For eighteen years the final Saturday in August has meant a trip from the piedmont of North Carolina to the hills of Tennessee. Each year’s destination was the “night race” at Bristol Motor Speedway. But there are differences now compared to years past, and they are as discernable as night and day.

The track and atmosphere have changed dramatically. But NASCAR has changed even more. And while exposure and acceptance can be positive, the current nature of stock car racing is no longer acceptable to this old-time fan.

When we exited from highway 19E toward the Hilltop Campground we were greeted by a small city of RVs and campers. Perhaps a large city is a better description, for campers stretched as far as the eye could see and 165,000 fans would attend the race. The track itself rises above the hills, an antiseptic monument to lights, banners, and aluminum. The changes are as impressive to the eye as they are depressing to the spirit.

Gone is the mountain that once towered above the backstretch grandstand, having disappeared in a lumbering convoy of dump trucks. Gone are the grassy hillsides that once graced the high-banked turns just beyond the retaining walls. But those aesthetic qualities aren’t the only things missing from Bristol. Gone, too, is the side-by-side racing that once dominated the world’s fastest half-mile.

Concrete replaced the asphalt racing surface some years ago. The concrete is undoubtedly more durable. But it has left Bristol a “one groove” track, meaning it is almost impossible for two cars to race door-to-door. In days gone by it was common to see two cars circle the oval for several laps in a fender-rubbing battle for the lead. No more. The 2006 race was unique only for its lack of uniqueness.

There was little paint swapped and few fenders rubbed. The absence of “donuts” (tire marks left behind when two cars touch) was enough to make Dale Earnhardt roll over in his grave. It was a simple, elegant, and genteel display… and sorely disappointing. Today’s drivers whine and moan any time another car enters “their space,” much less touches them. It’s amazing how far NASCAR has departed from its foundation.

A hard-nosed, take-no-prisoners attitude made NASCAR’s reputation. What happened to performances like David Pearson and Richard Petty displayed at Daytona in 1976? The checkered flag was in sight and neither man would give an inch. The result was Petty banging the wall while Pearson spun through the grass. Pearson was able to fire his crippled car and limp across the finish line to claim victory. There was nothing “dirty” about it. It was just two men unwilling to be second best. But, when “dirty” driving occurred, it had its remedy.

During the running of the Winston at Charlotte in 1988, Rusty Wallace put a last lap bumper on Darrell Waltrip, spinning his car through the tri-oval grass. The intent was obvious and the aftermath predictable. While Wallace raced to victory, Waltrip’s crewmen met with Wallace’s to “discuss” their differences. Such behavior these days results in fines and suspensions.

NASCAR has killed those rural roots, and salted the soil so they will never grow back. While other sports are embracing their heritage NASCAR is running from theirs full tilt. Bristol is the last fortress to succumb to the modern way.

The Southern 500 -once one of NASCAR’s “Big Four” events- is no longer held at Darlington on Labor Day weekend. In fact, only one race is held at the historic “Lady in Black”. Rockingham stands a silent testimony to yesteryear. And I miss parking in the cow pastures surrounding the old short track at North Wilkesboro. The demise of each is like golf without Augusta National, football without Lambeau Field, or baseball without Yankee Stadium.

All gone. Gone are the roots of the rural South, the rough driving, and the “settle it yourself” attitude. Gone with them is the allure of the track.

I attended my first Winston Cup race in October, 1978 at Rockingham, NC. Cale Yarborough won in Junior Johnson’s number 11 Oldsmobile. In the years since I have attended more races than I can remember at tracks as diverse as the old flat oval at the Richmond Fairgrounds to the high banks of Talladega. I have seen victory lane visited by names like Pearson, Yarborough, Labonte, Elliott, Gant, Earnhardt, Waltrip, Wallace and Richmond. I recall a time when Richard Childress was an also-ran driver, not a championship car owner. And I remember names like Buddy Arrington, Dick Brooks, Junie Donleavy, and J.D. McDuffie, God rest his soul.

Today, not even the name of the series is the same. I have nothing against Nextel, mind you. But “The Nextel Cup” just doesn’t sing like “The Winston Cup Series” did.

Bill Elliott accomplished a remarkable feat in the 1985 Winston 500 at Talladega. Mechanical problems set him back almost two laps, five miles at the 2.66-mile speedway. Elliott caught the field not once but twice, without a caution flag, and won the race comfortably. He passed the other cars like they were sitting still. It seems that stock car racing has passed me by in a similar fashion.

Today’s NASCAR is drawn by the bright lights of Las Vegas, Chicago, and Texas. It is drawn by television contracts that demand large markets. Corporate sponsors police the drivers and produce today’s antiseptic environment. They want their rolling billboards tamely circling the track for public view, without controversy. They do not want them sitting in a hauler -twisted and marred- sacrificed to the pursuit of mere victory. Distasteful is the rural milk that fed NASCAR’s infancy.

I have nothing against change and progress. I embrace both, recognizing them as the natural progression of anything that doesn’t wither and die. But that doesn’t mean I have to like or support the change. NASCAR racing will continue to barrel headlong toward a future void of the rural history from which it rose. As it does I can be found standing at the shuttered gates of North Wilkesboro, clutching a ticket bearing the image of Bobby Allison, and unapologetically longing for the “good ol’ days”

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