I left Judy and the kids in the middle of a typically brutal Cleveland winter to fly to New York and begin working at the AP's worldwide headquarters at 50 Rockefeller Plaza in the heart of Rockefeller Center.

I felt terrible leaving Judy to deal with the sale of the house _ which was going very badly _ and taking care of the kids on her own for who knows how long.

But, once I arrived in New York and checked into the luxurious Drake Hotel at 56th and Park Avenue, I couldn't help but get excited. I was amazed AP put me up at such a high end place, but it turns out the AP had a long-term deal with the Drake to take care of out-of-town visitors.

My first morning heading for the office was amazing. The six block walk to 50th and Fifth Avenue was crowded with people and there was a hum in the air that was almost electric.

I had eaten in the hotel coffee shop that morning and was appalled at spending more than $20 _ even if it was AP's money _ for two eggs, two pieces of toast and coffee. On the way to the office, I noticed a small deli with a sign in the window: "Quick breakfast: Two eggs, bacon, toast and coffee - $4.95."

That became my go-to place for the next week and beyond. It wasn't fancy, but it was tasty and, as advertised, quick and cheap.

I spent that day and the next few days learning the computer system in the office, getting to know the people who worked there and writing up a few handouts. Even though most of it was menial, I couldn't get over being there and being part of New York Sports.

There was little turnover in the sports department, particularly among the beat writers. These were elite jobs and the people who held them had no reason to go anywhere else. And now I was one of them, although not the way I had expected.

I actually felt a little embarrassed to tell people my new beat was auto racing. It seemed somehow to lack the luster of other professional sports _ at least to me it did.

Nightly calls home were tough. I kept wanting to apologize to Judy for not being there and she kept telling me everything was going just fine, although no one was coming to see the house.

She also told me that it was pretty much a full-time job to keep the driveway and sidewalks clear of snow in case anybody did show up to look at the house. She even shoveled after coming home from work at 1 a.m.

That did not make me feel any better.

I was just getting comfortable in the office when it was time to head for the first event of Daytona Speed Weeks, the 24-hour sports car race.

Since I knew nothing about sports cars and the idea of watching them go round-and-round for 24 hours didn't really appeal to me, I asked the boss if I could find a stringer to cover it and stay in New York, especially since the Winter Olympics were just underway and NY Sports was understaffed.

He told me that it would be a good opportunity to meet people and get to know Daytona. "I want you to go. I'm sure it will be worth your while,'' Wick said.

It turns out he was absolutely right. I wound up covering the 24-hour race, which eventually became known as the Rolex 24, for 31 consecutive years. It quickly became one of my favorite events.

That first day at track was not easy. I knew nobody and nobody knew me.

I walked through the garages and along pit lane the day before the race without talking to one person. I was absently watching practice when Daytona International Speedway's sports car publicist, Ron Meade found me.

"I was told you needed some introductions and some background," Ron said. "Well, you've got the right guy."

He took me by the arm and walked me up to one of the top sports car drivers in the world, Al Holbert.

"Al, this is Mike Harris from the AP. He's new to our kind of racing." Ron said.

Al shook my hand and said, "No problem. We'll bring you up to speed."

That was the beginning of a great friendship that tragically ended in 1988 when Al, who was also a pilot, was killed in the crash of a private plane.

The rest of that day was a whirlwind. I met so many people it was hard to keep them straight in my mind. Drivers, owners, crew chiefs, sponsors. And every single one of them was friendly and open to my ignorant questions.

The race was set to start on Saturday at 4 p.m. and, of course, end on Sunday at 4 p.m.

I dutifully went to the press box that Saturday morning and found it almost completely empty. I set up at the AP position, where our phone jack was located, and sat down to wait for the start of the race. It got very lonely and I didn't know what to do.

Finally, the only other person in the press box, Bob Carlson, the public relations boss for Porsche, walked over, introduced himself and told me how most people cover the twice-around-the-clock race.

"You can do your writing from here, but most people stay in the infield so they can talk to the drivers as they get out of the cars after their stints," Bob said. "You can easily walk into the infield, although it's a bit of trek. I wouldn't try driving because most of the car traffic during the race is on the infield roads.

"And we're tied in to our teams by radio, so somebody is always up here to monitor the situation. Any time you need an update, just ask."

I took his advice to heart and, after watching the start of the race, with more than 70 cars in four classes beginning the event on the Daytona road course, and sending a quick lede about the start. I walked into the infield and strolled along pit lane.

I now knew somebody in almost every pit. And, even though they were very busy, people had no qualms about stopping to talk for a moment or two.

I walked back and forth to the press box, my notebook brimming over with quotes and notes, writing updates every three hours.

As darkness fell and the car lights came on, the whole place became surreal. There was a constant roar of engines and lights flashing everywhere. I stood behind one of the pits in the middle of the action and became a bit mesmerized.

That's when Ron Meade found me again.

"C'mon, there's something you need to see," he said.

We got in his car and drove around the outside of the track to an area near the first turn of the 2 1/2-mile stock car oval, which is also used for part of the road racing configuration. He then walked me up to the concrete wall on the outside of the track, which came up to my neck.

As we stood there, we were looking down the track from Turn 1 of the oval to what would be Turn 4 in a stock car race. It was a very long straightaway and I could hardly make out Turn 4 in the darkness.

In  moment, I could see tiny lights on the front of a car coming out of the darkness. As the car careered toward us, the lights grew bigger and the sound of a powerful engine grew stronger and louder. Suddenly, a Porsche 935, traveling at more than 200 mph, was upon us. And, just as suddenly, it was gone, braking into the sharp left turn turn into the infield portion of the track and zooming away.

We stood there for about 15 minutes, watching car after car go through the turn. Some were a lot slower and the engines sounded very different from the Porsches, the fastest cars in the field. Ron pointed out the different cars as they went past and taught me my first - and best - lesson about the different classes of sports cars.

I had a hotel room nearby, but I decided to stay up for the entire race. I thought that's what the veteran writers did.

But I was wrong. Most took a break during the early morning hours, having track officials contact them if anything major took place. It was my biggest mistake of the weekend.

I had been awake since 8 a.m. the previous morning. By the time the race was nearing the end, I was a zombie. I sat in the press box, trying to keep my eyes open and keep my notes up to date. I wrote my post-race stories in a trance. But, somehow, they turned out fine.

The race was won by the German trio of Reinhold Joest, Volkert Merl and Rolf Stommelen in a Porsche 935, with Americans Holbert and John Paul finishing second in another 935. The winners' quotes weren't particularly exciting, but the event left me feeling happy, if exhausted.

I could have stayed over and gotten some much-needed sleep before leaving Daytona Beach, but I had gotten permission to fly home for a couple of days. I admit it was touch and go on the 40-mile drive to the Orlando airport if I would stay awake at the wheel, but I made it.

I then slept from the time I got into my seat on the airplane until the wheels touched down in Cleveland around midnight. By the time I got home, I could barely think. But it was wonderful to be in my own bed with my wife at my side and my children sleeping just down the hall.

After two days at home, much of the time spent outside, together with Judy, shoveling, I found it even harder to get back on a plane and head back to New York.

Next: My first Daytona 500.