The final 70 laps slowly click off. I remind Bickle to check his belts on a couple of late restarts because the race and the championship are on the line. Up front, they're running all over each other like hungry pigs, and there's bound to be trouble.
"There's going to be a real party up front," I tell Bickle. "Let's just sit back here and watch the fireworks." Sure enough, we dodge several late wrecks, and, on the final restart, we determine we can pick up one more spot if we can get by Tyler Walker. About eight trucks ahead of us with just two laps to go, Walker obliges by pounding the turn 2 wall on the final lap. Bickle, following my call, steers to the inside of the wreck and drives to the checkered flag to complete a 22nd-place finish.
The Post MortemOn most days, I return to the pit box after the race, and everyone takes time to talk over what happened during the event. On this day, everyone is pretty much silent. The less than desired results, along with the fact that the team members are totally crisp after 25 events and nine grueling months on the road, has everyone in survival mode. It's time to load the truck and get the hell out of here.
You'll have days like that in racing. In my 10 years as a NASCAR spotter, there have been more of them than I care to count. The disappointment lasts only a moment as you remind yourself that the spotter's job is the best gig in the place. You have the best vantage point in the house at every race, and unless you're sitting in the driver's seat, you can't get any closer to being in the race. It's you and the driver against the world.
This was one of those days when the world won, but it doesn't matter because you loaded a complete truck, and you can have a beer with the driver afterward. Besides, the next race at Daytona is right around the corner.