It started innocently enough.  After I finally finished my education, I was traveling across country with my Dad, and we stopped in Indianapolis (where else) to visit my aunt & uncle.  My uncle offered me the first seductive hit of racing by "forcing" us to watch a nascar race.  I don't recall seeing stock cars race before.  I suppose I knew it existed, but it had never registered on my radar.  Traditional stick & ball sports were my experience - both watching and playing.  However, my uncle's enthusiasm for this motor sport thing was catching.  And after that first hit, I remember thinking "I could learn to really like that."

Several months later I had my first memorable encounter with a nascar junkie.  He had all the trappings of a true nascar fan.  He owed numerous die cast cars, T-shirts, neon signs and other assorted junk.  I don't think he could decide which beer company to support, so he bought racing stuff from them all.  To top it off, he couldn't stop explaining the Daytona 500 qualification process to me and my co-worker.  We thought he was a scary  - so we set a new land speed record cleaning his house and bolted.

Shortly thereafter, I moved to a new town.  And, in the secret confines of my apartment, I began regularly taking hits of nascar races.  On Saturdays, I watched Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Matt Kenseth battle it out for the Busch series championship.  But on Sundays, I avoided the racing scene - everyone would be talking football, basketball or baseball  - and I didn't want them to know about this new habit I had picked up.