| | Set Bristol Motor Speedway's line-dance to music, and hand Ricky Martin a microphone. If Nashville's country-music rhythms originated in the cowtown saloons of wild-and-wooly Texas, then Bristol's rock-and-roll was derived of an out-of-control Seattle mosh pit.
The tight-cornered tune hummed in the Appalachian Mountains is one-third precision squaredance, one-third delicate samba and a final third of teenage rave thrown into a half-mile fishbowl full of piranha.
Is an ink blot test in your future? Every blob is Bristol -- a mass of chaotic brushstrokes that come together after 500 miles to paint the most enjoyable three hours in NASCAR racing.
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“ |
It's a grinding race
track and an even more grinding race. It's more a game of survival than a
race. ” |
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— John Andretti |
Since seats on an aircraft carrier don't come without a four-year commitment to Uncle Sam, the closest bleacher to maximum, short-field, acceleration is on the start-finish line at Bristol where cars snap into turn like they were triggered from a giant slingshot.
Need a speed fix? It's a 43-car drag race at Bristol.
"Instead of beating around the bush with it, I'll be straight up. As a driver, Bristol is not one of my favorite tracks," says John Andretti. "I don't think too many of the guys in the garage are big fans either.
"You go to Bristol and start off with this really nice, pretty car -- for us the yellow just gleaming and that Petty Blue so nice, and the sponsor names just popping off the hood. By the time the race is over, you don't have fenders and quarter panels, your bumper is laying in the pits and it looks like somebody misspelled 'Cheerios.'
"It's a grinding race track and an even more grinding race. It's more a game of survival than a race."
Bristol's been compared to flying a fighter jet in a school gymnasium. It should be noted that fighters will fly themselves on auto-pilot. They cannot land without a pilot. Bristol, then, is like landing an F-16 in the Rose Bowl where the driver is ultimately the key ingredient. There is no aerodynamic package that either helps -- or survives -- Bristol. It is a driver's track.
For all its speed, though, it's the tight high-banked corners that give Bristol its aura. If a car gets out of shape on the 33-degrees, the odds of correcting are slim. Everything happens fast at Bristol.
The funny thing about all this speed? There is a speed limit at Bristol. It's 35 miles per hour on the twin pit roads at Bristol. It is the only remaining track on NASCAR's top circuit with a pair of pit lanes.
Pit position often defines a race at Bristol. Two drivers have won while pitting on the backstretch. Davey Allison did it, and Dale Earnhardt, with the aid of his 1999 bump-and-run on Terry Labonte, pulled off the unthinkable task.
"I'd actually rather be a little conservative than overdo it on pit road," says Ward Burton. "It's important for a driver to get in (the pits) and out well. The only time getting in your stall is critical is a lot of times, you'll have a guy that's already stopped before you get to your stall. Some of the pit stalls are so small that you get in there cock-eyed and then another guy comes and blocks you in. That makes it pretty difficult and makes it kind of hairy for the crewmen.
It would be nice if all the pit stalls were like those at Indianapolis because it would be a lot safer for the crews."
True. But, it isn't nearly as much fun watching 43 cars pile onto Indy's pit road for a pit stop.
Bristol is fun -- from pitting to racing to wrecking. Over 130,000 fans with tickets in hand for this weekend can attest to that.
Phil Furr, a freelance writer based in Charlotte, N.C., writes a weekly auto-racing column for ESPN.com. | |
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