The Best American Sports Writing 2014(60)

By that day in 1996, he’d been racing for nearly four decades. He had plenty of fans. But he was still more popular in the Midwest than he ever was outside of it. In 1995, he flew to Minnesota for an American Speed Association race at the State Fair, and his PR guy remarked that he seemed more popular than Richard Petty.

Dick Trickle had always been a big fish in a small pond. Before the 1990s that was about the best you could hope to be, a local hero. But during the 1990s, NASCAR shook off its reputation as a regional, Southern sport and turned into a national phenomenon. Petty retired and Jeff Gordon debuted in the same race in 1992, the Hooters 500. North Wilkesboro Motor Speedway shut down and Las Vegas Motor Speedway opened up in the same year. Neil Bonnett died on the track. Alan Kulwicki died in a plane crash; Davey Allison died in a helicopter crash. Before the ’90s, a lot of races were still shown on tape delay. By 2000, a half-dozen channels had broadcast live racing. The money started rolling in, and drivers who used to spend their time riding from track to track on the interstate began to buy their own private buses and airplanes. The King Air 200 became the most popular jet in racing.

Dick would fly with people, but he didn’t buy a plane. He didn’t even buy a big RV. He built a big garage behind his house in 1991, but that was it. “My boy,” he told Kenny, “I don’t need none of that stuff.” The Wisconsin in him kept him incredibly frugal. Although he didn’t like to talk money, he had a lot of it. In 1989, arguably his most successful year in the Winston Cup, he made $343,000. He struggled in 1998, with only one top-10 finish. It was his final full season. He still won $1.2 million.

His biggest problem was his age. By the time he ran his last Cup race in 2002, he was 61. Too long in the tooth, as Humpy Wheeler would say. At that age, your eyes get to you. When you’re down at Daytona or up in Charlotte, you’re running at 300 feet a second. Sooner or later, your age is going to creep up on you. “Your eyes are what bring you down,” Wheeler said.

Great race drivers don’t hang around, Wheeler says, they fade away like old soldiers. When Trickle stopped racing in the Winston Cup, he didn’t come out and announce his retirement. There was nothing official. He was just done. That was it. He didn’t become a team owner like Junior Johnson. He’d get invited back up to Wisconsin every once in a while to grand-marshal a race, or he’d show up to sign autographs, but mostly he’d hang out in Iron Station with Darlene and his family. He went on a cruise for the first time in his life. He played with the grandkids, cut down trees on his property, picked up garbage along the road. He didn’t need NASCAR. He never did. “Who knows,” he told now-defunct bgnracing.com after his final Cup race, “maybe I’ll be revived and get the support of the right sponsor and team and be out there every weekend. But if I don’t, life isn’t bad.”

Trickle didn’t need to win anymore. He didn’t need the money. “I had a new challenge when I went to Cup,” he told nascar.com in 2007. “I had a refreshing life, from 48 to 60. I was excited. I was pumped up. I enjoyed it. I got a second lease on life.”

Back on that morning in 1996, at that little two-story motel in Stoughton, Wisconsin, the party was still going for Dick Trickle. Around 8:00 A.M., when it was time for either breakfast or bed, the long night started making memories foggy and Bickle’s crew began to split up into two groups, those who fell asleep and those who passed out. One by one, they started heading off to bed.

Dick Trickle was one of the last to leave. He took a can of beer back to his room.





Rookie of the Year





It was 1989, and Dick Trickle was trying to buy a fake Rolex on the street in Manhattan. He was willing to pay $10. But he wanted a guarantee first. If it falls apart, the guy who was selling told him, you come and find me, and I’ll give you another one.

This was a little bit of a stunt, done for the cameras. Motor Week Illustrated was putting together a story called “Trickle Takes Manhattan.” A television crew followed Dick and Darlene around New York City. He bought a hot dog. He took the subway to Grand Central Terminal. “Man, look at all these trains!” he said. “You think you’ve got one that goes to Wisconsin Rapids?”

A few days later, on December 1, Trickle stood onstage in a tuxedo at the Waldorf Astoria, listening to people talk about how old he was. “Luckily, this year’s rules do not include any age restriction,” an executive from Sears said, to mild laughter. He presented Dick with a painting of himself and his car. Dick got a check for $20,000. He’d just won NASCAR’s Rookie of the Year Award. At age 48.