Waltrip's Daytona triumph forever clouded by Earnhardt tragedy

Ten years ago Dale Earnhardt lost his life on the last lap of the 2001 Daytona 500. The accident that took "The Intimidator" changed the sport dramatically as well as the individual lives of many inside the NASCAR world.

It has been 10 years since Dale Earnhardt Sr. died after a last-lap crash in the Daytona 500. (AP)

Michael Waltrip was one of those people.
After being tabbed by Earnhardt to drive for his DEI team and partner with Dale Earnhardt Jr. in a two-car tandem, Waltrip immediately went from a popular driver with a less than stellar record to an instant contender to win races including the biggest of the year -- the Daytona 500.
Waltrip went on to win the race on that fateful Sunday 10 years ago, but little did he know what was happening behind him as the checkered flag flew.
He decided to chronicle the events of that day in what he told me was as much a therapeutic exercise as anything. Waltrip has relived the events countless times in his mind and has admitted the emotional toll it has taken on his personal and professional life.
In the Blink of an Eye takes a raw, sad, thrilling and emotional look at a day and a race that will for better or worse live forever in NASCAR history.
-- Pete Pistone
The following is excerpted from In the Blink of an Eye by Michael Waltrip. Copyright 2011 Michael Waltrip. All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion. Available wherever books are sold.
Chapter 25: Bad Hints
Of course, I hadn't seen any of the TV coverage. I was still blissfully clueless. Although Dale hadn't gotten to Victory Lane yet, I knew he must be on his way.
I had it all figured out.
I guessed he got a piece of that last-lap wreck and was being checked out at the Infield Care Center. I could not wait until he got there and joined our celebration. He had to be so proud.
I mean, this win was more his than it was mine. He was why this all happened. He saw it happening way before I did, way before anyone did. He believed I could win all along, even before he hired me. He coached me all winter, and he directed the preparation of my #15 cars. Then, that meeting Friday. Wow! He called it! He called it and we did it!
I had it all pictured in my mind, him walking up with that mischievous grin all over his face that seemed to say, "Hey, I told you so. Hell, I told everyone so."
I wanted a hug, too. One like he had given Dale Junior when Junior won the All-Star Race in 2000. That was one of those moments that made me cry. And I wasn't even there when it happened. I'd just seen it on TV. But I knew how much it meant to the two of them.
I knew Dale, and I knew joy when I saw it, and that moment in Victory Lane with his son was joyous. I was about to receive that same type of approval, the I-knew-you-would-win-for-me validation I desperately needed. So as all the accolades of winning the Daytona 500 were being showered on me I kept wondering, Where's Dale?
I kept glancing at the entrance of Victory Lane. I was sure that any moment Big E was going to walk through there and give me what I wanted more than a trophy or a check. He was going to walk in there, start slapping everybody on the back, and say, "This is why all of you are on my team. I knew all of you were winners."
While the photographers took pictures and I smiled, I wondered: So what's taking Dale so long to get here?

He probably stopped to see Dale Junior. Junior did just finish second in the Daytona 500. Dale Earnhardt, the seven-time Cup Series champion driver, now could add owner of the first- and second-place finishers, a one-two finish, in the Daytona 500, to his impressive résumé. A lot of reporters probably wanted to talk to him about that.
Meanwhile, I was still doing interviews, posing for pictures, swapping hats, all the stuff I'd watched other people do for the past sixteen years, and I was loving every minute of it. It was my time to shine, and my smile was bigger than it had ever been. This scene would be complete as soon as Dale showed up.
I hope Dale Junior comes with him too, I was thinking. The three of us did this together. What could be better than the three of us being together in Victory Lane?
Man, where were they?
Heck, when I won the All-Star race, Dale was one of the first people to Victory Lane to congratulate me. He even beat my brother there. And Dale was only partly responsible for that win. He just put me and Wood Brothers together. He set it up. But we had to do the rest on our own. But not today. He put me in his car. He told me how we were going to win the race. And on the track, he made sure it all went down just like he said.
Between looking for Dale, I was still living in the hectic pace of Victory Lane. "Smile here, Mike." "Smile there, Mike." "Talk to Fox Dallas, Mike." "Talk to the local Fox affiliate, Mike."
But still no Dale.
I was beginning to grow a bit frustrated. I asked Buffy, Ty, and a couple of crew guys to find out where Dale was and why he wasn't there yet. They all told me similar things. "He's on his way.... He'll be here in a minute." And I bought that. Maybe Dale was giving me time to enjoy win number one with my new team. But that didn't make any sense. This was his new team too. I couldn't figure out why he wasn't there.
It seemed like he would have had plenty of time to be checked out at the track hospital, then stop to congratulate Dale Junior and make it here by now. But I just kept trying to justify why he wasn't there yet. I knew every reporter in Daytona would like to hear an answer from maybe the greatest NASCAR racer ever, winner of the 1998 Daytona 500 and some seventy other races: "How did you take a guy who had gone 0 for 462, put him behind the wheel, and have him go one for one? How did you do that, Dale? How's that possible?"
And I wanted to ask Dale the same thing. "How did you do that?" Clearly, it wasn't just an accident. You did it. "You planned it, and you made it happen today."
Finally, somebody I knew turned up.

Ken Schrader was the first person to check on Dale Earnhardt's condition. (Getty Images)

It was Kenny Schrader. He'd been out there in the middle of all that mess with me. And now, I assumed, he came to say congratulations. When I saw Schrader coming toward me, I thought of my first win with the team I started behind my house. I beat him in a NASCAR West race in Colorado. We battled door to door, and I pulled away at the end. When I got to the airport that night, he'd written a note and stuck it on my plane.
"You are a wiener!" he wrote. "Congratulations, friend."
Kenny and I were buddies, and it was great to see him walking into Victory Lane. I had a trophy in my hand, confetti on my head, and a can-you-believe-this look on my face.
I said, "Schrader, look. I won the Daytona 500."
But this Kenny Schrader I was looking at, he didn't look right. And he wasn't acting right either. Certainly not the way I had expected him to. He should have been smiling, I thought. He must have been having trouble putting the moment into words.
"I know this is a bit of an upset," I joked. "But is it really that shocking that I actually won a race? You're speechless?"
Then he reached out and grabbed me, squeezing both my arms below my elbows. I didn't understand what he was doing. He didn't say a word. But I could tell he was upset.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Kenny had his M&M's hat pulled way down over his eyes and giant sunglasses covering most of his face. This wasn't a familiar Schrader look to me. It was like he was hiding behind a mask. And the way he grabbed my arms was confusing to me.
Then, speaking softly, Kenny said three words I'll never forget.
"It's not good."
Kenny and I had a great relationship. We kidded each other all the time. Mainly he kidded me about not winning a race. But I knew he loved me, and it didn't bother me coming from him.
Again, he said, "It's not good. I think Dale's hurt."
His voice was shaking. He'd seen Dale in the car. "He's really hurt," Kenny said. He was being my friend, and he wanted me to be prepared for what I would learn next.
Schrader hugged me and said: "I love you, bud"-and then he walked off.


I know it took a lot of courage for Kenny to come and tell me that. It had to be hard. And think about what he was going through: He was racing to win the Daytona 500 on the last lap. I'm sure he could taste victory too. Then he was swept up in a wreck. When his car stopped, he was hurting, but he struggled out and saw Dale's car next to his and went to check on him.
Dale and Kenny were good friends too. Dale had helped Kenny get his feet under him when he moved to North Carolina back in the eighties to chase his racing dreams. Dale had helped Kenny the way Richard Petty had helped me. Dale gave Kenny advice and direction. Before you knew it, Schrader, a dirt racer from Missouri, was rubbing fenders with Dale in NASCAR. In 1984, Kenny was Rookie of the Year.
So Kenny was going over to help a friend out of his wrecked race car, something we'd all done before. He expected when he got there and dropped Dale's window net that they'd laugh about who won the race and all the crazy stuff that had gone on. I'm sure Kenny thought he'd lean in and lighten up the moment. He certainly didn't think he would lean in and see what he saw.
What he saw was Dale lying there, slumped over, unconscious. It knocked Kenny back. And he quickly started waving his arm, desperately calling for medical help.
All this was happening as I drove by heading to Victory Lane. As I was standing in Victory Lane, selfishly wanting Dale to come tell me what a great job I'd done, he was probably already dead. And the guy who got there first was Kenny. Now he was the first again, the first who tried to prepare me for how serious Dale's wreck really was.
It was becoming obvious this wasn't about me anymore. All that mattered now was Dale and his accident. I didn't know exactly how bad it was yet, but I didn't like the direction things were heading.