Special to the Star
Oct 13, 2007
Travelling coach isn't a bad thing. I've certainly done it before. But travelling in a coach is something I am not familiar with.
I'm not the biggest NASCAR fan, either. But Doug Andrews, owner of Have Bus Will Travel Racing Tours, insists I spend a weekend on a VIP coach tour.
“No one ever truly experiences NASCAR until they live through the Talladega tri–oval,” he says.
He challenges me to spend a race not in team pits or the media centre, but with the masses “the real fans”. I jump on the bandwagon, or in this case, in the Prevost VIP tour bus to travel rock–star style to the famous Talladega Superspeedway in Alabama.
It's 'Dega or bust.
Andrews is passionate about NASCAR. His company is licensed by the series and offers tours to major races across North America.
He doesn't worry about putting strangers together for a long journey.
“People come as clients and leave as friends,” he says. It could be his 30 years of experience that gives him confidence.
The 11 diehards on the bus and I appreciate the worry–free drive. For $900, Andrews provides local pickup and drop–off, tickets to three races and a two–night hotel stay.
Two drivers split the trip, 16 hours each way, complete with Sirius Satellite radio and in–coach entertainment. The movies Days of Thunder and, of course, Talladega Nights, put us in the spirit.
Being a NASCAR rookie, I'm the only passenger without a favourite racer. Jim and Cathy Gardner, retirees from Meaford, Ont., wear Carl Edwards' number 99 proudly.
Young dairy farmer Alysia Allen and her friend Angellica Miller are here from the London, Ont., area to cheer on Dale Earnhardt Jr. and for the festivities, which include a concert and party at a nearby campsite.
Thousands of campers set up near the speedway.
We arrive at the hotel on Friday, a brand new Best Western, and have time for a quick shower before leaving for the track, about an hour away. Andrews is not happy about the distance, but he must keep costs low.
He also wants NASCAR widows and orphans “the wives and girlfriends” to be close to shopping and entertainment in case they do not want three full days of racing.
I spend my time at the track hovering over the hundreds of displays promoting products and services. NASCAR drivers' faces and numbers are planted on everything from baby clothes to dog dishes.
I am in awe of the fans' loyalty.
Fried food is the norm here, and I chow down on catfish and hush puppies, happy to know the latter is made from cornmeal, not canines. I pass on a fried bologna sandwich: baby steps, for my arteries' sake. A foam holder hides a mineral water, so I don't stand out.
We enjoyed the barbecue at a tailgate party held right at the track, part of the tour package. Our Canadian flag draws many fellow patriots and fans to our group.
We hit the local dirt track Saturday night for southern–style truck racing. I enjoy boiled peanuts while watching the action. It will take three showers to rid me of all the dirt, but it was a great show of grassroots motorsports.
My seat for Sunday’s big race is high in the grandstand, but I see the whole track. Andrews offers his clients headsets so they can listen to the action. I have learned more about NASCAR and its history from my tour guide than from any book.
It gets exciting early and often. There are lead changes as cars trade paint in the corners. It's insanely loud, but who minds?
To Ken Fraser, on his second race tour with the company, Talladega is a religious experience. “It's my mecca,” he says, wearing what he calls Alabama Country Club attire: Confederate flag and khaki shorts.
Andrews' buses have toured with election campaigns and rock bands, but this is his first love. He charters to groups for other racing series and deals with corporate clients often. Tour prices vary depending on location, accommodation and ticket prices.
I doubt this venture will ever make Andrews a millionaire. His infectious enthusiasm shows me that is not his priority. For him, it is the ability to experience the passion of “racing the way it was meant to be” as a fan.
Toronto Star