L8models
08-07-2005, 05:09 PM
Published on: Sunday, Aug 7, 2005
The infield's the place to be at Fayetteville Motor Speedway
By Thomas Pope
Motor sports editor
Ray Mason of Spring Lake grills hamburgers and other food in the Fayetteville Motor Speedway infield.
Hamburger patties sizzle and pork chops roast as Mason's friends hover amid clouds of greasy smoke inside Fayetteville Motor Speedway. Spicy chicken wings huddle in a back corner and pulsing hot dogs ooze cheese from cracks in their casings.
The trimmings and condiments are piled on a card table. People snatch up what suits them when they have a spare minute, but Mason's son Mike, who carries the family racing name these days, is too busy making final preparations to his No. 11 car to join the feast just now.
It's a far cry from the days when Ray Mason raced. He spent more than 24 seasons behind the wheel of race cars, back when stock cars were little more than converted street vehicles and when racers scrimped for everything they had.
"We had our race cars," he said, "but we didn't have money enough to buy nothing to cook at the track."
Ray Mason has traded his fire suit for a spatula, enjoying the social aspects of racing that he had little time for in his heyday. Old friends and rivals drop by to sample his simple offerings and relive the times when they, like him, were dirt-track heroes. The infield is a central gathering place where friend and foe are at ease with one another for a few hours.
It's relaxed, that is, until the public-address announcer calls the drivers to the track for the first practice session.
The atmosphere of camaraderie takes a sudden turn to apprehension, and the mildest hint of disrespect can spark a fire that's hotter - and longer-lasting - than the fading coals on Ray Mason's grill.
It's not unexpected. It's just another hair-raising Saturday night in the infield at Fayetteville Motor Speedway.
Been there, seen that
Larry Norris scoots across the track during lulls in the racing, his silver Saturn station wagon stocked with supplies to replenish the concession stand in the heart of the infield. Racers who don't bring their own food can find a little bit of everything at the concession stand - most of which will ensure the need for vascular surgeons for the rest of the 21st century. On the plus side, there are items such as Powerade and bottled water to help combat the stifling summer heat and an assortment of headache and muscle-pain remedies.
Norris has seen it all, first as a race team owner and now as a co-owner of the speedway, which is within 150 yards of Interstate 95. Fred Maynor, Michael Tyndall and Jeffrey Tyndall piled up race wins and championships for Norris, including the inaugural Carolina Clash series crown in 2000. For him, the infield has been a home away from home, and a sanctuary from the auto salvage business that can involve him in three separate telephone conversations at the same time.
"I enjoy being in the pits. It's hard to see down there. That's the only thing," he said. "You get to socialize with folks you haven't seen all week, and you can just have a good time."
When his drivers disagreed with their competitors, he stepped back and let them handle it.
"When stuff got started, I didn't have any part of that. That wasn't my department," he said. "I don't see where the owner needs to get involved in the arguing. Jeffrey would get mad at somebody about something and want me to do something about it. I'd tell him, 'You're the one who was driving the car. You know what happened.' When you're out there, you're on your own."
It's home
That approach of minding one's own business works well for Late Model points leader Chris Blackwell.
"I try to stay right here with my car. I try not to get involved in other people's stuff," said Blackwell, who co-owns a landscaping business with his brother (and fellow Late Model racer) Timmy.
"The truth of it is, I'm too busy with the car to do much socializing, good or bad. Like I tell folks, 'You're welcome to come out and watch, but don't get mad if I don't talk to you.'"
The Blackwell brothers, like many others camped in the infield, are happy to have a place to race so close to their home in Gray's Creek. In April 2004, just a few weeks into the season, then-track owner Dan Meshaw canceled the remainder of the action, locked the gates and put a "For Sale" sign on the property.
Racers from the region were left with few options.
They could make the short trip across the South Carolina border to Lake View, but Carolina Speedway's purse is far below the norm.
They could go farther down I-95 and swing over to Sumter Speedway, but the round trip was tiring and more expensive. They also could race at Clary's Speedway in Brinkleyville, but making the trip to within 25 miles of the Virginia line every Saturday quickly grew old.
Besides, that left the Blackwells and others as outsiders in crowds of closely knit locals.
"It's a lot better to come out knowing everybody out here," Chris Blackwell said. "When Fayetteville shut down last year and we were running out of town, we didn't know anybody. It didn't feel the same at all."
Ditto, said Timmy Blackwell, who, at age 36, is 10 years older than his brother.
"I love it, even when it does get aggravating," he said.
"Our uncles raced, so we know what it's like down here."
The watchful wife
Lisa Johnson and Timmy Blackwell's wife, Melissa, tend the grill near the Blackwells' car haulers. Their gatherings have become even more of a family affair, as Chris Blackwell is engaged to Johnson's daughter, Renee.
"It's different stuff every week," Chris Blackwell said. "Pork chops, hamburgers, hot dogs."
He laughed and added, "We haven't made it to the steaks. We're not running good enough for that just yet."
The pre-race cookout is about the only time you'll find Lisa Johnson at peace on race night.
Her husband, Jerry, is a multitime track champion in several divisions, and their son, Jerry Jr., trails only D.J. Tyndall in the battle for the Super Street title.
She grows more intense as sundown nears. She moves to the front of the crowd at the drivers' meeting that gets the evening's activities under way, frequently interjecting her opinion. Once the races begin, she constantly circles in the infield, cigarette in hand and ready to pounce in defense of her men.
"I used to watch from up in the stands until '95, and after that I started coming down to the pits," she said. "In the stands, you'd have to listen to a bunch of crap from people talking about Big Jerry or just trying to aggravate and upset the young'uns.
"I enjoy it better in the pits because I know what's going on with the car and don't have to wait to find out what the problem might be."
While she's a perpetual hot wire, her husband is generally one of the more laid-back drivers.
"I enjoy racing, and it costs too much to tear them up," he says.
But when he's riled, watch out.
"Jerry races you like he wants to be raced," Lisa said. "We don't have any sponsors. To go out there and have a crazy nut in the back of the pack put you out (of the race) and tear your car all to pieces, that's what gets him hot. I have seen him drive slam through cars that drove him dirty. ... You have to stick up for yourself. That's the only way that some people understand: If you want to run over me, I'm going to run over you back."
Dealing with trouble
Dunn's Danny Tyndall used to drive by the same code before he turned the driving duties over to his 16-year-old son, D.J. He doesn't hesitate to stand up for what he believes is fair play, yet admonishes his son to keep his nose clean.
During the week, Danny works in Raleigh, maintaining and repairing cars driven by the state Highway Patrol. He comes home to prepare the Pure Stock and Super Street Camaros driven by D.J., and the less overhauling he has to do to them, the better.
"I tell him, 'I'll try to handle the stuff in the pits. You just take care of the car on the track. Don't run into anybody under caution and tear your stuff up,'" Danny Tyndall said.
"It wouldn't be so bad to deal with except that some of the stuff that goes on out there is intentional. D.J. started winning and then there are a few guys who come in and start driving like wild men. Five weeks in a row, I had to fix at least one of these cars because of the same two guys. That's not an accident."
Multiple personalities
Much of what develops from an on-track run-in ends with a flurry of post-race profanities and threats. Sometimes it degrades into fist fights, as Super Street racer Bob Swinson found out in 2001.
After a pair of on-track run-ins, a competitor's friends and crew tried to overturn a portable toilet while Swinson was inside. Swinson escaped, but soon found himself staring at a man poised to strike him with a cane.
"I said, 'Old man, if you hit me with that cane I'm going to shove it up up your ...' and I didn't even get that last word out when I started getting hit from one side and the other. It was like that old 'bull in the ring' thing they used to make you do when you played football. It was just stupid."
Swinson finished second in the points that season, and his wife noticed something unusual in the photo of him receiving his runner-up trophy from the track.
"She said, 'Baby, did you know there's a footprint on your chest in this picture?' I said, 'Yeah, and there were a bunch of knots on my head, too!'"
Some say that a driver's personality, no matter how mild-mannered, changes once he draws tight the chin strap on his helmet. There's a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde effect that can turn an otherwise mundane event into a battle royal.
Many years ago, one mechanic, fed up with what he considered unsportsmanlike tactics by a rival driver, went after said driver with a socket wrench, gouging several holes in the driver's helmet and earning himself a trip to the Cumberland County Jail in handcuffs.
A burning question
That's the extreme. Usually, it's mostly a war of words, and Swinson and Danny Tyndall have had plenty of bitter exchanges this year.
"Bo, there are people out there that are really good at figuring out how to push your buttons," Swinson said. "When they get into your pocketbook and tear up your race car, that's one way.
"But some of these people, they act like they're racing for a million dollars, and they'll go out and wreck every week. That's why some people call our class Stupid Street. I can just go out and ride and finish in the top five while the rest of those idiots tear their stuff up."
Tyndall doesn't agree with Swinson on much of anything, but they're on the same page when it comes to trying to think twice before doing something half-baked once.
"Sometimes, when you're in that car, you don't see the stupidity in what you're doing," he said.
"What it boils down to is this: When you're driving that race car, are you the same man that went in it?"
Yet that's the type of self-scrutiny that's foreign to most drivers, and the major reason local racing retains something of a Wild West mentality.
Ray Mason, however, wants to believe the younger crowd is a cut above its predecessors.
"I hope some of these young'uns saw some of this foolishness when they were kids and have grown up," he said.
But even as he stacks the burgers and hot dogs away from the searing heat of his grill, he knows in his heart nothing's really changed. That wouldn't be the Fayetteville Motor Speedway infield he knows so well - the one that he and all the rest can't stay away from.
Motor sports editor Thomas Pope can be reached at popet@fayettevillenc.com or 486-3520.
The infield's the place to be at Fayetteville Motor Speedway
By Thomas Pope
Motor sports editor
Ray Mason of Spring Lake grills hamburgers and other food in the Fayetteville Motor Speedway infield.
Hamburger patties sizzle and pork chops roast as Mason's friends hover amid clouds of greasy smoke inside Fayetteville Motor Speedway. Spicy chicken wings huddle in a back corner and pulsing hot dogs ooze cheese from cracks in their casings.
The trimmings and condiments are piled on a card table. People snatch up what suits them when they have a spare minute, but Mason's son Mike, who carries the family racing name these days, is too busy making final preparations to his No. 11 car to join the feast just now.
It's a far cry from the days when Ray Mason raced. He spent more than 24 seasons behind the wheel of race cars, back when stock cars were little more than converted street vehicles and when racers scrimped for everything they had.
"We had our race cars," he said, "but we didn't have money enough to buy nothing to cook at the track."
Ray Mason has traded his fire suit for a spatula, enjoying the social aspects of racing that he had little time for in his heyday. Old friends and rivals drop by to sample his simple offerings and relive the times when they, like him, were dirt-track heroes. The infield is a central gathering place where friend and foe are at ease with one another for a few hours.
It's relaxed, that is, until the public-address announcer calls the drivers to the track for the first practice session.
The atmosphere of camaraderie takes a sudden turn to apprehension, and the mildest hint of disrespect can spark a fire that's hotter - and longer-lasting - than the fading coals on Ray Mason's grill.
It's not unexpected. It's just another hair-raising Saturday night in the infield at Fayetteville Motor Speedway.
Been there, seen that
Larry Norris scoots across the track during lulls in the racing, his silver Saturn station wagon stocked with supplies to replenish the concession stand in the heart of the infield. Racers who don't bring their own food can find a little bit of everything at the concession stand - most of which will ensure the need for vascular surgeons for the rest of the 21st century. On the plus side, there are items such as Powerade and bottled water to help combat the stifling summer heat and an assortment of headache and muscle-pain remedies.
Norris has seen it all, first as a race team owner and now as a co-owner of the speedway, which is within 150 yards of Interstate 95. Fred Maynor, Michael Tyndall and Jeffrey Tyndall piled up race wins and championships for Norris, including the inaugural Carolina Clash series crown in 2000. For him, the infield has been a home away from home, and a sanctuary from the auto salvage business that can involve him in three separate telephone conversations at the same time.
"I enjoy being in the pits. It's hard to see down there. That's the only thing," he said. "You get to socialize with folks you haven't seen all week, and you can just have a good time."
When his drivers disagreed with their competitors, he stepped back and let them handle it.
"When stuff got started, I didn't have any part of that. That wasn't my department," he said. "I don't see where the owner needs to get involved in the arguing. Jeffrey would get mad at somebody about something and want me to do something about it. I'd tell him, 'You're the one who was driving the car. You know what happened.' When you're out there, you're on your own."
It's home
That approach of minding one's own business works well for Late Model points leader Chris Blackwell.
"I try to stay right here with my car. I try not to get involved in other people's stuff," said Blackwell, who co-owns a landscaping business with his brother (and fellow Late Model racer) Timmy.
"The truth of it is, I'm too busy with the car to do much socializing, good or bad. Like I tell folks, 'You're welcome to come out and watch, but don't get mad if I don't talk to you.'"
The Blackwell brothers, like many others camped in the infield, are happy to have a place to race so close to their home in Gray's Creek. In April 2004, just a few weeks into the season, then-track owner Dan Meshaw canceled the remainder of the action, locked the gates and put a "For Sale" sign on the property.
Racers from the region were left with few options.
They could make the short trip across the South Carolina border to Lake View, but Carolina Speedway's purse is far below the norm.
They could go farther down I-95 and swing over to Sumter Speedway, but the round trip was tiring and more expensive. They also could race at Clary's Speedway in Brinkleyville, but making the trip to within 25 miles of the Virginia line every Saturday quickly grew old.
Besides, that left the Blackwells and others as outsiders in crowds of closely knit locals.
"It's a lot better to come out knowing everybody out here," Chris Blackwell said. "When Fayetteville shut down last year and we were running out of town, we didn't know anybody. It didn't feel the same at all."
Ditto, said Timmy Blackwell, who, at age 36, is 10 years older than his brother.
"I love it, even when it does get aggravating," he said.
"Our uncles raced, so we know what it's like down here."
The watchful wife
Lisa Johnson and Timmy Blackwell's wife, Melissa, tend the grill near the Blackwells' car haulers. Their gatherings have become even more of a family affair, as Chris Blackwell is engaged to Johnson's daughter, Renee.
"It's different stuff every week," Chris Blackwell said. "Pork chops, hamburgers, hot dogs."
He laughed and added, "We haven't made it to the steaks. We're not running good enough for that just yet."
The pre-race cookout is about the only time you'll find Lisa Johnson at peace on race night.
Her husband, Jerry, is a multitime track champion in several divisions, and their son, Jerry Jr., trails only D.J. Tyndall in the battle for the Super Street title.
She grows more intense as sundown nears. She moves to the front of the crowd at the drivers' meeting that gets the evening's activities under way, frequently interjecting her opinion. Once the races begin, she constantly circles in the infield, cigarette in hand and ready to pounce in defense of her men.
"I used to watch from up in the stands until '95, and after that I started coming down to the pits," she said. "In the stands, you'd have to listen to a bunch of crap from people talking about Big Jerry or just trying to aggravate and upset the young'uns.
"I enjoy it better in the pits because I know what's going on with the car and don't have to wait to find out what the problem might be."
While she's a perpetual hot wire, her husband is generally one of the more laid-back drivers.
"I enjoy racing, and it costs too much to tear them up," he says.
But when he's riled, watch out.
"Jerry races you like he wants to be raced," Lisa said. "We don't have any sponsors. To go out there and have a crazy nut in the back of the pack put you out (of the race) and tear your car all to pieces, that's what gets him hot. I have seen him drive slam through cars that drove him dirty. ... You have to stick up for yourself. That's the only way that some people understand: If you want to run over me, I'm going to run over you back."
Dealing with trouble
Dunn's Danny Tyndall used to drive by the same code before he turned the driving duties over to his 16-year-old son, D.J. He doesn't hesitate to stand up for what he believes is fair play, yet admonishes his son to keep his nose clean.
During the week, Danny works in Raleigh, maintaining and repairing cars driven by the state Highway Patrol. He comes home to prepare the Pure Stock and Super Street Camaros driven by D.J., and the less overhauling he has to do to them, the better.
"I tell him, 'I'll try to handle the stuff in the pits. You just take care of the car on the track. Don't run into anybody under caution and tear your stuff up,'" Danny Tyndall said.
"It wouldn't be so bad to deal with except that some of the stuff that goes on out there is intentional. D.J. started winning and then there are a few guys who come in and start driving like wild men. Five weeks in a row, I had to fix at least one of these cars because of the same two guys. That's not an accident."
Multiple personalities
Much of what develops from an on-track run-in ends with a flurry of post-race profanities and threats. Sometimes it degrades into fist fights, as Super Street racer Bob Swinson found out in 2001.
After a pair of on-track run-ins, a competitor's friends and crew tried to overturn a portable toilet while Swinson was inside. Swinson escaped, but soon found himself staring at a man poised to strike him with a cane.
"I said, 'Old man, if you hit me with that cane I'm going to shove it up up your ...' and I didn't even get that last word out when I started getting hit from one side and the other. It was like that old 'bull in the ring' thing they used to make you do when you played football. It was just stupid."
Swinson finished second in the points that season, and his wife noticed something unusual in the photo of him receiving his runner-up trophy from the track.
"She said, 'Baby, did you know there's a footprint on your chest in this picture?' I said, 'Yeah, and there were a bunch of knots on my head, too!'"
Some say that a driver's personality, no matter how mild-mannered, changes once he draws tight the chin strap on his helmet. There's a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde effect that can turn an otherwise mundane event into a battle royal.
Many years ago, one mechanic, fed up with what he considered unsportsmanlike tactics by a rival driver, went after said driver with a socket wrench, gouging several holes in the driver's helmet and earning himself a trip to the Cumberland County Jail in handcuffs.
A burning question
That's the extreme. Usually, it's mostly a war of words, and Swinson and Danny Tyndall have had plenty of bitter exchanges this year.
"Bo, there are people out there that are really good at figuring out how to push your buttons," Swinson said. "When they get into your pocketbook and tear up your race car, that's one way.
"But some of these people, they act like they're racing for a million dollars, and they'll go out and wreck every week. That's why some people call our class Stupid Street. I can just go out and ride and finish in the top five while the rest of those idiots tear their stuff up."
Tyndall doesn't agree with Swinson on much of anything, but they're on the same page when it comes to trying to think twice before doing something half-baked once.
"Sometimes, when you're in that car, you don't see the stupidity in what you're doing," he said.
"What it boils down to is this: When you're driving that race car, are you the same man that went in it?"
Yet that's the type of self-scrutiny that's foreign to most drivers, and the major reason local racing retains something of a Wild West mentality.
Ray Mason, however, wants to believe the younger crowd is a cut above its predecessors.
"I hope some of these young'uns saw some of this foolishness when they were kids and have grown up," he said.
But even as he stacks the burgers and hot dogs away from the searing heat of his grill, he knows in his heart nothing's really changed. That wouldn't be the Fayetteville Motor Speedway infield he knows so well - the one that he and all the rest can't stay away from.
Motor sports editor Thomas Pope can be reached at popet@fayettevillenc.com or 486-3520.