Country music fills the air at the car wash. Jones Car wash is a family affair. Dale Earnhardt in life size card board stands in the corner near the tire display. This is NASCAR country and as anyone would tell you, “Dale, Sr. was NASCAR.” In my youth, I wanted to be a race car driver which was an unusual ambition for a girl. I wanted to race at Watkins Glen. I practiced on every curvy road I could find in my Red MG Midget.
My heroes were Mario Andretti and Jackie Stewart, but I lived in Birmingham and Bobby and Donnie Allison were the heroes at BIR (Birmingham International Raceway). In college, I could hear the hum of BIR from my student apartment porch. Race car driving was not quite the business it is now and Talladega was a country town where I went to teach Deaf children. Round and Round on the track, what were the fans waiting for? A crash? I did not see the strategy, but as I have come to live in NASCAR country, I know that there is a strategy for the drivers and the team. NASCAR is a community and being a fan is an extension of that community.
Mr. Jones is not behind the register these days, but the man who is knows his NASCAR. Tennessee has been home to Dale, Darryl, Jeff and many others, which explains why many of my neighbors have a front license plate with a number. Sometimes a 3, sometimes an 8, it is a tribal identification, just another way of belonging.
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