The Best American Sports Writing 2014(62)

One of the stories that is not quite right is this: Dick Trickle never won while he was racing in NASCAR’s Winston Cup. That is wrong. In May 1990, he qualified for the Winston Open, a 201-mile precursor to the Winston, NASCAR’s All-Star race. But neither one was a points race, so it doesn’t show up in most recaps. Still, the Open was big. Winning it gave you the 20th and final spot in the Winston, and the winner of that race got $200,000.

Ernie Irvan led a third of the race before Trickle took the lead with a dozen laps to go. Then Rob Moroso, the 1989 Busch Series champion, all of 21 years old, crept up behind Trickle. When the white flag flew, Moroso and Trickle traded spots, one and two, with Trickle taking the high side. When they hit the final straightaway and crossed the finish line, Trickle beat him by eight inches.

He got out of the car, grabbed a cup of water, and thanked his sponsors. He thanked Cale Yarborough, who hadn’t had a win as a car owner. The reporter asked him what he needed to do to be ready for the Winston, which started in 20 minutes. “I’ll be ready,” he said, sweaty, his hair mussed. “Just get the car ready.” Then he hugged Darlene and answered another question about his car and Darlene buried her face in his shoulder. And then Dick Trickle went out and finished sixth in the Winston. Once again, he came from behind.





The Short Track





Dick Trickle had a crown on his head. He’d just won the 1983 World Crown 300 in Georgia and the $50,000 that came with it. Dick looked over at the guy who’d just presided over his coronation in the victory lane. “I’m not a king,” he said. “I’m a race car driver.”

This was, at the time, the largest prize Dick Trickle had ever raced for. He spent a month preparing the car. If anyone else did any work on it, he went back and did it over. “I never look at the purse,” Trickle told Father Dale Grubba, a Catholic priest and chronicler of Wisconsin racing who’d known him since 1966. “My wife does. I come to race.”

But for the World Crown 300, Trickle broke his rule. He did look at the purse. The race itself had been nearly rained out, and instead of thousands of fans at the Georgia International Speedway in late November, there were only a couple of hundred. It was a problem for Ron Neal, the engine maker who owned the speedway. He promised a huge purse for the short track race, one that now, because of the weather, he might not be able to pay for in cash. It’s okay, Trickle said. I’ll barter with you. So instead of getting the entire purse, Trickle also got new engines, and engine service, for his cars. He did things like that.

There are tons of stories about Dick Trickle from the short track days. He once told a Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel reporter about the time when he blew a water pump in a race, got on the PA, and asked if anyone in the crowd had a Ford. A guy drove his car down to the pits. Trickle pulled the water pump off, put it on his car, won the race, and gave it back. Another time he blew an engine, pulled one out of a tow truck, dropped it in his car, and won that race also.

Trickle won a lot on the short tracks. Maybe more than any other driver. The number of wins that Trickle is supposed to have is 1,200, legitimized by a Sports Illustrated article in 1989. But unlike NASCAR, which has precise records, Wisconsin’s short track racing record book isn’t a book at all, but a patchwork of newspaper clippings and memories and word of mouth. One man, who has tried to piece together records of every race Trickle entered, says he’s found evidence of 644 wins up through 1979. He’s not sure of the ’80s. Trickle would have needed 556 more victories before heading off to the Winston Cup in 1989 to hit 1,200.

Might have happened.

He was good at the little things. He knew how to power through the corners. He always kept his car in control, even in traffic. Pit stops were critically important, because when a race was long enough to require one, one was all you got. At the 200-lap races at Wisconsin International Speedway in Kaukauna, he would pit on around lap 70 or 80 when everybody else thought about heading in around 120. After his stop, he’d drive conservatively, waiting for a yellow flag. When everybody else went in to change tires, Trickle would stay out, take the lead, and a lot of times take the checkered flag. He won at least 34 races at Kaukauna. At least.

In central Wisconsin, the same drivers went to the same circuit of tracks, which all ran races on different nights of the week. Drivers didn’t bump and grind because they couldn’t afford to, and you didn’t have a week between races to fix your car. You only had a matter of hours. If Dick Trickle couldn’t get around you cleanly to win, he’d settle for second. It wasn’t worth the risk.