It’s been said, “He who climbs Mount Fuji once is a wise man; he who climbs it twice is a fool.”
Stripped to its bare metal, the Daytona 500 could be described as 200 laps of 2.5 miles each—but the burning rubber that meets that well-traveled speedway does more than produce tire squeals and skid marks. It also conjures up misty gray ghosts who tell tales that go beyond mere miles and milestones.
I’m Jim Lamb—let’s get started.
I was flat on my back listening to the Paul Butterfield Blues Band play “In My Own Dream” — thinkin’ I was in heaven but knowin’ I was on the floor of Fillmore West, the near mythical music palace in San Francisco where Rock & Roll ruled, and fans flocked to see and hear bands like the Grateful Dead, Santana, and Credence Clearwater Revival.