By Dave Argabright
WINCHESTER - The gray skies seemed to draw close above Winchester
Speedway, with hints of color playing on the leaves fluttering in
nearby trees. The autumn afternoon was jacket-optional, perfectly in
tradition with the Winchester 400.
The track lies quietly much of the year, coming to life on the
occasional weekend with noise, color and speed. Perhaps that’s what
makes this historic half-mile so special; you only taste the
Winchester experience on special occasions.
That’s definitely the category of the Winchester 400; for 37 years
it’s been the special occasion to conclude the Midwestern late model
season. Through all those years it’s been one of the premier trophies
every local racer dreams of winning, because victory here instantly
gives any career a permanent stamp of validation.
Maybe that’s because it’s so terribly difficult to win; you could
fill several pages with ways to lose the Winchester 400. Break the
engine, break the suspension, break the driveline, gouge the radiator,
break a wheel. Burn the clutch, burn a piston, drop a valve, flat
tire, blown tire, wrong tire, vibration. Hit the wall, hit your
friend, hit your enemy, miss your pit, run out of fuel, run out of
luck. Each drama brings its own flavor of misery.
Then, after all that happens, you get a whole year to think about
it before you can try again. The 400, you see, comes only in October,
when your stuff is tired and you’re out of money, when you take the
frustrations of your season to bed with you, and you think about how
winning that one big race would instantly turn it all around.
That’s the way local guys race it, anyways. Maybe it’s different
for the guys from far away who come here out of curiosity, to try this
big, banked monster on for size and see if it fits. Maybe to them the
Winchester 400 is just a stepping stone to something higher, something
bigger, something far away.
But if you live in a town like Muncie or Anderson or New Castle or
Indianapolis or any small burg within 75 miles, Winchester means more,
much more. For local racers it’s our heritage, our pride, our home.
A couple of years ago a local boy was leading comfortably with a
handful of laps to go when he blew a tire and clobbered the wall. He
climbed unhurt from the car, walked to his pit, sat down on a tire,
lowered his head, and cried. Cried because he knew what winning this
race means, knew it in his heart and gut and mind. Cried because he
might never get this close again. Cried because the disappointment was
almost too great to bear. Cried. Just cried.
From the first Winchester 400 in 1970, the field has always
included an interesting cross-section of racers, the bulk of whom come
from the series that sanctions the race. ASA was the sanction for many
years, but these days it’s the CRA, with an array of promising racers
from all across the Midwest. Throw in several guys from far-flung
regions, several local racers, a couple of big names from NASCAR, and
you’ve got a great field.
As the afternoon progresses you begin to realize who isn’t going to
win this race. You see who is struggling and who is slipping and who
is emerging to challenge in the late stages. It always seems to narrow
down to three, four guys at the end, guys who still have enough car
and enough wind and enough neck to go fast.
This year was no different; Ryan Lawler of Texas led the way to the
finish, with Michigan’s John Van Doorn second and Nextel Cup racer
David Stremme returning to his roots to finish third.
Rick Turner of nearby Yorktown had the best showing for the local
guys—a brilliant run to finish fourth—and no doubt the Great Deals
team are still celebrating as you read this, some days later. Several
other guys had good runs; Terry Fisher was fifth, Tommy St. John was
sixth, Jim Crabtree was ninth.
Chris Gabehart of Indianapolis was running in the top five when he
lost his brakes toward the finish; his pain was eased a bit as he
clinched the CRA season championship in the process. Brian Rievley of
Alexandria spun out, recovered, got caught up in a crash, recovered,
and battled back into contention before his engine went away. Another
half-dozen local competitors battled a myriad of issues that kept them
from winning.
When it was finally quiet the guys from far away loaded their stuff
and drove all night to get home. Within a day or two they’ll be back
at their routine, thinking about the next race, and these high banks
will be nothing but a memory until next year.
But for the local guys, it isn’t that easy. They’ll live in the
shadow of this great place for another winter, thinking about how
they’ll come back next year and do it better, thinking about that
trophy, thinking about how damned difficult this place can be.
That’s the way it is at the Winchester 400. It’s a long year until
we get to try it again.
