Monday’s 4:30 wake-up call gets me to the track by 5:05, and by 6:45 I’m standing underneath the Hurst Bridge. It’s funny how time can seem to be both flying by yet at moments also seem to be standing still. In a blinding fury the 32 Top Fuelers (on Monday!) were being whittled down, Dale Funk’s career closing out with an outrageous sideways-through-the-lights fireball, over with the floppers the Goo$e got an early Xmas present to the second round when Jerry Boldenow chirpied…while still in reverse. It’s been known to have an adverse effect on the drivetrain.

But perhaps the biggest deal that afternoon happened with a particular sportsman racer and a large -- EXTREMELY large -- and thirsty man who needed to get past me to his seat. He had four or more Cokes in one of those ridiculously flimsy cardboard racks. That he'd gotten this far without dumping this mess was already defying the odds.  My 'poor man’s binoculars' -- that being my zoom lens-equipped Super 8 camera -- was on the bench in front of me, and I didn't want it doused with watered-down Cokes so as the fella approached, I grabbed it. But at just that moment I saw that Ron Mancini’s Mopar was spewing smoke as he came down track. I brought the Super 8 up to my face and squeezed, and caught the ending flip or two of a crash that seemed like it was unfolding forever. Thankfully he was unhurt.