He banged the right-rear wheel of the sprint car off the wall. But in an instant, Jac Haudenschild was back on the throttle, grabbing handfuls of steering wheel.
Behind him was Steve Kinser, stalking, charging, fighting. The laps were winding down, and the two men both wanted to win this race.
Oh, well, what’s the big deal? After all, they race 100 nights a year, so if you don’t win this one you get another try in just a day or two. But this one isn’t just another race, particularly for these two men. This is the Brad Doty Classic, to honor a guy who once banged wheels with the both of them.
Kinser had never won this race. Steve doesn’t say much, particularly about sentimental things. But you know in your gut that parking in victory lane, and having Doty hand him that trophy and shake his hand, held just a bit more meaning than if it was just another race.
But it was Haud in particular that seemed especially motivated tonight. He raced desperately, never giving up. He sliced through traffic, splitting a couple of cars in this corner and blasting by another two at the other end.
He wanted that trophy, too. He wanted to shake his friend’s hand and grin that boyish smile and face those adoring Ohio race fans and hear their cheers.
See, a long time ago Doty and Haud were as close as brothers could be without sharing the blood. Their fathers were pals, and the boys — along with Jac’s older brother, Ed — would spend hours playing in the Ohio countryside near Wooster. Riding ponies, swimming in ponds, trying to out-brave one another, they filled their childhood with adventure.
The trio knew racing would be their passion. And it was, too: all three were fine drivers from the get-go, and each planted the seeds of success with modifieds and then sprint cars.
Ed chose a more traditional life, racing only part-time. But Brad and Jac eventually found the World of Outlaws, and racing became not just their job, but their life.
For many years their paths intertwined. They traveled up and down the highway together, raced each other every night, traded rides a couple of times, and even got mad at each other a time or two. But it was never anything that a new sunrise couldn’t wipe away. Besides, nobody can stay mad at Jac, because he gives you that earnest, innocent grin and you immediately forget what it was that irritated you.
Then came a warm July night at Eldora in 1988 when Doty’s career was shattered in a devastating crash. He suffered a spinal injury and slowly began to rebuild his life. His old Ohio pals — including Kenny Jacobs — were there for him from the moment they pried him from the car.
The four men remain dear friends. At this point it’s safe to say they always will; if the cauldron of sprint-car competition was not enough to break that bond, nothing will.
So you see, this wasn’t just another race. This was Jac’s chance to win the Brad Doty Classic, and he refused to allow it to slip away, even though Kinser was all over him, looking like a kid who was starving for his first victory.
Looking on was Doty, clenching his hands in nervousness, never looking away. He truly was a neutral observer; as race promoter, it doesn’t really matter who wins. But deep inside Doty was conflicted, because he respects and admires both men immensely.
Haud slipped across the finish line a few blinks of an eye ahead of Kinser. The crowd cheered until they nearly swooned, saluting their Ohio boy, saluting Doty, and saluting the entire field for a memorable race.
Haud climbed from his car, and saw his old friend. For a moment, amid the chaos, their eyes connected, and they remembered. They remembered two young boys, all those years ago, and how their paths have now crossed once more.
Of all the guys to have ran this race over the past 18 years, Haud finally won it. Based on the roar of this crowd, it’s safe to say it: It’s about time.