86 June 2019 _ PopularMechanics.com
TIPS FOR
NASCAR
NEWBIES
1
BUY TICKETS IN
ADVANCE.
Cheaper, no line.
2
KNOW THE
MEASUREMENTS
OF THE TUNNEL
TO THE INFIELD
AND YOUR RV
SPOT.
Check them
against your
RV, otherwise
you’ll be camping
outside.
3
SCOPE OUT
YOUR INFIELD
PARKING SPOT
ON FOOT FIRST.
A little recon will
help you avoid
driving deep into
a dead end.
4
BRING YOUR
OWN FOOD.
But only if you eat
things that don’t
involve barbecue
(say, vegetables).
5
GET AN RV WITH
A GENERATOR.
Chances are you’ll
be boondocking:
no power, water
or sewer hookup.
6
RENT RADIOS.
Helps you know
what’s going on.
Also protects
your ears.
7
SEEK COVER.
If you’re in the
stands, get
seats under an
overhang; 400
miles takes
a while.
8
BRING GLOVES.
To drain the
holding tanks on
your RV before
you return it.If you’re willing to pay for it,
you can get access to nearly any-
thing, including: pit row before
the race, where you can observe
the crew making last-minute
preparations; and, an infield
Sammy Hagar concert.for that. The Thor doesn’t. Also, I
can’t really get the RV near the fence,
since my spot isn’t flat—about twenty-
five feet back, there’s a steep banking
that kicks up a few feet and then lev-
els off toward the fence. I can reverse
the Thor up to that point, but can’t
get closer to the fence. The solution,
arrived at after several failed experi-
ments in Ram–Thor Tetris, is to park
the pickup behind the RV. The Ram’s
bed becomes our elevated viewing
platform, especially when I put the air
suspension in lifted mode. Perfect.
Just like I planned it. Of course, we’re
boxed in, but where are we gonna go,
anyway? We’ve got everything we
need right here.UR ARRIVAL COINCIDES
w ith a practice session, one
that’s on hold because Erik
Jones slammed into the tire
barrier right in front of our
spot, at the exit of the chicane. My
boys—age seven and eight—stand
at the chain-link fence watching a
forklift move the barrier back into
place. A track worker spies them
and approaches with something
in his hand: yellow lug nuts from
Jones’s mangled car. He passes them
through the fence to the kids, who
are delighted, as am I. How cool is
that? I can assure you that if you go
to a Formula One race and some-
body crashes, they’re not handing
you pieces of the car as a souvenir.
I take a stroll around the infield,
always an entertaining adventure
ahead of a race. It’s an economically
diverse crowd, with some fans rock-
ing multimillion-dollar Prevost RVs
and others staying in dilapidated
school buses that look like they drove
through a time warp straight from
Janis Joplin’s set at Woodstock. I’m
of course compelled to hang w ith the
latter group, who tend to be much
more likely to offer homemade liquor
to strangers. So when one wizened
captain of an ancient blue school bus
invites me aboard for a Jell-O shot, I
think it rude to say no. He directs me
to a small Igloo cooler at the top of the
steps, and when I open the lid a rub-
ber snake—attached to the lid with
twine—springs out at me and all the
guys on the bus bust a gut laughing.
This is the best possible situation,
because Jell-O shots are disgusting
and I’ve got to keep some powder dryfor the Hagar concert.
Which is awesome. The concert
is free for anyone on the infield, but
our pit passes give us access to an
uncrowded fenced-off area close to
the stage. When it comes to the Van
Halen canon, I consider myself more
of a David Lee Roth guy, but the Van
Hagar tunes hold up. And I’m glad my
kids are getting to hear “I Can’t Drive
55” live from the guy who starred in
possibly the most ’80s music video of
the entire 1980s. Fun fact: Cars led to
Hagar joining Van Halen, since Eddie
and Hagar’s shared mechanic sug-
gested that Eddie get Hagar for the
band after Roth left.
If there’s a downside to the con-
cert, it’s that we stupidly arrived
hungry. While there are two food
trucks nearby, only one of them is
open to the likes of us—a barbecue
truck. The other, which has some
vegetarian options, is apparently
reserved for people who are not us.
This seems dumb, because there is
no line for that truck, yet they literally
cannot sell us any food, and my wife,
Heather, and our friend Lynn (who
is both vegetarian and a huge Nascar
fan) aren’t real excited about barbe-
cue. Be forewarned that if you have
particular dietary needs or desires,
you probably want to pack in your own
grub, since the racetrack food pyra-
mid sits on a foundation of fried meat.
Back at the RV, I obey quiet hours
by shut ting dow n the generator (and
thus the AC) before we go to sleep
at 10 p.m. But my next-door neigh-
bor Randy keeps on playing emo
country at high volume deep into
the night. I know that’s his name
because, sometime past midnight,
his wife emerges from their camper
and shout-whispers at him to put a
sock in it. “Randy!” I hear through
what are undoubtedly gritted teeth.
“Go to bed!” Thank you, Mrs. Randy.
The next morning, we rise early
to go check out pit lane—and catch
a ride around the 2.28-mile road
course in one of the Camry pace
cars. In this, I admit that I’m pull-
ing my media card to do something
that would otherwise be an expensive
indulgence. Any fan can angle a pace-
car ride, but it’ll probably involve
making a generous donation to one
of Nascar’s charities or otherwise
spending money in such a way as to
get on the radar as pace-car worthy.