'That's the Toughest Man Alive Right There'

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Liz Clarke on "One Helluva Ride"

Washington Post reporter Liz Clarke talks about her new book about "One Helluva Ride: How NASCAR Swept the Nation," an excerpt of which appears in Sunday's editions.

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Even their racecars evoked opposites. Earnhardt's No. 3 Chevy was coal black: a force of evil on wheels. Members of his pit crew rode their Harleys to the races if the track was within a few hundred miles. They also posed for a promotional photo sitting atop an automotive scrap heap, proclaiming themselves "the Junkyard Dogs." Gordon's rainbow-schemed No. 24 Chevy seemed to spread optimism and good cheer with every lap. It was serviced by color-coordinated crew members known as "the Rainbow Warriors," who had their own personal trainer.

But there wasn't the vast difference in the routes the two drivers took to NASCAR's top ranks that fans wanted to believe there was. Earnhardt had come up through a hard-knocks school, no question. And he was deservedly proud of the calluses that proved it. But Gordon's path hadn't been paved with gold, as so many suspected. He had clawed his way into stock-car racing, too, with his parents staking their livelihood on his ability to succeed.

By the time Gordon made it to NASCAR, he had raced nearly as many years as Earnhardt had. The Man in Black started in his mid-20s; Wonder Boy, shortly after turning 5.

Time spent behind the wheel of a racecar goes a long way toward seasoning drivers. It's called "seat time," and there's no substitute. It's how drivers pick up wisdom that isn't taught in racing school, and it has nothing to do with nerve or bravery.

It's being able to react to trouble on the track without panicking.

It's knowing how close you can run to another racecar without wrecking -- and knowing that the answer differs on a straightaway as opposed to a corner, on a short track as opposed to a superspeedway, while racing side-by-side as opposed to three or four abreast.

It's recognizing that a lug nut is loose by sensing a subtle vibration in a wheel.

It's realizing that a tire is rubbing against a fender and liable to go flat by the smell of tire smoke.

It's anticipating how a gust of wind will affect the car's handling by noticing the way a hot-dog wrapper skitters across the racetrack a few hundred yards ahead.

While Gordon boasted plenty of seat time when he arrived in NASCAR, Earnhardt had a huge head start when it came to handling the heavy, often balky stock cars. Gordon was acutely aware of his deficit and unashamed about throwing himself into remedial work. Who better to learn from, he thought, than the master?

Each time Gordon pulled his No. 24 Chevy onto the track, whether during practice or a race, he sought out the No. 3 and fell in behind. And nowhere did he work harder at mimicking Earnhardt's moves than on the sport's two largest speedways, Daytona and Talladega, where NASCAR had mandated the use of carburetor restrictor plates to reduce horsepower and keep speeds under 200 mph. With all the cars running at essentially the same top speed, the key to passing was exploiting the powerful aerodynamics at play. And no one did that better than the Intimidator. Air was invisible to most drivers. Earnhardt, they said, could see it. And Gordon felt sure he'd learn to see it, too, if he could just hang on to that black Chevy's bumper.

Earnhardt seemed flattered that Gordon was trying to download his brain with every lap. And as Gordon improved, Earnhardt reveled in having another foil join the ranks of his most worthy rivals -- Rusty Wallace, Mark Martin and Dale Jarrett, chief among them. Racing wasn't half as much fun, after all, if you couldn't beat the best. Just as in hunting, the bigger the kill, the better the marksman.