DAYTONA BEACH, Fla. (AP) — The real peril of dumping your body in the belly of a “redneck wheelchair” for a wheelbarrow race comes when you fail to grip both sides of the vehicle. Leave one hand dangling, as one Daytona 500 fan foolishly did last year, and the tip of a finger may get sliced off and lost in the infield muck.
The afterparty morphed into a search party for the missing digit, iPhone lights on, people on knees scouring the ground in what proved to be a futile hunt. The finger never got restitched, though the fan did make a triumphant return to racing, only next time with gloves.
“The more they drink,” wheelbarrow race founder Cush Revette said, “the stupider they get.”
When the sun goes down at Daytona International Speedway, the green flag drops on the infield bash that annually celebrates the over-the-top campy nature of race week.
Wheel out the wheelbarrows. Bust out the karaoke machines and crank the volume to 11. Belly up to the homemade bars built with enough lumber to thin out a Home Depot.
At Daytona after dark, the good times never stop, even when the racing does at a track where, in both speed and celebrations, there are no limits.
The later it gets, the crazier it gets, and revelers compete in the booze-fueled races at their own risk. Though, the organizer noted, paramedics are stationed nearby.
“No liability whatsoever,” Revette said, laughing. “Just a whole lot of fun after the race.”
Line ’em up!
The No. 9 wheelbarrow rests next to one with the General Lee paint scheme, which is next to one nicknamed “Ross Crashtain” and on they go, the fastest cart on one wheel, where competitors sprint and stumble around a makeshift path to the finish — just keep an eye on the checkered flag stuck in the orange cone.
“Just rednecks coming through,” Revette said. “Couldn’t pass a sobriety test in the a.m., much less at night.”
Take a bleary-eyed look around, and the biggest party on a Daytona property so massive it houses its own lake is surely raging somewhere.
In the midst of a row of flashy RVs where flags for Earnhardt and Elliott fly, the baddest bar inside the speedway emerges. Named in honor of its designated spot and color destination, the joint dubbed Red 38 operates like your local neighborhood pub has been picked up and plopped inside the track.
Shots are freely passed around to Daytona regulars — keep an eye out for the Toxic Twins — and passersby. Bottles of booze line the shelves behind the bar and beer flows like at any other watering hole. The louder the music, the better chance some of the men will strip off their shirts and dance the night away. Two-time Daytona 500 champion Michael Waltrip and scores of NASCAR drivers have popped in for a nightcap and more over the last 17 years.
Cocktail attire required? Please. Try American flag overalls if you want to grab a seat at the bar and catch a game on the big screen.
“Seriously, where else can I go and I get to participate in some beverages, we can play music pretty much as loud as we want, we can smoke cigars, we can tell bad jokes for 10 straight days,” Red 38 founder Bill Fenton said.
Only at Daytona is tailgating as much of a sport as anything happening on the track.
Strong of heart, strong of foot, stronger of liver.
Step inside Red 38 and the roar of the stock cars is about the only sign its location is a racetrack. A banner displays the Speedweeks specials: red beans, rice and gumbo were served at the Super Bowl party, bartender Carmine mixed up old fashioneds at a Bourbon & Cigars night, and put on your neon and “whatever glows” for Saturday’s blacklight party.
Red 38 has last call around midnight (or two hours after track activity ends), but the carousing never really slows down.
“If you’ve got enough gas left in you, you can go two hours after that,” Fenton said. “You usually don’t.”
Hitch a ride on a tricked-out golf cart with under-glow lighting and rap music pulsating, zip past the neon palm trees and the scores of fans playing cornhole and stop when you hear JR Richards belt out “Friends in Low Places.”
Richards, of Mound, Minnesota, and his camping setup double as the hot spot for karaoke night, and everyone is invited. He made friends with other campers, and they have teamed up for years to provide the best in pre-recorded music. No guarantees on the quality of singers.
Last year, on a rainy night, more than 70 campers crammed under the tent for a rousing rendition of John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads.”
“It was probably the best experience I’ve ever been part of,” Richards said. “It’s more of a culture. Everyone’s looking out for each other. It’s a family environment. We’ve known people for 12 years here. We love to see them every time we come. We hang out with them pretty much all day and all night. It’s what we love to do.”
Plus, to the best of Richards’ knowledge, no camper has ever been injured belting out Garth Brooks. He can’t say the same about the time he went around the bend to watch wheelbarrow racing.
“I got ran over by the wheelbarrow a couple of years ago,” he said. “They kind of ran over my ankle.”
Climb up one ladder, then one more, over a few cardboard cutouts of NASCAR drivers and beer girls, and the 15-foot-high observation deck offers nearly a 360-degree view of the track — and comes with wafting whiffs of the Boston butt smoking on the grill.
Jay Colburn, of Greensboro, North Carolina, and seven childhood friends — Colburn reunited the group following a near-death experience and has spent thousands to make this happen — have camped at Daytona for eight years. They add to the spot annually, with the latest upgrade being a car hauler that Colburn converted into a five-bedroom suite with air conditioning; they grew tired of doubling up in a four-bed camper.
Colburn’s favorite memory? A NASCAR driver he declined to name that wrecked his golf cart by a nearby bar.
“He had about eight people hanging off his cart and he drove into somebody down there,” Colburn said. “And he got cussed out by a girl. They had to get him out of there. Just people being people.”
Let the guessing game begin.
Colburn believes there’s at least one infield rookie who would enjoy himself at his camping space: He’s counting on President Donald Trump returning to the Daytona 500 for the second time in five years. He gleefully recalled Trump’s pace lap in the armored presidential limo called “The Beast” in 2020.
There’s a chance a passenger car leaving the track might get shouted down by a kid and challenged to race a remote-control car. The beers, try four bucks for a 25-ounce can! Good luck scoring that deal at an NFL stadium or NBA arena. The flags, they promise it’s a “Bad Day To Be A Beer.” Dozens and dozens of crushed cans near each tent prove that slogan true.
Eventually it’s time to park the wheelbarrows, mute the microphones and chug that last beer.
No need to set an alarm for when the sun rises. The U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds will soon boom overhead to wake up everybody — and start the clock ticking toward the next party.
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