Motor Speedway is one of the most challenging tracks in all of NASCAR. It’s a high-banked speed bowl, a half-mile track that we cover in just over fifteen seconds a lap. They call it the “Concrete Cage.” Racing there is like flying jet fighters in a gymnasium.

  My point is things happen in a hurry in Bristol. Quite a transition from the tranquil setting of a golf course in the mountains to what amounts to 130-mile-per-hour car wrestling. And I loved them both.

  The first race in Bristol that weekend was the Friday night Busch Series match, a 250-lapper. I was racing hard that night, and as the laps wound down, I was closing on the leader and thought I was going to win. What a great way to finish up my special trip with Dad! I wanted to win so bad. But I didn’t. And it pissed me off.