Packing for my first trip to Daytona Beach in February I included short sleeve shirts, lightweight pants and a couple of pairs of shorts. After all, I was going to hot, sunny Florida.

When I walked off the plane in February of 1980 in Orlando, it was 55 degrees with a cold wind.

My first thought was, "I didn't even bring a sweater."

Since I flew in from New York City, I did have a heavy winter coat, but that was certainly overkill.

So my first stop that day was not Daytona International Speedway. It was a K-Mart, where I bought a sweater, a sweatshirt, a light jacket and a pair of jeans. I put all of them to good use during the 24-hour race weekend.

By the time I flew back to Florida the next week to cover the events leading up to the Daytona 500, I was properly prepared for February in Florida, a month that can leave you shivering or sweltering. It was a good lesson to learn since I spent parts or all of 31 consecutive Februaries in Daytona Beach.

I was excited about covering my first Daytona 500. There was definitely a buzz in the air after the 1979 race, which had ushered in a new era of national awareness for NASCAR.

The redundantly named National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing had been born in the south and was still considered by most a regional sport for Good Ol' Boys, rednecks and moonshine runners. But the 500-mile race in 1979 produced a lot more attention from around the country.

It was the first 500-mile race broadcast live from flag to flag. The broadcast introduced in-car cameras and speed shots from cameras on the track surface.

The audience for the race was buoyed by a snowstorm in the Midwest and Northeast that kept many people inside their homes and watching TV. And then there was the fight.

On the final lap of the race, Cale Yarborough and Donnie Allison were battling for the lead. They collided on the backstretch of the 2 1/2-mile oval and wound up in the infield grass. Richard Petty, who had been a half lap behind, drove past to win his sixth Daytona 500 as Yarborough and Allison argued over whose fault the crash had been.

Bobby Allison, Donnie's brother, parked his car near the crash site and joined in the argument, which soon turned into a helmet-swinging brawl among the three drivers.

All of that action was caught on camera and NASCAR suddenly became a major subject around office water coolers around the country the next morning.

I missed that event, but I was definitely the beneficiary of all that interest as readership for the 1980 race was boosted considerably.

The first few days were not easy for me. The NASCAR media was a close-knit group and I was definitely an outsider. I got smiles and greetings, but that was about it as I made my rounds of the garage or worked in the press box.

I quickly found out that most of the NASCAR media regulars had nicknames like Blue Grass, Pappy, Weird Harold and more. Reporters and public relations people would make arrangements to go out to dinner with me sitting nearby and pretty much ignored.

I felt very isolated.

Then I caught a huge break. Alexis Leras, the PR woman for NASCAR, invited me to the annual awards dinner, which was then held in a convention center in downtown Daytona Beach on Monday night of race week.

The place was too small for the event and some of the tables had to be set up in wings off the main room, which had no view of the head table or of the dais where the awards were presented.

That's where Alexis put me.

It was strange just listening to the awards show going on in the next room. But I was not alone.

I introduced myself to the people around me, including a freelance photographer named Lewis Franck and Goodyear's newly named racing PR person Dave Hederich, both late additions to the dinner..

The three of us got into a conversation and we pretty much ignored what was happening in the next room. By the time the dinner was over, the three of us had formed a bond that has lasted ever since. Lewis and Dave remain two of my best friends.

It was still early days for NASCAR's national popularity, so I was working the event solo. In later years, AP would send an entire team to Daytona for 500 week, often including one of the national sports columnists and a deputy or assistant sports editor to oversee the coverage.

But, in 1980, it was just me.

Being there by myself meant I had to write at least three stories a day _  a lede for the morning papers, a notes column and a lede for the next afternoon's papers. Add in any breaking news and things could get pretty crazy. But I actually loved it and the days just flew by.

Pole qualifying was run the first weekend and Buddy Baker easily won the top spot in the race field with a lap of 194.009 mph. He was immediately the odds-on favorite to win the 22nd running of NASCAR's biggest event.

My new friend Dave Hederich offered me a ride in the Goodyear Blimp that Monday and it turned out that another passenger that day was Buddy Baker.

As we floated serenely through the sky on a clear, warm afternoon, the pilot asked Buddy if he'd like to steer the blimp. When he said yes, I blurted out, "Hey, Buddy, you want to do a timed lap around the track. Let's see what this thing can do."

Everyone, including the pilot, loved the idea and that's what we did. The time, which I kept with the second hand of my Timex, was certainly unofficial, but it made for a great feature story in the next day's papers around the country. Of course, AP had a photographer on the blimp with us, so there were some great pictures to go with it.

Unfortunately, there was another huge downer that week as a 28-year-old Michigan driver named Ricky Knotts was killed in a crash during one of the twin 125-mile qualifying races on Thursday. It was a shock to my system as I wrote about a racing death for the second time in as many events on my new beat.

I hated it, but I had to shake it off to cover a huge event that Sunday. I told Judy how bummed I was about the situation and how more than ever I wanted to cover a different sport as soon as possible.

As usual, she was the voice of reason, saying, "It will all work out. Just keep working hard and getting to know people and you'll be okay. I know it's hard, but you can handle this."

Then Judy called me on Sunday morning just after I arrived in the press box to tell me that my by-lined race preview had appeared in the Cleveland Plain Dealer, meaning it certainly got used in a lot of other papers around the country and abroad. That definitely boosted my spirits.

The race went off without any problems and Buddy, the soft-spoken giant _ he was 6--foot-6 _ with a heavy accelerator foot, ran away with the win. The race was slowed by only five caution flags and the winning speed average of 177.602 mph was the fastest 500-mile race run to that point in any form of racing.

Bobby Allison was the only other driver to finish on the lead lap as the race ended under caution, thanks to Neil Bonnett's blown engine on the backstretch on the penultimate lap.

I easily won the majority of the competitive play against UPI and the bosses were happy.

I did tell Wick Temple that I would appreciate some help at Daytona the next year. And, to my surprise and relief, Dick Brinster, a writer and editor from New York Sports, became my regular No. 2 in Daytona, starting in 1981.

There was a journeyman driver named Blackie Wangerin in the 1981 Daytona field. He wasn't very good, but Dick decided to do a feature on him, based mostly on his name. It was a good story and I started calling Dick "Blackie."

Of course, he had to come up with a nickname for me and I quickly became "Wheels." The only people who call me that, though, are Dick and Lewis, who still use the nickname today.

Dick and I had a great relationship and he was a very hard worker and a fine writer. It was especially important in 1986 when I came down with the flu at Daytona. We were sharing a condo on the beach that year and Dick was trying to keep his distance after I took to my bed on Thursday night.

I had been almost done with my race preview before I got sick, so I was able to finish that and get it on the wire despite feeling like death warmed over. Dick handled everything at the track on Friday and Saturday but I knew I had to get myself out of bed for the race on Sunday.

As the race went on, I was alternately shivering and sweating. Somehow I managed to keep a lap chart and stay alert enough to write my stories. Nobody sat near me and I certainly couldn't blame them.

Geoff Bodine won the race and his wife, who I had gotten to know during the week, came over to say hi before the winner's interview in the press box. I must have looked like hell because, before I could even shoo her away, the smile left her face and she turned and scooted away.

I flew home the next day and, much to Judy's chagrin, I went to bed and stayed there for several days.

I think that was the most sick I have ever been.