This will be a long installment.  Get a drink, make sure you're comfortable.  Skip to the bottom if you want to hear only about the race.

So Saturday we headed down Rt A-1a which follows the coast and into Daytona.  David and I had done some scouting of the area in January.  We found our way to an appropriate parking area and made our way to the track for the Busch Race.  I spent most of that race soaking in my surroundings and pinching myself every now and again to make sure I was really there.  Daytona Motor Speedway.  I mean, this is like Mecca to Nascar fans.  The race itself was unremarkable.  I think Harvick won. 

Leaving the track on Saturday was an absolute nightmare.  Daysi had volunteered to drive (David can't drive a stick shift and I was in considerable pain having suffered a back injury on Super Bowl Sunday at work) so I claimed the backseat.  Anyone who has been to a race-or indeed just about any big sporting event- has reason to dread getting out of the lot. 

David had booked us a hotel for Saturday in Orlando, so we wound our way on state roads I will never again find and got there HOURS after the race ended.  Daysi and I claimed dibs on taking our showers first, which was fine by David because he wanted to take a bath.  One of mine and Daysi's little jokes from this weekend is from this night.  David had taken a newspaper into the tub with him and as he finished reading a page, he would ball it up and toss it to the floor under the sink.  He came out of the bathroom and Daysi went in to brush her teeth and said "Oh my god!!  It looks like a giant hamster cage in here!" 

The entire weekend, David was completely on our nerves.  He acted bored and disinterested and I felt I was trying to be a buffer between he and Daysi.  Because of the back injury I mentioned above and expenses I incurred and the fact that Daysi is a broke college student- David paid for just about everything.  He was our Sugar Daddy- without any sugar.  So we began to refer to our trip as "Terri and Daysi Go To Daytona!!! (sponsored by David S)".  My relationship with David is simple.  I read a book that summed it up beautifully: "Although she usually considered him a nuisance, he was a habit.  And even an aggravation, if it was habitual, could be dear to the heart."  Without him- I would have never come to Daytona.  I have reason to believe, he will be one of my lifelong friends.  Even now as I am writing this he keeps instant messaging me about tennis.  Friendship. 

ANYWAY-  getting to the big DAY-  Feb 17, 2007  The Daytona 500.

If I had felt awestruck on Saturday, that feeling was NOTHING compared to the electricity in the air at that track on Sunday.  We parked in a north lot, even though we were seated in Turn 3.  We had to walk almost the entire circumference of the track to get to our section.  Yes- that's right.  We had to walk around the OUTSIDE of the 2.5 mile track.  We parked so far away knowing and hoping to be in a good location for our exit as we headed back to Gainesville Sunday night.

It was FREEZING that day!!! I was decked out in all my Jimmie gear, but it got buried under my college sweatshirt.  Even my hat was invisible because I kept the hood pulled up.  We all wore gloves and had blankets.  At the track, the throngs of fans are almost intimidating.  All three of us are short people and we continually got separated.  It's always a wonder to me that all these drivers can have a legion of fans and here we all mingle and give good natured ribbings to "rival" drivers fans.  When you pass a fellow fan of the same driver, there are fist bumps, high fives, and smiles. 

For the race- I had picked Tony Stewart, Juan Pablo Montoya, Ricky Rudd and I can't remember my last driver.  I groaned and screamed in frustration like Tony was my hero when Kurt Busch wrecked him.  Two guys right in front of me were Tony fans and we shared our commiseration.  Daysi had not the faintest clue about any driver, but I'm proud to say she caught on like a pro.  The race got red flagged and sitting right in front of our section was....Kurt Busch and the crowd got downright ugly.  Yelling, throwing cups, giddy with a shared reason to ALL boooo the same villain. 

It's funny, when you first get there and you sit in your 11" of space and try so hard to not invade the dude next to you.  "Pardon me" as you try to sneak a grab into your cooler for a drink.  By the end of the race it's like you have 100 temporary best friends and we're whooping, hollering, cheering, high fiving even hugging each other.  The joy is contagious.  We stand, sit, stomp our feet, roar in frustration as a unit.  Doesn't matter who's on your shirt, you might console some sweet girl who did the same for you when her driver cuts a tire.  Or even better- when something goes wrong for the guy who's biggest fan is behind you, you might turn around and say "Ohhhhh!!!  Too bad!!!" and then tap his beer with yours.  When my guy Jimmie wrecked- the dudes in front of me who must have thought I was a Tony fan- turned around to share an evil cackle with me.  I tore the hood from my head, pointed to my Jimmie Johnson hat and yelled "I work for Lowe's!"  They laughed and said "We work for Home Depot".  I playfully throttled the one guy and we were happy rivals, temporary friends. 

The finish to the 2007 Daytona 500 was crazy.  That entire crowd was frenzied, frothing for a Mark Martin victory.  I don't think a single soul was seated for the last 10 laps.  And the Harvick squeezed past him at the last second.  Cars wrecking all over, Clint Bowyer is upside down on his roof across the finish line.  Now that's fancy. 

During the race, I sent and received so many text messages I couldn't delete them fast enough.  Made a few calls to some key people so they could hear the roar of the engines on green flags as the pack was close together streaming by me.  Called Dad about half a dozen times, sometimes just holding the phone in front of me.  I hated that he was sitting in Ga and not with me.  But I will return with him to this track and town that is part of him.  I swore it to myself on that day.  For someone who has never been to a race, the sound of that pack of 43 cars is like nothing I have experienced before.  It's visceral.  Powerful.  AWESOME.  You can feel it.  You can try to talk over it, but then you just shake your head and smile and wait for them to pass.  Daysi and David (because they love me so) enjoyed watching me react to the restarts.  They fill me with so much adrenaline and joy.  I love it.  

ok- now the race is over.  I'll shut up now and conclude my story in part 3.

If you're still reading, thank you.