Earnhardt, a man known to push other cars off the track, probably wouldn't like the idea of his number being lifted out of Winston Cup racing for good. There are no rafters in racing. Your number is best honored by hanging it on a hood. At Ellerbe, the road to Rockingham takes a sharp left at the BP station and winds through miles of lowlands, pines and crossroads marked by arrows pointing the way to the speedway. On Friday, fans are setting up camps for the weekend.
Souvenir stands wait between the encampment and the track.
Earnhardt is gone, but thousands of fans will travel to The Rock because he cannot. The memorial services and the funeral of the week past recalled Earnhardt, but this weekend full of noise, speed and angling for an edge at 160 mph will be the ceremony that will most truly evoke what drove the driver. It seemed an appropriate final sound, as fitting as bagpipes at a police funeral. The shadows grew long. The cars pulled off one by one.