With the cancellation of the CART season opener in Phoenix in the spring of 1980 due to flooding, I switched signals and headed for another sports car event _ the 12 Hours of Sebring in Central Florida.

I had enjoyed my first Daytona 24 Hours race so much that I decided another International Motor Sports Association event would provide more great learning experiences.

Unfortunately, it got off to a very bad start.

A driver named Manuel Quintana, driving a Porsche 911, spun and flipped during qualifying and was killed on impact, the first IMSA driver ever to die in a racing accident. I had been on the auto racing beat for less than three months and this was the third driver death I had been called upon to write.

It was more than disheartening, it was horrifying to me.

I wrote the story as best I could and covered the race the next day with a heavy heart and a busy mind, trying to plan my escape from the auto racing beat.

I rehearsed over and over in my mind what I would say to my boss, Wick Temple, that would get him to switch me to a beat or a bureau where people weren't dying every few weeks. I slept little for a few nights, with flashbacks to the disastrous days at Indianapolis in 1973.

The race ended without further major incident late Saturday night and I flew back to Cleveland on Sunday. Judy sympathized but tried to persuade me to wait a few days to talk to Wick, giving me time to sort out my feelings.

But I wasn't really listening.

I called Wick on Monday and told him, rather emotionally, that I wanted out of racing and why. His reaction was cool, calm and reasoned.

"Look, you've had a very rough start, but you've seen enough of racing to know that this is just a fluke," he said. "If drivers kept dying at this rate the sport would be abolished. Get through the first year and we'll reevaluate. I need you on that beat for now."

He was very calming and, even though I still had misgivings, I said I would stay the course.

Things settled into a pretty good rhythm after that and, on the home front, we signed the land contract to sell the house, with the stipulation that the new family would not take possession until late May, after the school year ended for Tory and for their children.

That allowed me to call Wick and tell him we would be heading out east for good no later than June 1.

Another part of my dissatisfaction with the new job was being away from Judy and the kids way more than I liked. With Tory in kindergarten and Lanni in preschool, Judy and I decided to make the trip to the Indy 500 in May a family adventure.

It would be my 10th Indy 500, but my responsibilities had taken a quantum leap. I now would be writing the main lede almost every day for 2 1/2 weeks leading up to the race and I was also taking a big part of the story planning and scheduling.

I felt that having Judy and the kids there after I got done at the track would be a wonderful pressure release. And that's exactly what it was.

And, this time, I put them in a very nice motel within walking distance of a park and several shops and restaurants. And I had Judy drop me at the track in the morning so she could keep the car, visit old friends and keep busy during the day.

It was easy to get a ride back to the motel with other out-of-town writers.

It also buoyed my feelings that it turned out to be a safe, fun year to cover Indy. And it was particularly fun because it turned out to be Johnny Rutherford's year.

I had first gotten to really know Rutherford, a smooth-talking Texan known as "Lone Star JR," in 1974 when he won the 500-mile race for the first time.

My biggest job that year was to write a follow-up story about the winner. I came to the nearly deserted track the morning after the race for the traditional winner's photo shoot and got to sit down with JR one-on-one. It was supposed to be a quick hit, since he had lots of obligations. But JR didn't seem to be in any hurry and we talked for nearly an hour - much to the dismay of his PR rep.

By the time we shook hands, we were friends. And we've been friends ever since.

To my regret, I missed his win in 1976, the one Indy race I missed between 1970 and 2012. But, as we moved into the action at Indy in 1980, JR, driving car owner Jim Hall's Chaparral 2K chassis, was the heavy favorite.

The car, painted a brilliant yellow in honor of its sponsor, Pennzoil, was revolutionary in that it had an aerodynamics advantage dubbed "ground effects" by Hall, a former racer and a real innovator. The car quickly got the nickname "The Yellow Submarine."

The ground effects, produced by an underbody that resembled an upside-down airplane wing, kept the car solidly on the ground and quickly became an integral part of race car design.

It was no contest in qualifying as JR won the pole with a four-lap average of 192.256 mph.

Driving by the Indianapolis airport the night before, I was reminded that the Goodyear blimp was on hand for race week. An idea popped into my head and I sought out my friend Dave Hederich, the Goodyear PR rep, at the track.

I reminded Dave about my blimp ride with Buddy Baker at Daytona and broached the idea of taking a similar ride with the Indy pole-winner. It all came together quickly and, on Monday, I found myself floating high above the speedway in the company of JR.

I explained about Buddy's "lap" of Daytona and JR got a big smile on his face and said, "Let's smoke him."

The pilot positioned the blimp near the start-finish line of the 2 1/2-mile oval far below and gave up the helm to JR. Again, I kept the very unofficial time on my Timex.

By my reckoning, JR beat Buddy's time by less than 2 seconds. But, again, it made for a real good story.

Another big story that month involved Indy rookie Tim Richmond, a movie-star handsome youngster with a personality as big as all outdoors. He was very fast on the track, but he also tended to crash a lot at that point in his career.

Some fans and writers had dubbed him "Captain Crunch." But Tim wasn't about to slow down - on or off the track.

I wrote what I believe was the first national feature on him the week before qualifying. On the opening morning of time trials, as I walked through the garage, I heard somebody running behind me and turned around in time to see a grinning Tim Richmond racing after me.

"Mike, that was a great story," he said, pounding me on the shoulder. "Thanks for letting everybody know I'm here. Now it's up to me to keep them talking about me."

On race day, JR led 118 of the 200 laps and won by almost 30 seconds. Tom Sneva started last in the 33-car field and wound up leading laps and finishing second - a truly amazing run.

And Richmond also made headlines. He was voted Indy's Rookie of the Year after leading a lap and finishing ninth despite running out of fuel just before taking the checkered flag.

As Rutherford was finishing a victory lap, he stopped next to Richmond, standing near his car at the head of the main straightaway. JR signaled Tim to hop on for a ride back to the pits. With the huge crowd cheering lustily, Richmond rode back to the pits on the sidepod of the winning car as the two drivers shook hands and then waved to the fans. It was a fun moment and a lot of fun to write about.

I again went to the track the morning after the race to watch the photo shoot and do a follow-up on JR's win. Much to my surprise and delight, Tim showed up, too. It turned out to be a lively interview with the two drivers bantering happily.

The wave of good times and good stories from that May did a lot to get me back on an even keel emotionally, and I began to think that maybe this auto racing beat wasn't so bad after all.