Clint Bowyer dominated the night, and Dale Earnhardt, Jr.’s bad luck followed him to another track and another race. And the double-file restarts appeared to be a big success.
The only exciting part of the night was a fight in the stands. Although, I personally wouldn’t consider it a fight, since they seemed to be just yelling at each other like 12-year-old girls who couldn’t decide who got to date the popular kid.
Then, there was the Jr. basher in the next row that was so drunk I didn’t bother correcting his ignorance.
Just laps from the finish with Bowyer having things well in hand, things took a turn for the worst for me. Yes, again!
After 11 hours on my feet, in the sun, dodging the rain, and sweating what felt like the equivalent of my body weight, it all caught up with me. My head started to pound as hard as the cars battled, and my stomach turned as fast as the tires propelling those cars.
All I wanted was the race to end, no matter who ended up winning, and I wanted to go to sleep. A last lap crash gave Bowyer the well-deserved win, and I headed for the hotel.
Climbing into bed, after raiding the hotel ice cream machine, feet stiff and face burnt, I reveled in it all. There was no place and no other way I wanted to feel.
One race down, one more to go.
After all the excitement and busy day Friday, I decided that Saturday was the perfect day to hide from the heat and try to get some work done. I wanted to save all my energy for race time.
Walking to the track that night, I couldn’t help but wonder what was ahead. Restrictor plate races are some of the best in NASCAR and are my personal favorites.
Busch was the defending winner and always a factor, so would he be a force to reckon with? And Tony Stewart, the polesitter, was becoming a familiar face in the front this year, so how would he fair? Then there was Dale Earnhardt, Jr., who excels on restrictor plate tracks and really needed a turnaround.
The 2009 Coke Zero 400 will be one that I will never forget for various reasons.
The incredible racing, all the fan actions throughout the night, and one Hell of a finish. It was an eventful trip, and one that I will most likely be making for years to come.
Next year’s countdown is under way.
Daytona will always be my home away from home. Except there is one thing I need to change.
“I need to stop having these feelings,” I tell Dad on our way back to the hotel. “Every time I get a feeling in my stomach when we come to this race, Jr. crashes. I had the feeling in 2007, and he was in the Big One, and today I had the feeling again, and again he was wrecked. So, these need to stop.”
On Sunday, I was back in Disney with the family, who wanted to drag me to Gator Land. Oh, Hell no. I’m not going anywhere that with one wrong step I become lunch.
But being at the house with screaming kids, barely any Internet connection, and no sports channels was worse. I wouldn’t be able to survive the remaining week. I would rather be in New Jersey.
I’m out of here, someone book me a plane ticket…
Photo Credit: David Yeazell during the ESPN tour.
Quote of the weekend courtesy of a woman I met in the Sprint FanZone when talking about the quality of her lunch: "We don't come here for the food."
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