I meet Patrick Dempsey and admit my love for racing pt. 1
Confession: I’m a chick and I like auto racing. I’m a chick and I love the sound of race cars going ‘round the track. I’m a chick and I DVR races when I have to work. I’m a chick and I buy tickets to races, and not because my boyfriend is dragging me, but because I like to drag people.
There aren’t many people who know about the fact that I like racing. I’m simply not the type, or at least not the perceived type. I’m a girly girl of truly epic proportions. I am the single most unathletic person I know, and I usually spend most of my time frowning at all of the other sports. I watch Grey’s Anatomy, read crappy romances, and I have one of those small dogs I dress up in clothes. Trust me, I’m not the kind of girl who likes racing.
But I do. It’s been a dirty little secret of mine for a long time, a really long time. I used to watch Nascar in secret, back when it showed on TNT, you know, because they know drama. I used to watch it and reasonably enjoy it, though I had no idea why all the cars were so bunched together or why they only seemed to make left hand turns. I even once told a boyfriend we should watch a Nascar race. His reaction? “Well, that’s really kind of redneck for you, Katie.” I never said another word about it again.
Over the years, my like for Nascar has waned a lot. I don’t find it as exciting anymore (though the wrecks tend to be pretty hardcore), and I was kind of tired of it all. And then, one day, I discovered Grand-Am. I won’t lie. Patrick Dempsey got me into it. My favorite actor announced he raced cars and I thought, “Oh hell, Nascar?” But no…he raced Grand-Am. And the rest, as they say is history.
I live about an hour and a half away from Daytona Beach, FL where the Daytona International Speedway is, but I had never been to a race. I can’t get off for the 24, and this year, freezing cold temps and a sinus infection kept me away from the Roar Before 24. So when I realized there was a race in Homestead-Miami, I decided, you know what? I’m there. And that is where my story begins.
Arriving at Homestead-Miami Speedway Friday morning was…epic. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it. I had a list of things I wanted to do (read: people I wanted to track down) but for a while, I sat up in the grandstands and just watched the cars. I watched them in their practice, the engines roaring loudly, especially the beloved Mazdas, with their very distinctive engines. When I saw the Dempsey Racing #40 car in all of its yellow glory, I grinned like an idiot. I was here. I was at a race. And the adrenaline was making my hands shake.
After watching the cars for a bit, I went down to the paddock area and walked around for a bit. I think it’s important to note here that this is not going to turn into a Patrick Dempsey squeefest. I know everyone wants me to squee over him but I didn’t squee over him at the race (totally the opposite as you’ll soon find out) and I don’t plan on doing it here. So if you’re looking for a Patrick Dempsey only memory blog of HMS…this won’t be the one you want to read.
Anyway, while I was walking around the paddocks area, I did start to see cars and rigs that were familiar. Lally, Eversley, Espenlaub…the names started jumping out at me as I saw their cars. When I saw the Gainsco rig I damn near peed myself in excitement. The Red Dragon was out practicing but holy hell, was that exciting. But it wasn’t until I got to the Dempsey Racing rig that I totally went, “What the hell am I doing here? No. Seriously. What the hell am I doing here? I’m a girly girl. I’m a girly girl and cars do not turn girly girls on.” So I called my best friend and had her try to calm me down because I was pretty sure that even though I was loving this whole thing so far, this did not match who I was, at all.
While I was on the phone, I saw Ryan Eversley chatting with his crew, decided to come back later when he was free, and went on my way. Back past Gainsco, past Chip Ganassi, past TRG, and then I was back at the DR rig. This time, I hung up the phone when I saw Diana, I walked forward and said hi to her. She was talking to the ever amazing RayRay. RayRay gives the car gas, as the 40 car always says and he is ridiculously hilarious. Diana talking to RayRay put me totally at ease and soon I was talking to him, Big Joe, Dave, and even waved to Kirt, who had his serious face on.
Diana snapped a picture of me and RayRay, and it was during this time that we first saw Patrick Dempsey. And like every other time I would see him, he was in a hurry. The man didn’t walk anywhere this weekend, he practically flew. He squeezed Diana’s arm and asked her how it was going (the look on her face was hilarious, by the way) and as he walked away, RayRay turns to me and says, “That’s Patrick Dempsey, you know.”
My response: “Oh yeah? I had no idea.” Then we left RayRay to work on the yellow sunshine car (“If you give me a ton of money, I’ll paint it any color you want.” RayRay) and Diana decided to go to lunch. I took this time to walk around the paddock area again. Once again, trying to track down the drivers I had on my list. Eversley, MIA. Lally, MIA. Pumpelly, MIA. Espenlaub, a freakin’ damn ghost. Todd Lamb, found his car, not him. Drivers just don’t stick around, do they?
At this time, I found my way back to the DR rig where there were people EVERYWHERE. At first, I’m standing there going, “What the hell is going on?” Then I see Donna rushing back and forth and I see that Patrick is in the garage, leaning against the banana car in an orange shirt. This girl totally squeed, “Oh my god, that’s him! That’s Patrick Dempsey!” RayRay turned to me and winked and I tried not to laugh as the girl nearly passes out when Patrick turns and gives this half wave. The girl waved back like that three year old who cried her eyes out over Justin Beiber and I turned to talk to Donna. I asked her how she deals with this and she just smiled at me and told me to stick around for a bit, hang out.
After watching people freak out over Patrick, I was just standing there, minding my own business when he came walking by me. Our conversation was as follows:
Me: Hey. RayRay tells me you’re some guy named Patrick Dempsey.
Patrick: Oh yeah?
M: Yeah, so you must be some kind of big deal.
P*chuckles*: Something like that.
M *offering my hand*: I’m Katie.
P *shakes my hand firmly*: Are you a RayRay groupie?
M: Who isn’t?
P: Right on.
And then he was gone. Thirty seconds and that was it. No pictures, no autographs, nothing. And I’m standing there going, “He is kind of insanely nice. And has a great handshake.” But I go back to snapping my pictures of the cars, working my way from the 44 Porsche to Todd Lamb’s 30 and the Speedsource cars. Talked to a couple of their crew guys briefly and then turn around to see Joe Foster coming towards me. He’s all in his firesuit and I remember going, “Oh wow, it’s Joe Foster.” Our conversation is as follows:
Me: Oh wow, it’s Joe Foster.
J: Hi, how are you doing?
Me (in my head going: What the fuck, that worked): Great, how are you.
J: Doing really well. Having a good time?
M: Oh yeah. How’s the car doing?
J: Driving great, we’re really optimistic.
M: My name is Katie. My friends Kristina and Alicia from Montreal and Utah say hi.
J: Oh yeah! Say hi to them for me. I have to run. Have a great day.
I was more starstruck with this conversation than the one with Patrick. Because Joe is awesome. He’s really awesome and I think I just stood in front of the Brumos rig forever, thinking, “Hooooly shit.” And then I realize, once again, that I didn’t get an autograph from him. But then he comes back. Next conversation with Joe Foster:
J: Hey there.
M: Joe, I completely blanked but could you sign my hero card?
J: Of course I can. Let me grab a Sharpie out of the rig. C’mon. (Joe leads me to the rig and goes inside, returns with a Sharpie) Spell your name for me.
M: K-A-T-I-E. Thanks so much, Joe. (At this point, I see Patrick at the Speedsource rig, and he’s looking over)
J: No problem. Make sure you get Patrick to sign it too.
M: I would but he seems pretty busy today.
J *chuckles*: Just grab him. He’ll sign it for you.
M: Definitely. Do you mind signing my shirt too?
J: Any particular place you want me to sign it?
M *turning around* Nope, anywhere is good. (Joe proceeds to sign my right shoulder, I am practically trembling by this point)
J: There you go.
M: Thanks, Joe. Good luck tomorrow in Rolex and CT.
J: Thank you.
And then he’s gone again. And my brain goes fuzzy again. I know I walked around and tried to stalk CT drivers again (to no avail). I also know I contemplated a hot dog and a new DR shirt. I spent stupid amounts of money on that stupid program and a Sharpie. And then I met up with Diana again by the rig. And this time, Joe came out again, said hi to Diana and smiled at me. And then Patrick was there in his yellow hat (thank god for the yellow hat, you could see him coming from 3 miles away) and I called out to him again:
M: Hey, Patrick, I know you’re busy but could you sign my shirt?
P: Sure. Do you want me to sign it RayRay?
M *dies inside because he actually remembered*: Sure, if you want.
P *laughing as he bends to sign my shirt* There you go.
M: Thanks, have a minute to get a picture?
P: Of course.
And then suddenly, dude’s arm is around me, my arm is around his waist, and I’m thinking that unlike most guys in the world, he doesn’t actually smell like anything. Oh, and he’s really short. Oh, and he has some great side ab muscles. He squeezes my arm, I say thanks, and then he’s off again. At racing speeds. And I’m standing there grinning like an idiot.
For the record, you’ll notice I keep describing these conversations and they’re short. It’s not because I don’t remember them, it’s because the DR guys were all seriously in a hurry. They had a ton of shit going down that weekend, and between the paps practically humping Patrick’s leg like dumb dogs and the kajillion interviews they were already scheduled to do, I barely saw the guys at all. Anybody who was at that race and says they spent a ton of time with the guys is probably exaggerating their experiences. I spent more time with the crew than I did with either Joe or Patrick and it really made my experience that much better. RayRay was so nice (he kissed my hand and my head twice), Big Joe squeezed my shoulder and nearly got himself run over by a Daytona Prototype, and Dave gave me a hard time for hanging out at the rig. I love the crew so freakin’ much, and they’re actually who I feel myself missing right now. Which is weird, I know.
Anyhoo, Joe came out to take the car out for Practice 2 and Diana, her cousin Jon, and I went up to the grandstands for the practice. This is where I stop for a PSA. If you ever get the chance to go to a race, BRING SUNSCREEN. I know my best friend will comment on this and go, “Dude, I totally told you that.” So yes, she was right, I was wrong and now my face is peeling off. So my point is, BRING SUNSCREEN AND SLATHER IT ON. I don’t care how cloudy/cold it is, put the sunscreen on. If you need a reason why, please see my Facebook page for reasons why someone should always bring sunscreen. As I think I just raised my chances of skin cancer by a 50%.
But yes…we watched practice 2 and then took our hot, sweaty asses down for some friendly CT stalking. Again. For the record, Eversley and Espenlaub? Ghosts. I do not believe they exist. Or I didn’t at this point as we couldn’t find them anywhere. Rigs, check. Cars, yeppers. Co-drivers, yes. But Eversley and Espenlaub? Yeah…I started calling them ghost drivers. But we headed back to the rig, as qualifying was about to start. And there was Patrick about to get in. Once he got in, Joe came out and knelt down, talked to him for a few, and then off the Yellow Banana 40 went to qualify us in 7th, with the 41 going for 6th.
After watching the CT qualifiers (and figuring out the scoreboard), we walked back towards the paddocks and who do I see…why, it’s Ryan Eversley riding his bike! He DOES exist. IT’S A MIRACLE, PEOPLE. No, the miracle is then seeing Charles Espenlaub talking to someone. The man also exists. THERE ARE NO GHOSTS AT HOMESTEAD! Of course, then Charles moved to the garage to talk to Joe, who was putting on a decal. And by talk to Joe, I mean, hug him from behind. It was super cute. And then Patrick came along and…it was a 40 reunion…sans Scotty Maxwell, who was added onto my stalking list later.
Of course, then it was time to go back to the hotel and dream of happy racing times to come. What I didn’t know was that the next day was going to rock the first day’s socks off.
So there’s day one…it was a bit of a DR squeefest…but that’s where I spent most of my time Friday. Saturday, not so much. So stay tuned for part 2, where I meet and fangirl over Don Kitch, Jr., attend the most awesome fan walk in the history of fan walks, and lose my voice due to some serious stress during the races.
There aren’t many people who know about the fact that I like racing. I’m simply not the type, or at least not the perceived type. I’m a girly girl of truly epic proportions. I am the single most unathletic person I know, and I usually spend most of my time frowning at all of the other sports. I watch Grey’s Anatomy, read crappy romances, and I have one of those small dogs I dress up in clothes. Trust me, I’m not the kind of girl who likes racing.
But I do. It’s been a dirty little secret of mine for a long time, a really long time. I used to watch Nascar in secret, back when it showed on TNT, you know, because they know drama. I used to watch it and reasonably enjoy it, though I had no idea why all the cars were so bunched together or why they only seemed to make left hand turns. I even once told a boyfriend we should watch a Nascar race. His reaction? “Well, that’s really kind of redneck for you, Katie.” I never said another word about it again.
Over the years, my like for Nascar has waned a lot. I don’t find it as exciting anymore (though the wrecks tend to be pretty hardcore), and I was kind of tired of it all. And then, one day, I discovered Grand-Am. I won’t lie. Patrick Dempsey got me into it. My favorite actor announced he raced cars and I thought, “Oh hell, Nascar?” But no…he raced Grand-Am. And the rest, as they say is history.
I live about an hour and a half away from Daytona Beach, FL where the Daytona International Speedway is, but I had never been to a race. I can’t get off for the 24, and this year, freezing cold temps and a sinus infection kept me away from the Roar Before 24. So when I realized there was a race in Homestead-Miami, I decided, you know what? I’m there. And that is where my story begins.
Arriving at Homestead-Miami Speedway Friday morning was…epic. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it. I had a list of things I wanted to do (read: people I wanted to track down) but for a while, I sat up in the grandstands and just watched the cars. I watched them in their practice, the engines roaring loudly, especially the beloved Mazdas, with their very distinctive engines. When I saw the Dempsey Racing #40 car in all of its yellow glory, I grinned like an idiot. I was here. I was at a race. And the adrenaline was making my hands shake.
After watching the cars for a bit, I went down to the paddock area and walked around for a bit. I think it’s important to note here that this is not going to turn into a Patrick Dempsey squeefest. I know everyone wants me to squee over him but I didn’t squee over him at the race (totally the opposite as you’ll soon find out) and I don’t plan on doing it here. So if you’re looking for a Patrick Dempsey only memory blog of HMS…this won’t be the one you want to read.
Anyway, while I was walking around the paddocks area, I did start to see cars and rigs that were familiar. Lally, Eversley, Espenlaub…the names started jumping out at me as I saw their cars. When I saw the Gainsco rig I damn near peed myself in excitement. The Red Dragon was out practicing but holy hell, was that exciting. But it wasn’t until I got to the Dempsey Racing rig that I totally went, “What the hell am I doing here? No. Seriously. What the hell am I doing here? I’m a girly girl. I’m a girly girl and cars do not turn girly girls on.” So I called my best friend and had her try to calm me down because I was pretty sure that even though I was loving this whole thing so far, this did not match who I was, at all.
While I was on the phone, I saw Ryan Eversley chatting with his crew, decided to come back later when he was free, and went on my way. Back past Gainsco, past Chip Ganassi, past TRG, and then I was back at the DR rig. This time, I hung up the phone when I saw Diana, I walked forward and said hi to her. She was talking to the ever amazing RayRay. RayRay gives the car gas, as the 40 car always says and he is ridiculously hilarious. Diana talking to RayRay put me totally at ease and soon I was talking to him, Big Joe, Dave, and even waved to Kirt, who had his serious face on.
Diana snapped a picture of me and RayRay, and it was during this time that we first saw Patrick Dempsey. And like every other time I would see him, he was in a hurry. The man didn’t walk anywhere this weekend, he practically flew. He squeezed Diana’s arm and asked her how it was going (the look on her face was hilarious, by the way) and as he walked away, RayRay turns to me and says, “That’s Patrick Dempsey, you know.”
My response: “Oh yeah? I had no idea.” Then we left RayRay to work on the yellow sunshine car (“If you give me a ton of money, I’ll paint it any color you want.” RayRay) and Diana decided to go to lunch. I took this time to walk around the paddock area again. Once again, trying to track down the drivers I had on my list. Eversley, MIA. Lally, MIA. Pumpelly, MIA. Espenlaub, a freakin’ damn ghost. Todd Lamb, found his car, not him. Drivers just don’t stick around, do they?
At this time, I found my way back to the DR rig where there were people EVERYWHERE. At first, I’m standing there going, “What the hell is going on?” Then I see Donna rushing back and forth and I see that Patrick is in the garage, leaning against the banana car in an orange shirt. This girl totally squeed, “Oh my god, that’s him! That’s Patrick Dempsey!” RayRay turned to me and winked and I tried not to laugh as the girl nearly passes out when Patrick turns and gives this half wave. The girl waved back like that three year old who cried her eyes out over Justin Beiber and I turned to talk to Donna. I asked her how she deals with this and she just smiled at me and told me to stick around for a bit, hang out.
After watching people freak out over Patrick, I was just standing there, minding my own business when he came walking by me. Our conversation was as follows:
Me: Hey. RayRay tells me you’re some guy named Patrick Dempsey.
Patrick: Oh yeah?
M: Yeah, so you must be some kind of big deal.
P*chuckles*: Something like that.
M *offering my hand*: I’m Katie.
P *shakes my hand firmly*: Are you a RayRay groupie?
M: Who isn’t?
P: Right on.
And then he was gone. Thirty seconds and that was it. No pictures, no autographs, nothing. And I’m standing there going, “He is kind of insanely nice. And has a great handshake.” But I go back to snapping my pictures of the cars, working my way from the 44 Porsche to Todd Lamb’s 30 and the Speedsource cars. Talked to a couple of their crew guys briefly and then turn around to see Joe Foster coming towards me. He’s all in his firesuit and I remember going, “Oh wow, it’s Joe Foster.” Our conversation is as follows:
Me: Oh wow, it’s Joe Foster.
J: Hi, how are you doing?
Me (in my head going: What the fuck, that worked): Great, how are you.
J: Doing really well. Having a good time?
M: Oh yeah. How’s the car doing?
J: Driving great, we’re really optimistic.
M: My name is Katie. My friends Kristina and Alicia from Montreal and Utah say hi.
J: Oh yeah! Say hi to them for me. I have to run. Have a great day.
I was more starstruck with this conversation than the one with Patrick. Because Joe is awesome. He’s really awesome and I think I just stood in front of the Brumos rig forever, thinking, “Hooooly shit.” And then I realize, once again, that I didn’t get an autograph from him. But then he comes back. Next conversation with Joe Foster:
J: Hey there.
M: Joe, I completely blanked but could you sign my hero card?
J: Of course I can. Let me grab a Sharpie out of the rig. C’mon. (Joe leads me to the rig and goes inside, returns with a Sharpie) Spell your name for me.
M: K-A-T-I-E. Thanks so much, Joe. (At this point, I see Patrick at the Speedsource rig, and he’s looking over)
J: No problem. Make sure you get Patrick to sign it too.
M: I would but he seems pretty busy today.
J *chuckles*: Just grab him. He’ll sign it for you.
M: Definitely. Do you mind signing my shirt too?
J: Any particular place you want me to sign it?
M *turning around* Nope, anywhere is good. (Joe proceeds to sign my right shoulder, I am practically trembling by this point)
J: There you go.
M: Thanks, Joe. Good luck tomorrow in Rolex and CT.
J: Thank you.
And then he’s gone again. And my brain goes fuzzy again. I know I walked around and tried to stalk CT drivers again (to no avail). I also know I contemplated a hot dog and a new DR shirt. I spent stupid amounts of money on that stupid program and a Sharpie. And then I met up with Diana again by the rig. And this time, Joe came out again, said hi to Diana and smiled at me. And then Patrick was there in his yellow hat (thank god for the yellow hat, you could see him coming from 3 miles away) and I called out to him again:
M: Hey, Patrick, I know you’re busy but could you sign my shirt?
P: Sure. Do you want me to sign it RayRay?
M *dies inside because he actually remembered*: Sure, if you want.
P *laughing as he bends to sign my shirt* There you go.
M: Thanks, have a minute to get a picture?
P: Of course.
And then suddenly, dude’s arm is around me, my arm is around his waist, and I’m thinking that unlike most guys in the world, he doesn’t actually smell like anything. Oh, and he’s really short. Oh, and he has some great side ab muscles. He squeezes my arm, I say thanks, and then he’s off again. At racing speeds. And I’m standing there grinning like an idiot.
For the record, you’ll notice I keep describing these conversations and they’re short. It’s not because I don’t remember them, it’s because the DR guys were all seriously in a hurry. They had a ton of shit going down that weekend, and between the paps practically humping Patrick’s leg like dumb dogs and the kajillion interviews they were already scheduled to do, I barely saw the guys at all. Anybody who was at that race and says they spent a ton of time with the guys is probably exaggerating their experiences. I spent more time with the crew than I did with either Joe or Patrick and it really made my experience that much better. RayRay was so nice (he kissed my hand and my head twice), Big Joe squeezed my shoulder and nearly got himself run over by a Daytona Prototype, and Dave gave me a hard time for hanging out at the rig. I love the crew so freakin’ much, and they’re actually who I feel myself missing right now. Which is weird, I know.
Anyhoo, Joe came out to take the car out for Practice 2 and Diana, her cousin Jon, and I went up to the grandstands for the practice. This is where I stop for a PSA. If you ever get the chance to go to a race, BRING SUNSCREEN. I know my best friend will comment on this and go, “Dude, I totally told you that.” So yes, she was right, I was wrong and now my face is peeling off. So my point is, BRING SUNSCREEN AND SLATHER IT ON. I don’t care how cloudy/cold it is, put the sunscreen on. If you need a reason why, please see my Facebook page for reasons why someone should always bring sunscreen. As I think I just raised my chances of skin cancer by a 50%.
But yes…we watched practice 2 and then took our hot, sweaty asses down for some friendly CT stalking. Again. For the record, Eversley and Espenlaub? Ghosts. I do not believe they exist. Or I didn’t at this point as we couldn’t find them anywhere. Rigs, check. Cars, yeppers. Co-drivers, yes. But Eversley and Espenlaub? Yeah…I started calling them ghost drivers. But we headed back to the rig, as qualifying was about to start. And there was Patrick about to get in. Once he got in, Joe came out and knelt down, talked to him for a few, and then off the Yellow Banana 40 went to qualify us in 7th, with the 41 going for 6th.
After watching the CT qualifiers (and figuring out the scoreboard), we walked back towards the paddocks and who do I see…why, it’s Ryan Eversley riding his bike! He DOES exist. IT’S A MIRACLE, PEOPLE. No, the miracle is then seeing Charles Espenlaub talking to someone. The man also exists. THERE ARE NO GHOSTS AT HOMESTEAD! Of course, then Charles moved to the garage to talk to Joe, who was putting on a decal. And by talk to Joe, I mean, hug him from behind. It was super cute. And then Patrick came along and…it was a 40 reunion…sans Scotty Maxwell, who was added onto my stalking list later.
Of course, then it was time to go back to the hotel and dream of happy racing times to come. What I didn’t know was that the next day was going to rock the first day’s socks off.
So there’s day one…it was a bit of a DR squeefest…but that’s where I spent most of my time Friday. Saturday, not so much. So stay tuned for part 2, where I meet and fangirl over Don Kitch, Jr., attend the most awesome fan walk in the history of fan walks, and lose my voice due to some serious stress during the races.