70: I’M IN VIRGINESSE; OR IS IT TENNEGINIA?

As my photographer and his wife hurriedly pack the car at 3:30pm on Wednesday August 16, 2017 for our five-day trip to Bristol, Tennessee, all I could think of was Elvis Presley. Yes, part of Bristol is in Tennessee and Elvis had lived in Tennessee, and Bristol was where we were headed. But that’s not why I was thinking of Elvis the Pelvis; it was because the King of Rock and Roll had died exactly 40 years ago that day. While that historic day was long before I was molded and assembled in China, I had listened to stories that my camera guy has told about where he was when he heard about Elvis’ death. It was right about this time in the afternoon, 40 years ago to the minute, when the telephone rang at Tom’s parent’s house in Marine City, Michigan. Chris DeWitt was on the other end of the line and Chris shocked my photographer with the news – The King was dead. Minutes later, Tom drove to the local K-Mart and bought a copy of Elvis’ ‘Moody Blue’ album for a keepsake.

We hit the road at 4:00pm with the goal of getting halfway through Ohio before finding a place to stay for the night. Detours and a stop for Jimmy John’s subs near Southfield, Michigan delayed our trip, but once we got past Detroit the drive went smoothly. At roughly 8:15pm and nearly 220 miles later, we arrived in Marysville, Ohio where we spent the night at the Holiday Inn Express. Although I knew it would be a few days before we would visit the Andrew Johnson sites in Greeneville, Tennessee, my photographer set his alarm earlier than normal so that he could take me on a short sunrise journey to the site where Rutherford B. Hayes was born in nearby Delaware, Ohio. I didn’t know for sure what to expect, but I was excited to see a Presidential site at sunrise.

**********

When the alarm went off at 5:15am on Thursday August 17, 2017, Tom shot out of bed and was in the shower before I knew what had happened. Once dressed, he packed up his belongings and had them ready to go before he woke Vicki from her sleep. My photographer had his camera equipment in one hand; me in the other hand; and he said to his wife: “We’re headed to Delaware, which is a little over 15 miles down the road. We should be back in 45 minutes; please be showered and ready to hit the road when we return.” In the Avenger, Tom set his GPS and we were off to find the birthplace site of 19th President Rutherford B. Hayes; which happened to be on the same road that we began our drive in Marysville. Rutherford B. Hayes was born on October 4, 1822 in a house on Williams Street in Delaware, Ohio. The future President’s father had died ten weeks before Rutherford was born; and the house was demolished in 1929. When we arrived at the site, we saw a BP gas station that featured a large flag pole next to a stone marker near the street. The bronze plaque affixed to the granite marker stated that it had been placed on the birthplace site of President Hayes.

After I posed for a handful of photos at the BP gas station, we headed one-block west where we found the William Street United Methodist Church. At the corner of the church’s property, we saw a small granite marker with a bronze plaque that was situated at ground-level in front of some manicured shrubs. It turned out that when President Hayes was one-year old, his mother moved him and his older sister to a house that sat on the property now occupied by the United Methodist Church. To help out, Hayes’ uncle Sardis Birchard moved into the house and became a father-figure to the impressionable future President. In 1846, Rutherford’s mother sold the property to the church and their home was used as the parsonage.

On our way back to the Holiday Inn Express in Marysville, it began to rain fairly hard; which wasn’t a total surprise as the sky had grown very dark to the west during our 20-minute photoshoot. What was a complete shock to my photographer, however, was his wife was ready to go when we returned at 7:20am. Vicki was showered, dressed, packed and fed and was ready to hit the road towards our next destination – the Super 8 motel in Lebanon, Virginia.

Even though the three of us had completed our regular family trip in July, this Tennessee trip was spawned by the fact that my photographer had surprised his wife on Christmas morning with two tickets to the August 19th NASCAR night race at Bristol Motor Speedway. When Tom researched an affordable place to stay near the race track, the closest place he could find was the Super 8 in Lebanon, Virginia – and that motel was almost 45 miles from the track. The route from Ohio to Virginia seemed to take forever, but we made the 350-mile journey in about six hours and we were unpacked in our room by 2:30pm. Before the three of us headed into Bristol to see the historic racetrack for the first time, my photographer wanted to buy several Sharpies at the nearby Walmart – just in case we ran into any of the NASCAR drivers. I had to laugh to myself as he carried me around the store in search of the pens because even though I knew his mind was always focused on Presidential sites, I didn’t think he would see any in Lebanon, Virginia. Then out of nowhere, I heard him mutter to himself as he saw a woman in the store who looked a lot like Laura Bush. Tom couldn’t make up his mind whether or not to say something to her; just in case it actually was the former First Lady. Normally my ballsy camera guy wouldn’t hesitate to make a fool out of himself, but on that occasion his bravado fell short. I bet he realized that if George W. and Laura Bush had been in that Walmart, the Secret Service would’ve been hovering around the place like flies on a rib roast.

My photographer and I knew that Vicki was anxious to see Bristol Motor Speedway as she talked NASCAR for most of the 40-mile drive into Tennessee. I had to laugh to myself when I heard my photographer’s wife gasp with excitement when she first saw the racetrack through the Avenger’s windshield. But with nowhere to park, and a lot of people wandering along the sidewalk, we headed north to The Pinnacle where the “Parade of Haulers” was slated to begin at roughly 8:30pm. With some time to kill before the parade, my photographer’s wife suggested they indulge in a ‘Bloomin’ Onion’ at the Outback Steakhouse that was located on one end of The Pinnacle complex. On our way into the restaurant, Tom and Vicki saw a sign near the doorway that stated the wristbands to meet Kevin Harvick at 7:00pm were gone, which didn’t matter much to them because not only were they Kyle Busch fans, but they also had nothing for the NASCAR driver to sign. Inside the Australian-themed steakhouse, as my photographer and his wife washed-down their fried onion with a couple of free beers, the two of them began a conversation with an older guy and younger girl who sat beside them; mainly because the Tennessee couple were dressed in NASCAR attire. The next thing I knew, the girl handed Vicki her wristband and said: “Here, take this so you can get Kevin Harvick’s autograph. We only need one autograph; my dad and I had met Harvick a few times before.” It was at that moment that the light bulb above my photographer’s head went off: “Let’s drive back to the track and I’m sure one of those hundred vendors along the street will have a Keven Harvick die-cast car that we can buy and get signed. The track is only twelve miles away and we can get there and get back before Harvick starts signing at seven o’clock.” The plan worked to perfection – we found a Kevin Harvick ‘Outback Steakhouse’ sponsored number ‘4’ car, brought it back to the restaurant, and the next thing I knew we were standing in front of the driver who replaced Dale Earnhardt after “The Intimidator” was killed in 2001. Not only did they get the car autographed, they also had Harvick sign a post card from the restaurant as well as Tom’s Washington Nationals baseball hat.

It seemed to take forever for the “Parade of Haulers” to start; especially once my photographer and his wife had finished walking past each of the well-decorated trucks. Even though the annual parade was an advertised event that local NASCAR fans love, it seemed to lack the grandiose visual that we had heard about. Don’t get me wrong, Tom and Vicki thought the parade was worth their time watching; it just didn’t live up to either of their expectations. As a matter of fact, once the parade began and the haulers started to roll, the trucks went past us at a good clip, which surprised the three of us. We had waited around for the parade to start for over an hour, and the entire spectacle lasted less than 15 minutes. It had been a very long day and my photographer and his wife were tired. Once the two of them walked to the nearby movie theater for a tub of buttered popcorn “for the road”, we hopped into the Avenger and headed back towards our motel in Virginia that was over 40 miles away. We arrived at the Super 8 at around 11:00pm and it didn’t take long before I heard the roar of race car engines in the room.

**********

Tom and Vicki’s plan for Friday August 18, 2017 was to visit downtown Bristol before they drove eight miles to the track. Time was not a factor and we got a later start than usual; we hit the road at 8:45am and arrived in Bristol about 45 minutes later. My camera guy and his wife didn’t know what to expect in town; but once there, they were surprised by the lack of NASCAR items and fanfare. What had made Bristol special for my photographer was the fact that the center line on State Street also served as the state border line between Virginia and Tennessee; and Tom did his best to capture that oddity in his photography. At one point, he placed me on the center line in the middle of the street as he wanted to recreate the Geico commercial where their gecko spokes-lizard danced around the small plaque embedded into the State Street center line as he hawked their insurance. As I stood near the same plaque, I thought to myself: “Am I in Virginia or am I in Tennessee? I know – I’m in Virginessee! Or am I in Tenneginia?”

The rest of the daylight hours on that Friday afternoon was dedicated to Bristol Motor Speedway. We found a parking spot at Gentry’s Camping and Parking and made the one-mile downhill hike to the racetrack in good time. In past trips, my photographer and his wife had visited several NASCAR tracks, but Bristol Motor Speedway looked like none other. We soon realized why that racetrack was nicknamed “The Last Great Colosseum” – from the outside it resembled a stadium rather than the traditional bleacher-dominated open-air track. After we walked around the exterior, Tom searched for and found Taylor Lindsay in one of the ticket booths. Taylor was my camera guy’s Bristol contact-person whom he had purchased his race tickets from. As the two of them talked, Taylor unexpectedly gave Tom and Vicki two passes to enter the track where they could watch the drivers practice as well as stay for the Xfinity Series race.

The interior of Bristol Motor Speedway was a sight to behold; and at times, the sound of the engines was deafening. As we walked along the front row near the start/finish line, a car roared past, and it shook me to my core; even though I was inside my padded case. I had hoped that the noise didn’t make my leg crack open more than it was. There was no doubt that the noise had surprised Vicki as well, especially when I heard her say to my photographer: “My God, I could feel that roar reverberate inside my chest. I can’t believe how loud that was. I’m glad we brought hearing protection for tomorrow’s race; especially since our seats are in the front row.” Tom didn’t want to stay for the Xfinity Series race as he felt it would be similar to watching the Junior Varsity play; he wanted to save his excitement for the Monster Cup race that was scheduled for the following night.

The three of us sat in the corridor beneath the stands and had an early dinner; during our meal my photographer and his wife engaged in a semi-heated debate with two women who loved Dale Junior and hated Kyle Busch. Before the meal was finished, the women received an ear-full of Tom and Vicki’s opinions about the “Candyman”. The last thing my cameraman said to them as they were about to walk away was: “Tomorrow night, after the race, you are going to be awfully upset when Kyle Busch takes the checkered flag and hoists the trophy.”

It was nearly 8:15pm when we walked back to the car; which wasn’t an easy hike because it was uphill all of the way. Although his wife was exhausted from her first big day at Bristol Motor Speedway, my photographer had the bright idea to return to downtown Bristol so that he could shoot a few images of the border sign lit up at night; even though he knew going back into town took us out of the way by about ten miles. Once we were there, however, I had to admit to myself that the huge sign looked cool against the dark night sky.

Once again, we made the 40-mile drive from Bristol to Lebanon, Virginia in total darkness; but on that night we arrived “home” at 9:45pm, which was a lot earlier than we returned the previous evening. As I stood alongside of our room’s television set throughout the night, two thoughts permeated my resin-filled mind. First, I wondered what it was going to be like sitting in the front row on Turn One at Bristol Motor Speedway during the night race. I figured Tom didn’t have any extra small ear plugs with him. And second, I thought about my photographer’s birthday. That’s right; my COBS-filled camera guy was turning 61 years old on Race Day. Even though we would have our second-consecutive day without seeing a Presidential site, I knew Tom would have a happy birthday because he was spending it with me. Oh, and spending it with his wife and over 100,000 other folks as well. It should be an exciting day for both of them. After all, it’s Bristol, Baby!