Around midnight, an otherwise quiet night on the infield is broken by incessant tapping. A fan knocking on the doors of motorhomes asking for a beer in a less than polite manner. On the eighth knock, the door to the motorhome swings open and a can of Miller Lite is thrown out the door toward the individual. Even in a drunken fog, he's sponsor loyal. At dawn, the doors swing open.
Breakfast is served.
Not eggs benedict or even an egg mcmuffin. By 8 o'clock, chairs are arranged on top of the motorhomes and schoolbuses. The roar of engines is heard from the garage area. Race day has arrived. As the spectators congregate along souvenir row, the stars of the show are off in their own world.