When Steve Post and I talked about Knoxville during our preview show, I found that it really is hard to put the place into words. I can talk about the racing. I can talk about the people. I can tell you how fun it is and how the race is accompanied by a four-day party. But, really, Knoxville plays a much bigger role in my life than just one week out of each year. Looking back, I can honestly say that Knoxville is where I grew up. Not like a hometown, but more of a maturity starting point.
My first ever memory from Knoxville revolves around my Aunt Marybeth wearing a pink mini skirt. It wasn’t anything over the top. And it wasn’t anything that you wouldn’t see a woman wearing on a regular basis. However, to a group of hungover guys, aching for some afternoon fun under the main grandstands (the backstretch grandstands didn’t yet exist), this pink mini skirt was the highlight of their day. She was holding my hand, shuttling me over to Hy-Vee for something or other. But when we walked by this group of race fans with a plate of mud, entertaining themselves by watching unfortunate passer-bys step in it, the pink skirt was everything. Cat calls. Shouting. Begging for her to just talk to them. I didn’t understand it then. But I remember thinking “this place is crazy.”
In the years that passed and as my sister, Jenn, and I grew older, Knoxville became a place of freedom. My parents seem to relax the rules a little bit while we were there. As long as we “stayed together” we were allowed to basically run wild. Now I’ll tell you this, and I’m not sure this is the same with all kids, but when our parents gave us freedom…we actually didn’t abuse it. Our idea of wild was sleeping out in a tent. Dancing under the grandstands. Watching the “bus rides”. We were good kids, which is probably why the reigns never got tightened.
In the early 1990’s is when I found my group of friends at Knoxville. Brian Brown, who constantly told us that he was going to be a race car driver when he grew up “just like my uncle, the Dude.” PJ Schmidt, a Knoxville regular who is now grown, but still comes to the track now and then. Mark Chevalier, a Minnesotan that somehow got mixed up with all of us misfits. He was the smart one, the level-headed. He was the one who wrote us letters like clockwork every off season on Steve Kinser stationery. Through these guys, we met the Mottet brothers – AJ and Billy and their friends. AJ now owns Dingus across the street and Billy has a beautiful family. My sister and my friend, Jen, another Ohioan were my girls, along with “Mindy from Indy”. Our group was a fun one and every Knoxville Nationals was like a class reunion.
The 1996 Nationals was when I was Queen and my sister was first runner-up. I remember that she jokingly (I hope) stated that she was going to push me in front of a car so that I couldn’t fulfill my duties and therefore she would have to take over. The truth is, I never felt like she and I had won anything different. We were inseparable that week. It truly was one of the best weeks of my life. I felt like I was part of the Nationals not just a kid running around enjoying what it had to offer.
In the years that followed, life began getting in the way of my Nationals experience. College classes, jobs, then my NASCAR schedule. I returned for the 50th Anniversary last year and reported live for KNIA/KRLS radio, another highlight of my years at Knoxville. Talk about feeling like a part of it! I got to live it, speak it, and know that for those at home who were missing it like I had for so many years, I could, in some small way, make them feel like they were there. The adrenaline was addictive and I loved every minute.
Traveling to Knoxville this year was a last minute decision. With the help of great friends – Jeanne Butler with Butlerbuilt is a Godsend – I was able to get a plane ticket and make the trek. My Dad is returning to racing, which I’m still unsure of. I’m not worried about him physically. My Dad’s always been a superhero to me. Unbreakable. I worry more about his addiction level. Let’s face it…an addict who goes clean for two years doesn’t take one hit (or in his case 3) and just walk away again. So…we’ll see where this goes.
For now, as I’m sitting here waiting to board the final lag of my trip to God’s Country, aka Knoxville. I’m wondering what memories I’ll take home from this year’s Nationals. Will there be a surprise winner? Will I add to that group of friends? Will I form a stronger bond with my parents? Or will I just relax and enjoy not hearing the word “NASCAR” for a week? I think all stand a pretty good chance.
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