Many NASCAR fans have a list of tracks that they must go to, and the debate will always rage on about which tracks are the best and which are the worst.
Since July of 2004, my "must go to" track has been the Daytona International Speedway.
Under the lights at 180 mph for three or four hours is my kind of race, and it happening on the 4th of July with fireworks is my idea of a good time. Spending that time in a place where people enjoy racing as much as I do, and that camp out and party up and down Speedway Boulevard is a great deal.
Parking lots and sidewalks as far as the eye can see are packed with people who bleed NASCAR and don’t mind if a total stranger wonders over to hang out.
This really is as the commercial states: My, your, our NASCAR.
For the seventh time, including the 2008 Daytona 500, I packed my bags and readied for another trip and date with Daytona.
This year was special, though, as the trip marked my one-year anniversary of joining Bleacher Report. Two hundred eight articles and 2,320 comments later, I think I’ve gotten good use out of the site.
It was also special because I had some pretty exciting things lined up at the track, and not just the normal run for cover when the thunder and lightening hit.
This year, my week leading up to Daytona was not filled with Pina Coladas in my hand and Bohemian sand between my toes.
Instead, I had to stick with the family for the annual trip to Disney before Dad and I ditched Mickey Mouse for Earnhardt’s House.
However, the Crandall family doesn’t do things the easy way, and this trip would be no different. Instead of buying plane tickets, my dad is more likely to get a speeding ticket.
That’s right, my parents drive to Florida…from New Jersey. And this year, I had no choice but to tag along.
Twenty-four hours after the checkered flag flew in New Hampshire, my Monday was filled with packing, cleaning the house ,and making sure my iPod was fully charged. A road trip with my family could drive anyone to drink, so I was going prepared.
Tuesday was all about relaxing before hoping in the car and taking off.
But there were still bags to be packed, since I’m never on top of things, and I had to send my puppy to be cared for as I went off to visit her namesake. Yes, I named my puppy Daytona.
Finally at 10 p.m., the car was loaded and we were finally on our way. See, not only is my family crazy enough to drive to Florida, but they are crazy enough to do it in the middle of the night like fleeing bandits.
As we got deeper into the ride, my thoughts turned to things I could have forgotten and what lay ahead on the trip and on the track.
And, of course, I connected everything around me to NASCAR, from signs that would lead to other tracks to the way my father was driving. That reminded me more of a quote from “Tyler Perry’s Madea Goes to Jail” movie where Madea proclaims “Call the po-po, I ain’t scared of the po-po.”
At 4 a.m. during a fueling stop, I decided that I needed some donuts from the attached store. I was sorely disappointed to find no Krispy Kreme donuts as advertised here in Emporia, Va.
I think Elliott Sadler should use his status to get that changed.
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