The Art of Being a 

Racing Wife

With Linda Petty, wife of Richard, recently passing away after a long bout with cancer, I got to thinking just how important racing wives are to a family.  They are the glue that holds everything together.

Lynda had been fighting cancer for quite some time. Two years ago, when I attended the NASCAR Sprint Cup race in Texas, I had the opportunity to meet Richard.  He graciously opened his RV to us to do some photos and a BS session.  It was a surreal moment.  That man can genuinely engage in a conversation with someone he just met.  As it turned out, we were quite fortunate to do that meet & greet, as Richard was leaving shortly thereafter—even before the race started, to fly home to Lynda because she was not doing well.  That was two years ago.  I can only imagine how brutal some of her days were between then and the end.  Cancer is vicious.  It’s even more vicious to watch someone who has been incredibly strong succumb to it.

Lynda was instrumental in starting the Racing Wives Auxiliary, an organization that helps injured members of the NASCAR community.  It was extremely hard decades ago to be a racing wife at the top level of the sport.  Back then, there weren’t massive pay days or endorsement deals that funded lush motor homes.  Having a place of respite where you could take care of the kids or grab a quiet moment with your spouse was unheard of back in the day.  Private jets were not a common staple in the budgets to get a driver’s family to and from the races.  It was a rough life for the wives of racers or crew members, if they even were able to attend the races.

Supporting your spouse’s hopes and dreams is something everyone should do.  It can be tough when a spouse is absent for many things, due to their work.  Spouses of those who are members of the military will always have my utmost respect.  Not only do they struggle to hold down the proverbial fort solo, but the potential risk of losing their spouse in the line of duty is always in the back of their mind.  I’m not at all trying to equate a racer to a member of the military, but the scenario can be somewhat similar.  The time away from the family while working on the race car, traveling or racing can be tremendous.  Obviously, there is risk of losing one’s life in racing is there as well.  The Petty family is all too familiar with that, when their grandson, Adam died from injuries sustained in a racing incident back in 2000.  But it’s not the same thing as military, I get that.

Still, at the local short track level, racing wives play an integral role.  My husband is not a racer per se, but he does build race cars and is a crew chief.  I’m grateful that we don’t have small children, as I see firsthand just how challenging that can be on racing families.  Being a racing wife can be tough.  Being a racing wife and mom is downright exhausting.  It requires copious amounts of patience, understanding, and bottles of wine.

It is doubtful that Lynda Petty relied upon wine.  She was a skillful wife and mother in the pits, capable of feeding an entire pit crew and brood of children out of the back of a station wagon.  I bought a bag of Fritos once for my husband at the race track.  I guess I need to work on that a little more.

Racing wives are the backbone of the family.  We soothe our husband’s bruised ego when a night doesn’t go well. We are their biggest cheerleaders when they are on the cusp of a win, and those with children end up filling in the parenting gaps solo as necessary.  We are philanthropists, always ready to help another racing family, whether it’s a fundraiser or just helping to keep an eye on kids in the grandstands.  Diplomacy is something all racing wives must learn.  We smile and pretend to be happy for another family, when their dad wins the feature; even though we wished it were our own kid’s dad in Victory Lane.

A healthy work/racing/life balance is a difficult thing to achieve.  I don’t know if Lynda Petty ever had the perfect balance, but she sure made it look like it.  Attitude is everything, and a positive one at that, which can be tough when your husband works a lot of hours.  My husband is a workaholic.  Although, I’m convinced he could probably manage his time just a little better.  He talks A LOT.  Seriously, he logs WAY over 3500 minutes each month on his cellphone, and if you get him going on stories of races past and he’ll devour hours.  And they say women talk a lot.

Regardless, our marriage seems to be made for racing.  We are both passionate about this sport we love, yet we both have our own interests at the track.  Obviously, he is in the pits with his team and I’m somewhere up top, videotaping the events or doing a live broadcast, depending on the track.  He has never said it, but I’m sure he appreciates that he doesn’t have to worry about where I’m at or what I’m doing.  I wouldn’t want it any other way.  The worst thing that could happen is for something to not go well at the track because I was making demands on his time for something, when he needed to be focused on the car or team.  I don’t want to be THAT wife.

But still, holding a family unit together with a racer can be tough, when there are jobs around the house to be done; particularly auto care.  It is incredibly strange that a guy who turns wrenches for a living, struggles to find the time to perform such tasks on our personal vehicles.

I think my husband would agree that I don’t nag.  I nudge.  However, that can backfire sometimes.  I purchased side mirrors for my Ford Explorer and asked him to help me replace the broken ones.  Those new mirrors sat by the door to the garage for a whole year, before I finally watched a YouTube video that showed me how to replace them.  I ended up doing that job myself, thinking that he would feel guilty for not doing it.  Wrong.  Instead, he bragged to his buddies how awesome his wife was for being able to do the job herself.    How could I be mad at him?  He was so proud of me.  In retrospect, I’m pretty sure that was his plan.  Kill me with compliments, so I forget that he was supposed to do the job over a year ago.

I really shouldn’t rip on him too much.  The stars aligned this week for me.  I actually wrote down the date and time in my journal.  This stuff doesn’t happen—ever.  My husband bought the swaybar bracket kit and replaced the broken ones on my Explorer!  I had only asked him once if he could do it.  I was astounded.  I even took a picture to document the occasion, and then I took him out to dinner to celebrate.  I’m starting to think he has the upper hand on this deal, in retrospect.

Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m handling these situations the way Lynda Petty would have.  I certainly don’t have the magnitude of patience and vision that she did, but I’m trying.  I think we could all benefit if we tried harder to emulate Lynda Petty, the first lady of NASCAR racing.  Be passionate about what and who you love, be supportive, but most of all make the most of every situation, even if it isn’t “perfect.” There is no such thing as perfect. 

$earching for $ponsorship

Securing sponsorships for racing can be a pretty tough mountain to climb.  It’s complicated even more so when hard economic times squeeze on businesses.  Generally speaking, advertising funds tend to be among the first things companies slash, when they need to tighten their budget belts.  As someone who sells media advertising, I can confirm, this sucks.  As someone who has helped race car drivers secure sponsorships, it can be downright maddening to find a way to get the job done.  This is a different financial world these days.  Now more than ever, businesses want a guaranteed return on investment, if you’re going to have a shot at prying any money out of their hands for a promotion or advertising endeavor.

Does this mean you have to be a front-runner on the track, who grabs headlines and a checkered flag every feature?  Well, I won’t lie.  That would be a great, if you could do that.  However, let’s be realistic.  Not everyone can do that.  And not every racer has a family that owns a chain of Zaxby’s restaurants to finance your racing.  It can still be done, if you’re up for the challenge, but you need to be willing to put the time into it.  Do some research and get creative.  Have a plan and be prepared to present it simply and concisely on a one or two-sheet proposal.  Every smart racer is out there asking for money.  You need to make your opportunity stand out from the others.  

Find ways to create promotional opportunities for the sponsor.  Look into local businesses to find out if they have a major event like an anniversary sale or other planned promotional event during the race season.  Find a way to tie you and your car into that event.  If this means, reaching out to your track promoter and seeing if you can get some race tickets or other things to help build a prize package for that big in-store event, by all means—do it.  Bringing a potential sponsor a “turn-key promotion,” that can dovetail into something they were already planning to promote gives you a leg up on your competition in the search for sponsorship dollars.

Consider bartering for sponsorship, but not just the typical trade for beer after the races.  If you want to secure bigger dollars for your season, try turning the barter into something that can be used in a turn-key promotion to take to a bigger cash sponsor for yourself.  The idea of garnering cases upon cases of beer for your team to consume post-race might initially sound attractive.  Seriously, I get it.  Dunking your hand into the icy cooler at the end of a race night to grab a beer feels fantastic.  It’s even better when it was a “free” beer, but what if you instead asked the beer sponsor for a couple of “office parties” that you could take to a prospective business to sponsor you for cash.  You have helped the cash sponsor create an in-house promotion that he can hopefully turn into a traffic-building event that will make his cash register ring, solidifying you as an ally in his marketing efforts. 

Obviously, any time you have a sponsor with an event, you should work toward having your car on display there for it, as it’s good for them and you to be visible.  I’d recommend actually being there with your hero cards to hand out to patrons as well and not just parking your car there.  People are naturally curious to get an up-close look at a race car.  Not everyone gets to the pits after the races to have a gander at a race car, especially little kids.  They tend to be tuckered out by the end of the race night, so having an afternoon to see a race car up-close is a big deal.  You may score more fans and points with your sponsor, for the time and effort you put forth at these appearances.

The old adage about “service after the sale” is incredibly important to sponsorships.  So many teams in the past have tainted the pool of potential race car sponsors by doing a quick cash grab and then not following up on the customer service side of accepting those dollars.  I’ve heard horror stories of sponsors who never heard another peep from a driver after handing over thousands of dollars, until it was time for a new season and they wanted more money.  Or even worse, the car got wrecked and they quit running at the track, and never once reached out to the sponsors to discuss the situation. Always keep your sponsors in the loop as to what’s going on with your season.  Your sponsors are your customers, treat them accordingly.

Consider doing a weekly press release of sorts to recap every race night and make sure to email it to your sponsors.  They are not always going to be able to make it to the races, so this allows you to continue to maintain contact and share the successes or challenges with them.  Make sure someone on your team or a family member can snap some photos to include in that piece each week.  

It should go without saying that a race team Facebook or Twitter account or even a website would be beneficial for you and your sponsors.  The first two are free, but it would be worth the investment to establish a professional-looking website.  Consider working with someone that has experience building eye-catching, professional websites and “gets” racing.  I’d recommend Scott Lofquist, with http://shorttracks.us to get it done right, if you’re serious.  He’s a machine and a great ally for all racers.  (I have no financial stake in Scott’s business.  I do enjoy poking a stick at him occasionally via Twitter, but seriously, he does a phenomenal job.)

Don’t offer too many options in your proposal, as it will confuse the potential sponsor.  Ideally, include just two investment options for your race season in the proposal, each with different price levels and each with a different array of promotional opportunities that you’ll include.  With two options offered, you can close the sale with, “Which opportunity works best for you?”  

Rejection can be brutal, but don’t give up if someone declines your opportunity for sponsoring your race car. Take what you can from the experience and use it to improve on your next presentation.  The more you do it, the better you will get.  You might even find you like the challenge of turning a “no,” into a “yes.”

Planes, Rains & Automobiles

When I booked my flight to Pensacola for the Snowball Derby at Five Flags Speedway, I seriously thought choosing an airline that had a connecting flight which avoided Atlanta was a good thing.  Unfortunately, I connected in Dallas, which put me right into the middle of the eye of the epic ice storm.

We ALMOST made it out of Dallas, before all hell broke loose.  The delay began with a flight attendant that didn't show up, so we had to wait for a backup to show, but then the merry-go-round of delays began.  Long lines of planes waiting to get de-iced prior to take off, constipated our forward progress.  On the second attempt to leave, a push-car, which is the vehicle that pushes the plane back away from the gate, had a dead battery, so that caused another delay.  Then the government got involved because the de-icing process had a lot of overspray that was landing on some new construction at the airport.  

Yes, a government agency was also part of our delay.  Actually, many of the delays for the planes to get out of Dallas.  They halted the entire de-icing process for ALL planes, until they could figure out where to move the de-icing area to for the planes that was safe.  As you might imagine, the government decision-makers didn't exactly come to a quick resolution on that matter.  Imagine that?

Bottom line is, after three separate boarding and deplaning efforts for this flight from Dallas to Pensacola, they ended up pulling the pin on the flight and canceling it shortly after 11pm.  Six hours past the original take-off time.

A call to the airline customer service department, as soon as I heard we were not going to make it to Pensacola, landed me on the next available flight there the following day, with a scheduled departure in the early afternoon.  Not exactly ideal, given the race festivities were already underway, but what could I do?

The hotel essentially attached to the airport was plumb full.  A call to various hotels in close proximity revealed they were full too. I decided to drop the hammer and go to get a rental car and just drive it.  I was frustrated.

I waited for the car rental shuttle to come around for about 15 minutes in the icy cold.  I ended up being the only passenger on the big shuttle bus and I was lost in my thoughts.  Should I be trying to drive this potentially 10-hour trek at midnight, given that I had been up since 3:30am?  The frustration of the situation was just spilling over and I was becoming convinced that I could do it, mostly just to get the hell out of Dallas.

It was then that I was jolted out of my thoughts—literally.  The shuttle bus had been rear ended by another shuttle bus for a hotel.  I can’t make this stuff up; the situation was spiraling out of control.

Sitting helpless on the shuttle bus, while we waited for the police and another shuttle to come and take me to the car rental office was my breaking point.  I realized then that I was in absolutely NO condition to drive 10 hours to Pensacola, let alone through a monster ice storm that had engulfed the entire Dallas-Fort Worth area.

I was insane, if I thought I could drive 10 hours to Pensacola after being awake for nearly 21 hours already.  Upon reaching the car rental counter, I instead requested a phone number for a taxi. One of the slick guys behind said counter, hand wrote the number of his friend, who would “take good care of me.” 

I’ll be honest here.  That gave me the willies and not in a good way.  Cold, tired and desperate, I dialed the number anyway.  

"Hello?" he answered in his deep, thick-accented voice.
"Hi, I was given your name as a taxi driver to get a ride to…"
"I'm not working now," and CLICK, he hung up on me!

All I could do at this point was to laugh like a maniacal idiot inside of the rental car building.  Through the tears of insanity, rolling down my face, I spotted a taxi outside, as if it were waiting for me.  I dashed out there to find a man and a woman, bound for a hotel.  The two, who were strangers themselves, both on a plane bound for Oklahoma City were in the middle of the same situation as myself.  Flight cancelled with few options.  Only, they actually attempted to rent a car, but the person behind the counter said they could not take debit cards, only credit cards.  And apparently, despite their debit card having the obvious logo of Visa on it—they were refused service.  I felt for them.  I shared my story of getting rear-ended on the shuttle bus and we all reveled in a kindred spirit of hatred toward the Dallas situation.

The cab ride was harrowing.  When we finally arrived at the hotel, we found that it was perched on a steep incline, not suitable for navigating during an ice storm, but our cabbie was a real sport and gave it all he had.  By God, we made it up the driveway and slid to a stop in front of the entry way, where we piled out and tumbled into the hotel, with our bodies about to give out on us.

The clock struck almost 1:15am when the hotel front desk man greeted us.  He informed us that he only had one room left and it was the Jacuzzi suite.  Lovely!  He then announced that it would run us a whopping $109 for the “night.” 

This was the point where I lost my marbles.  I have no idea how I remained calm, but I did.  I shared a euphemism about several things having been shoved sideways where they didn’t belong, repeatedly within the past 8 hours and pretty much begged him to have mercy on three complete strangers who were willing to share a room—not for a night, but for a mere few hours, before we all had to hightail it back to the airport in the hopes of getting to our final destinations or fork out more money for a rental car that would cost far more than it should.

When I finished my little speech, he stood there slack-jawed and said, “I’ve never heard a situation described quite like that before.  I’ll give you guys the room for $69.”

It was a small victory in a day that had quickly developed into the equivalent of any Minnesota Vikings’ football season.

I took a shower and put the same clothes back on, as that was all I had with me, because my husband took my suitcase with him in the race car hauler on Monday to Pensacola.  (He also drove through a car wash with said suitcase in the open bed of his pickup, before leaving, but in the whole scheme of things, I guess that's pretty minor now.)

I set up a text alert for my new flight to Pensacola before trying to sleep.  Sleep was a fruitless effort.  It is doubtful that I grabbed more than an hour and a half of actual sleep before I heard my cellphone vibrate with a text at 6am.

It was from American Airlines, letting me know that my new flight for Pensacola that afternoon had now also been cancelled.  That was it.  I needed to get to the car rental office and get driving NOW.

I asked the front desk if they were able to call a taxi for me.  Nope, they don't do that, but they did give me the phone number to call myself, which I tried.  I was on hold for 15 minutes and then a couple and another man, approached the front desk and they too inquired about a cab.  

I spoke up and asked if they were interested in sharing a cab, as I was in the process of getting one.  They all brushed me off and while I'm not a racist, I certainly felt the disdain they directed at me, through their narrowed eyes in their olive-colored faces.  

Whatever.  I gave up on sitting on hold and called the taxi service back, noting the app they had for getting a taxi, as being the "fastest way to get a taxi."  And they were right.  I received a phone call to my cell about 2 minutes after booking it online.

The female taxi driver said she was about 10-minutes out from the hotel. I ventured outside and assessed the situation.  I had forgotten about the steep hill access to the joint and I was wearing slick-soled, cowboy boots.  Ugh.  I ventured back inside and asked the front desk if I could have a garbage bag.  They obliged.

Then my Christian heart turned to black.  I spotted one of the rude taxi-seekers in the lobby, on the phone, trying to get through to get a ride.  I considered inviting him to share my cab, but that consideration really only lasted approximately three seconds, as I dashed out the front door, leaving him to twist in his own frustration.  

I called the cab lady back and discovered she was minutes away, so I told her to wait for me at the foot of the driveway, as it's steep and completely covered in ice.  I would come to her.

As I saw her approach, I folded the garbage bag into a big square.  I placed it on the ice, sat down and put my backpack on my lap, before shoving off, sliding down the icy hill to the road.

When I climbed into the cab, my driver was laughing so hard, she could hardly speak.  She said she had never witnessed anything like that before and it made her day.  Because of that, she was only going to charge me a flat $20 for the ride, as we started toward the airport.

Within a matter of minutes, her in-car service device pinged, letting her know someone else was in need of a ride… from the same hotel.  I knew who it was immediately.  I asked her if we had to turn around to get the person.  She informed me that no way was she going to do that, after the effort I put forth to get to the rental car place!  My smile was far too-pleased as we continued to crawl toward the airport, knowing that Mr. Rude was going to have to sit there and wait for at least another half hour.  I gave my cabbie a $10 tip, trying to make up for my horrible thoughts regarding the other fare she was headed back to get.  

It took 45 minutes to get my rental car.  Mostly because I was tired of feeling completely screwed over by businesses who wanted to capitalize on all of the displaced travelers.  I had a discount code for 15% that I had used when I booked my original reservation for a car in Pensacola.  They couldn't just "give me" the discount, as I had to book it myself online to take advantage of it.

So, there I stood at the counter, working on my cellphone, trying to book the rental with the discount.  After repeated attempts with failing cell service, I finally just called their corporate offices.  It took some serious cajoling and selling on my part, but I convinced the guy to help me book it over the phone, so I could get the discount.  Going one-way with a rental car is a losing proposition for any traveler, so I was already getting boned on the deal.  No sense adding insult to injury, right?

Finally, by 9:30am, I was prying the ice-clad rental vehicle open to begin the 10 hour drive.  It was the last compact car in their fleet.  There were only a handful of vehicles remaining for all of the car rental places from what I saw.  

As I handed the lady at the gate my paperwork, she issued a huge warning to me to reconsider driving to Pensacola.  I wanted to tell her to shut the hell up and that I was from Wisconsin--this is NOTHING, but instead I just smiled and said, "Bless your heart."  

And away I crept--45 miles-per-hour through the city, which resembled a graveyard of smashed vehicles along the road, askew in ditches.  All makes and models, including three trucks--a Ford, a Dodge and a Chevy.  One of them had a ripped up front end, due to impact from the guardrail.  There were several other cars along the road, spun out and abandoned and even a couple of semi trucks too.  I continued to crawl along, praying to get to Pensacola in one piece.  

It took a total of three hours of driving to get out of the freezing rain.  I cheered every time the outside temperature gauge read another degree over 32, as that meant a safer trek.  God Bless Texas.  They have a speed limit of 75 on the open highway, which was a beautiful thing, once the freezing rain was no longer an issue! 

It rained almost the entire trip.  I hate driving in the rain, but I hate driving in relentless hours of it worse.  I found some joy as I went through Monroe, Louisiana and spotted a billboard for Willie Robertson's diner.  If I hadn't been in such a rush to get to Pensacola, I surely would've stalked Jase from Duck Dynasty in West Monroe!

Time seemed to fly and surprisingly, despite not having enjoyed much sleep for nearly 48 hours, I was not tired, as I piloted the Toyota to Florida.  It had been estimated to be a bit over ten hours for the drive, but I pulled into Five Flags Speedway in Pensacola just around nine and half hours; and that included two stops for fuel!

And the moral of the story is:  Watch the weather, keep the phone numbers of the airlines and car rental places programmed in your phone and have a "Plan B" ready to unroll, so you don't get burned.  

Well, that, or just enjoy the adventure, but make sure you have a sense of humor.  You'll need it!

#LEFturn 

Has Left the Building

Nothing gives you such an ache in the pit of your stomach than hearing of the death of a racer during an event.  I experienced that punch this morning when I woke to the news of Jason Leffler losing his life during a dirt Sprint car heat race at Bridgeport Speedway in New Jersey.

Dirt Sprint cars can reach amazing speeds and with their open wheel set up, they often times can create some horrific tangled accidents, when things go awry.  That's exactly what happened last night for Leffler.  Sources indicate that perhaps something broke on his Sprint car, unleashing a horrific chain of events.  He had to be extricated from his machine, which flipped several times and hit the retaining wall at least twice.  A retaining wall that was not of the "safer barrier" style that we have become accustomed to with the NASCAR sanctioned events.  

I haven't seen any footage of the accident. It's probably for the best.  My heart goes out to the racer(s) who may have tangled with Leffler in the incident.  That has to be a tough thing to wrestle with in your mind, long after the accident.  

And obviously, thoughts and prayers are with Leffler's family--particularly his 5-year-old son, Charlie Dean who will likely have plenty of questions and struggle to understand why his daddy isn't going to celebrate Father's Day with him this weekend.  

That's heart-wrenching.  Leffler was only 37.  And he took his son to many races with him.  I hope that little Charlie doesn't grow to resent racing because it's ultimately what took his dad from him.  Life is short.  Hug your kids.  Appreciate all you have, rather than dwell on what you don't--as things can change in the blink of an eye.  

Bottom Feeders

I have stated plenty of times, that I'm not a driver, so any comments that I make should be taken with a grain of salt.  However, sometimes, I just can't help but continue to scratch my head--particularly when it comes to "Bottom Feeders."  

You know, drivers who, for whatever reason, fail to try the outside groove and instead will spend lap after lap--ramming another driver in the ass-end, trying to loosen them up to get under them.  Or they'll dive-bomb into a turn about a half-groove onto the apron, which totally messes up their exit out of the turn and they end up body-slamming the car they're trying to pass in the center.  Sometimes those are epic fails and both drivers end up getting wrecked.  

My point here is this: If everyone prefers that lower groove, wouldn't it stand to reason for a driver and team to set their car up for the outside groove?  Why not just roll around the outside of them and complete the pass coming off of the turns and shooting down the straightaways?  Maybe I'm over-simplifying things?

But at La Crosse Speedway, the first two cautions of a feature bring out the "laning cone," and if you have a rocket ship that can navigate the outside groove--I would think setting your car up for that outside groove would come in pretty dang handy?

Don't fear the outside groove.  It can make you look like a hero, instead of a zero who lacks the intestinal fortitude to do anything but whack a guy in the back end.  Or worse yet, be the guy who can't seem to stay on the racing surface and has his ass in the grass trying to pass on the bottom.

Common sense says to go where others are not.  Or was it Confucius who said that?

American Racing Legend

Impossible. There's no way that this could have happened. That is exactly what everyone was saying when the awful news spread like a heavy fog over a valley.  Not only was Dick Trickle no longer with us, but he had taken his own life.  

It's hard to wrap your mind around why a childhood hero would do that to himself.  But none of us really knew Dick now, did we? Sure, we all liked to hang around him, whenever he was in town.  We all enjoyed tipping a few "barley pops" with him, as he held court, telling tales of  his racing exploits.  Good times.  That's what Dick Trickle was all about.  He WAS the party.

Obviously though, on the morning of May 16th, something brought an overwhelming oppressive darkness onto Trickle.  It's hard to imagine just what could have had that kind of effect on a guy who was the MacGyver of racing.  Ask anyone, Dick was a handler.  Something's broken on the race car? He'd find a way to make it work with something else.  The set up is not perfect? He'd still drive the crap out of the car--AND save his tires.  But something seemed impossibly unsurmountable to him on this day. 

I have no idea what could have been so heavy in his heart that he would make the decision to end his own life.  My mind is tortured by the thoughts that this is how our hero left this world.  Although, in retrospect, I don't know exactly how I thought Trickle's life should have ended.  It's nothing that I ever considered.  I suppose in my mind, he was just going to live forever.  And thanks to all of the great memories he created for all of us, ultimately, he will do just that--live on forever.

There was and never will be another like him.    

Back from the Back Injury

Denny Hamlin has been cleared to race once again in the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series, after his horrific accident at the end of February, which left him with a lower back compression fracture.  I realize that when racing gets into a driver's blood, it's like an drug addict needing their fix.  They physically NEED to get back behind the wheel as soon as possible, but when it's a back injury, that changes the game--at least to me.

The spine is such a tricky thing.  Mere millimeters of something shifting can make the difference between paralysis and full functioning.  I'm not trying to be a negasaurus here, but if there is any question that he is not completely healed in his back, I think it's ridiculous to risk further damage.

He has a new baby girl--Taylor James Hamlin, with his girlfriend Jordan Fish.  By all accounts, his life is really starting to blossom.  I'd hate to think what his life could become if he is involved in another horrible crash so soon after this injury.

Perhaps I'd feel differently if the series wasn't racing at Talladega this weekend.  That track is notorious for big carnage-filled crashes.  Call me over-cautious, but I think Denny should've waited until next week.  Then again, race car drivers, by nature, are risk takers.  Hopefully the risk will be worth the reward for Denny this weekend.