My circle of friends was quite small, primarily my immediate family and stud friend, 

Doctor John Bastian, from dental school .

Yes, Martha, the same Dr. Bastian I recommended for his neighbor Riley Gaines' personal security when she is in enemy territory.

Analogous to the innermost of the  concentric circles above, my interactions were primarily with family and staffing at various dental facilities in Chattanooga.

As an undergraduate at UTC, I took a racquetball course at the  brand-new facility on campus.  I fell in love with the game. More than a decade later, I enjoyed challenging my brothers-in-law and whizzing that little blue ball more than 150 MPH past their ear.  My son Kris' Uncle Wayne was a gifted athlete on the diamond and was a good racquetball player.  We frequently played at the MERC (McKee Employee Recreation Center) with Wayne's fellow employee at Century Wrecker, Lee Coker.

My initial impression was this guy would fit in nicely with the Second Infantry Division.

A broad smile and engaging personality, Lee was a welcome addition to my circle of friends.  This was an impressive Manly Man, as he could play any sport well, with a cannon arm on the diamond.  He just picked up racquetball when I met him; he became competitive in only a couple of outings.  Lee's acquisition of skills was quite remarkable.

 Cut-throat or one-on-one, Lee was formidable on the racquetball court.

 Mr. Coker subsequently purchased a quick bike himself; I will always remember our ride to Talladega.  

Lee-man, as his friends called him, was strong as an ox and built like a big fullback.  He was fast on his feet and quickly adapted to any sport.

I can recall the two of us noting tennis courts in the Chattanooga area during our motorcycle rides.  He played tennis well; he was, after all, a Southern boy.  We love any sport where hitting, throwing, catching or kicking is involved...

Every hurricane season, I recall a tennis match on courts at Central High School in Harrison one beautiful sunny afternoon.

The best part of that match was the accompanying of our girlfriends. I cannot imagine a more stunningly beautiful pair of young ladies, patiently watching us.

As a consequence, and without admitting so,   impressing them was more important than winning the match.

God blew some humility our way...

This sun-drenched afternoon was quite breezy.  And that's putting it mildly. 

The increasing and ever-shifting wind made impressing the ladies with our wonderful tennis skills quite elusive.

  Suffice it to say, this is when I missed the racquetball court.

No chasing balls...

Those tennis balls seemed to shift their trajectory, much as a T.O.W. missile in flight...

Well, blame it on Hurricane Hugo in September 1989.  Buffeting winds generated hundreds of miles away...

As I recall further, rain moved in...

One thing was certain:

Lee and I had excellent taste...

Miller Industries | Heavy-Duty Towing, Wreckers, Carriers 

In those days, it was Century Wreckers.  These men were Manly Men.  And Lee was the proverbial 'man among men'.

As a consequence of Century's engineering and standards protocols, NASCAR utilized only Century wreckers and recovery equipment.

A stellar move, in my view, was the fact the company rewarded those responsible for their success by offering each employee free tickets to any NASCAR race.

Yes, Martha, I said free tickets to any NASCAR race.

I was honored that Lee asked me if I would like to go to a NASCAR race with him.  Of course, as a Southern boy, NASCAR was an influential part of my childhood.

I have previously alluded to my cousin Jerry and his patented 'slingshot' move on a nice oval asphalt race track that we utilized for our bicycle (prior to the motorcycle days...) racing.

The 'slingshot' was a classic Richard Petty move.  King Richard dominated NASCAR for years and is an absolute living legend.  I watched his various MOPAR beasts wreak havoc on the NASCAR circuit over the  years.

Remember the Superbird in 'Joe Dirt'? 

Oh, did I mention those NASCAR tickets included Pit Passes?

God had woven quite the tapestry.  A beautiful motorcycle ride from 

Chattanooga south to Alabama, and, by the way, taking in the legendary Talladega race on the fastest speedway in the world.

Springtime in the South at a truly Southern tradition.  Marvelling at the sights, sounds and especially the smells provided an experience unlike any before.

Thousands of fans, courteous and orderly, surrounded this blistering fast superspeedway in a remarkable display of Southern values.  Families tailgated as far as the eye could see.

Pit Road was a destination in and of itself. 

Wow!  The precision of these pit crews reminded me of the UTC ROTC Drill Team.  Team work as reflected in a field artillery fire team - something to behold.

Each pit seemed to have a gorgeous long-legged lady perched in the canopied tower.  That's the kind of ambience Southern men appreciate...

Those few hours in the pits are memories that will never leave me. Among a plethora of incredible moments I experienced in my  moving from one pit area to another, akin to an  'Alice in Wonderland' sensory bombardment, two stand out.

The significance of an impending Talladega adventure required more photodocumentation than an Instamatic accorded.

  Another Manly Man brother-in-law provided his expensive Nikon 35 mm camera to capture some life-long memories.

Dennis, a gifted pediatrician, appreciates excellent photography.  He can also grow some beautiful orchids...

I used several rolls of film, covering every square inch of Pit Road.

Leaving  Dale Earnhardt's pit area and headed to the other end of Pit Road,  my head was on a swivel, trying not miss any action. 

The leaders were passing on my right as I tried to determine who was in front.  My gaze scanned the length of the racers bunched together when I spotted a gentleman, seated on a concrete bench and sporting a black cowboy hat.  He had a stopwatch in his hand.

I ventured closer to confirm who this person was.  Sure enough, this tall and lanky man sporting that awesome cowboy hat and nice sunglasses was intently following one racer, timing him.  

Seated by himself, no throngs surrounding him as is usually the case, was none other than The King.

Yes, Martha, Richard Petty.

This large flat concrete bench held plenty of room for me to sit next to The King.  Although I yearned to plop my butt down and babble on about my admiration for a fellow Tarheel, I thought better and just silently admired his intensity.  

The pride he felt for his son, Kyle, was justifiable...

An impending tragedy will test the Petty family's faith as well as provide an affirmation of God's love for us all...

Anticipating a pit stop en masse, I decided to position myself at the entry to the pits; that's where most of the professional photographers were gathered.  

And lots of them.

  Talladega attracts a lot of press with worldwide viewers.

These folks had high end telephoto lenses and tripods; Dr. Estep would be envious of this equipment.

As subsequent events unfolded, I am glad the Valley Times-News' Chief Photographer,

David Kadlubowski, was there.  He graciously mailed me a few frames of what he captured.

Thanks, Mr. Kadlubowski

 And where there's smoke, there's fire. 

Rick Wilson was trying to get to the pits post haste; his cabin was engulfed in acrid, choking smoke.

And he was on fire.

I cast a quick glance to my left to see how many fire suppression crews were coming.

Much to my surprise, there were none!

There wasn't a NASCAR emergency team anywhere to be seen. My Spidey sense was now fully activated.  

Nonetheless, I was confident this was an all-too-common occurrence for NASCAR drivers and all would be well.  Safety advancements over the years allowed a quicker exit from a burning vehicle; there was an on-board fire extinguisher as well.

Well, that was true in most cases.

This wasn't most cases.

No sooner had the Kodak car crossed the line marking the entrance to Pit Road when an explosion occurred, sending the AP, UPI, 

ESPN and other photographers scattering.

  I can still vividly recall them  hurriedly gathering their equipment, fearing a larger explosion.

That was precisely my fear - a fuel cell explosion.

My mind was racing with still-fresh images of burned aviators, only torsos remaining.  I prayed for God to intervene.

I crowded the retaining wall as I judged how the driver's extrication was going with the seconds ticking by.  I was encouraged when he was able to detach his netting, but the oxygen deprivation caused by the incredible smoke pouring from the stricken vehicle resulted in motions that were not purposeful.

I feared for this man's life.

Maybe he will get out OK, but what if he doesn't?

Knowing Lee was nearby, last seen flirting with the pretty ESPN ladies among the photographers, I jumped over the retaining wall and risked being removed from the race track.

Rick Wilson had his upper torso out of the netting but the effort to do so was rapidly draining his oxygen.  I lent an assist, quickly joined by another good Southern Manly Man in the effort to get this man out of harm's way.

And, as we approached the retaining wall, there was Lee-man to assist getting this good-sized driver over the wall.

Dozens of photographers and fans had evacuated in seconds, leaving a few Manly Men holding the fort.

I was glad Dr. Estep had an excellent protective case for the Nikon, as I had just unceremoniously dropped it on the asphalt.

Both the camera and  the driver, transported to the medical facility, were OK.

God is always there.

Lee Coker and I did not get thrown out of the Alabama International Motor Speedway. 

Five minutes of fame with a quick ESPN interview followed by an invitation for the two of us to board a very nice RV in the paddock area.

The owner wined and dined Lee and me for about an hour before we headed back to Chattanooga.

Actually, nonalcoholic beverages, as we always ensured our situational awareness and focus were optimal while on motorcycles.

Especially when they were superbikes.

Powerful, quiet and smooth, an effortless drive to Talladega.

With Miss Lisa safely strapped in and riding shotgun, the three of us enjoyed a well cooled cabin, despite the baking sun.

Another advantage of Lee's T-bird was access to the paddock area, denied when we were on motorcycles.  That saved a mile or so walk.

Century Wrecker Corporation provided food, beverages and companionship.  Lee was the epitome of the Southern Gentleman, lending his efforts in our ensuring Miss Lisa enjoyed her Talladega trip.  

I grabbed a couple of Brats for Lisa and myself and returned to my goddess girlfriend;  Lee was now relieved of duty in order to secure his own food...

There were a couple of dozen folks gathered around the smoker and beverage cart - again, all provided free of charge from Century and, by extension, Lee Coker.

Lisa and I were hanging on the perimeter of these people awaiting Lee's return, as he was about to grab some Brats just coming off the grill.

Unfortunately, the increasing presence of the July Alabama sun, combined with the radiating heat from the asphalt in the paddock area, was getting to my baby girl.  I noticed a bit of sweat on her brow; Lee appeared to be wrapping up his business with the smoker. 

 We would soon find some welcome shade upon our return to Pit Road.

Unfortunately, the wafting of several cigars was heavy in the air.  Lisa was attempting to fan the smoke away from her face, but I could see her wave of nausea was going to be difficult to suppress.

Lee quickened his step; he handled our food while I provided assistance to Lisa as we made our way back to the pits and shade.

There was a short line at the entry to Pit Road, as credentials had to be presented to the security guard in order to pass.  Paddock passes did not include Pit Road; periodic sweeps by security through the pits ensured only those authorized were there.

Lisa's nausea was rapidly increasing; she was now quite the pale young lady.

 An extended wait on credentialling was not possible; I expected her to hurl at any moment...

Every Southern man has compassion for their sick and ailing fellow citizens.  This compassion is ubiquitous in the South.

Especially when that fellow citizen is a twenty-two year old stunningly beautiful young lady who appears to be on the verge of projectile vomiting...

Once again, Lee, flying wing for me, secured my suffering lady while I headed off to the head of the line in order to plead my case for his checking Lisa's credentials first...

This man was very professional and we struck a mutual deal:

He would personally attend to my future bride if I would use his video cassette recorder camera to capture some action in the pits and the track.  As he was in uniform and precluded from doing such, I was more than happy to be his cinematographer.

Lisa, Lee and I quickly entered Pit Road territory, where Lisa promptly assumed a sitting position adjacent to the fence enclosing Pit Road.  The shade was a welcome relief for her.

While the security guard went to his car to retrieve his video camera, Lisa was recovering.  The nausea was quickly dissipating; thanks, God.

The unfolding 'flies to honey' scenario was destined to be repeated a number of times in the future.  Alas!  The trials and tribulations of being one of God's best creations.

Beautiful women in distress attract men anxious to help...

These incredible technicians and pit crew for Davey Allison found a place in my heart with their attention to Lisa.

As Davey Allison's pit was located immediately on the right upon entry to Pit Road, Lisa's still noticeable distress became evident to one of the pit crew.  Still seated, Lisa was immediately surrounded by no less than six members of Davey Allison's pit crew.

Yes, Martha, his pit area was essentially empty, except for the activity around my beautiful girlfriend.  

Assured that Lisa was in good hands, I started recording for the nice security guard.  Wanting to go the extra mile for the man who had been so kind to us, I leaned into the business at hand.  

I acquired video from track level, hanging over the retaining wall as the racers swooped into the pits.  And any excuse to be close to a beautiful lady, his crew allowed me to ascend to where the long legged beauty was stationed; I was able to get a good view from there.  

Yes, Martha, the track AND her legs...

God had provided this stranger who saved the day and became an integral part of my constant effort to impress my Lisa.  

Thanks to you, my friend.

 Fifteen years after Davey's crew came to Lisa's rescue....

A member of the Alabama Gang is now a warrior for God.  

God Bless the Allison family.

 https://www.foxnews.com/us/watch-tennessee-good-samaritans-rescue-woman-trapped-inside-overturned-car-near-nashville