My first visit to North Wilkesboro Speedway in rural North Carolina came in the spring of 1982. There were only a few short tracks (less than a mile) left on the NASCAR schedule, and North Wilkesboro was considered one of the best for close racing.

North Wilkesboro was a typical small southern town, sleepy most of the time, except when NASCAR's top stock car series visited twice a year.

The media motel was located in a residential area and was built into the side of a large hill, with the lower rooms facing out on a small forest. When I walked into the office to check in for the first time, the proprietor was sitting in a side room playing a guitar and quietly humming to himself.

He eventually saw me standing by the desk and broke into a huge smile, saying, "Who have we here?"

I introduced myself and he said, "It's great to have you here. The NASCAR folks are like family. They've been staying with us for years."

The track, located about five miles east of the downtown area, was just over half a mile in length and featured a unique uphill backstretch and downhill frontstretch. There was no tunnel to get to the infield, so you had to wait until the cars stopped running to cross the track.

One of the top teams in NASCAR at the time was owned by Junior Johnson, one of the sport's all-time great drivers and part of the legendary moonshine-running antecedents of the stock car sport. Although he was never caught on the road, Junior spent time in a federal prison after being captured near his family's still.

By 1981, he was one of NASCAR's top car owners and he and driver Darrell Waltrip were on their way to a series championship.

I was wandering the pit road that first day in North Wilkesboro when I spotted Junior sitting on the low pit wall by himself. I had been in group interviews with him, but never one-on-one and I wasn't sure if he even knew who I was.

As I walked up, he broke into a big smile and said, "I wondered when we'd get around to talking. How are you liking our sport?"

I pulled out my notebook and got a good interview as we sat and talked for about 10 minutes before Junior was called to the car.

As he was walking away, Junior turned and said, "You're coming to the farm for breakfast tomorrow, right?" I guess I looked puzzled and he added, "Eight o'clock at the farm in Ronda. See you then."

I asked around and found out that he and then-wife Flossie hosted a breakfast for most of the NASCAR folks each year on the Saturday morning of the spring race at North Wilkesboro. The farm, in the tiny town of Ronda, where Junior also built a race shop "across the creek," was just a few miles from the track.

He didn't have to ask me twice. I walked into the farmhouse and found a huge country breakfast buffet waiting in the dining room. I met Flossie, who was a typical, friendly country lady. She smiled and told me to dig in, which I did."

It seemed just about anybody who was anybody in NASCAR was there and there was plenty of good conversation to go with the great food.

I saw Junior and waved to him, but he was working the room and didn't get to me for a while, Finally, he walked up with a big smile on his face and said, "Come with me."

We walked through the crowd to a staircase, which took us to the basement. I followed Junior to a far corner of the basement where there was a locked cupboard. Junior took out a key and unlocked it.

By this time, I was totally confused. What was he doing? Why was I down here?

Junior reached into the cupboard and produced a small ceramic jar with a cork top. He handed it to me and said, "Don't drink it all in one sitting. It'll put you on your ass! But I hope you enjoy it. Welcome to NASCAR."

I'm not much of a drinker - maybe a little wine now and then. I had never even seen, let alone drank, moonshine. And I wasn't about to try it at 9 a.m. on a work day. But I thanked Junior profusely and promised to let him know how I liked it.

I did pull that cork and try it that afternoon, A small sip burned my throat and my eyes didn't stop watering for half an hour. But I was really honored that Junior Johnson had given me that gift. And I still have that jug - although I poured out the rest of the moonshine that same afternoon.

My second visit to the Long Beach Grand Prix was also interesting.

This time, we managed to get one of the mothers to stay with the kids in Westfield and Judy flew to California with me for the long weekend.

She immediately fell in love with what was then seedy, grimy Long Beach. Within a few blocks of our hotel were two good-sized used book stores and several thrift shops. For Judy, that was like being on a beach in Hawaii for most people.

That Friday night, we were invited by team owner Frank Williams to the dinner party that I had attended by myself the previous year at the home of his wife's sister and brother-in-law.

We were seated next to his new driver, Keke Rosberg of Finland and Keke's fiance, Sina. Judy and Sina hit it off immediately and I found Keke to be a really nice, friendly guy. It was a wonderful evening and, as we parted, Sina said, "You'll have to come visit us in Finland or Monaco (where most of the F1 drivers lived)."

Keke and Sina married the next year but, unfortunately, we never took her up on the invitation.

The first Detroit Grand Prix was held that summer, with a temporary track built around the Renaissance Center in the heart of the Motor City.

A special practice had been set for Thursday because it was a new, untested track. But track workers were unable to finish in time.

I checked into the hotel in Ren Cen and walked out to the track, where F1 crewmen were playing football (soccer) and throwing frisbees on the unfinished track. As I walked along the pit road, I saw my new friend Keke sitting alone on the pit wall, apparently enjoying the sunny, warm afternoon.

I walked up, stuck out my hand and said, "Hey, Keke, how are you?"

He looked at me coldly, without reaching for my hand, and said, "I'm okay."

I was confused and wondered if he just didn't recognize me. I said, "You know me, Mike Harris from AP. We met in Long Beach."

He stared at me without any expression and said, "Sorry."

Feeling stupid and embarrassed, I said, "Okay. Sorry to bother you," and started to walk away. When I got about five feet from him, I heard Keke said, "How's Judy!" I looked back and he had a gigantic smile and started to laugh.

"Got ya!" he said. Indeed he did.

Keke went on to win the F1 championship for Williams that year. The season finished with that first Las Vegas GP and, thanks to my friendship with both Keke and Frank Williams, I was able to get exclusive one-on-one interviews with both of them that got me by-lines all over Europe and South America. It was something of a coup for the AP, which generally didn't have an inside line on F1.

That year was also the first time NASCAR's awards dinner was held at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York City.

The banquet was held on the first Friday of December, the same week that New York's Christmas celebration gets into full swing with the tree lighting in Rockefeller Plaza and the opening of all the amazing displays in the department store windows.

The setting was a little overwhelming that first year for the NASCAR crowd. There was a lot of gawking at tall buildings and wide eyes at the restaurant and shop prices.

The first few banquets were held in the cozy Starlight Roof at the Waldorf. But the event grew quickly and soon moved to the hotel's ballroom.

It was a glitzy, black-tie affair that drew CEO's from many of America's major companies. And it didn't take long for the drivers and their wives to acclimate and come to appreciate being in the big city.

Since we lived just across the Hudson River in New Jersey, Judy and I didn't need a hotel room. Later, after we moved to North Carolina, we spent the banquet week at the Waldorf for several years, which was truly a treat.

There is an upscale jewelry story in the lobby of the Waldorf and, of course, Judy had to do a little window shopping. She soon became very friendly with the ladies that ran the story, although she told them up front that there was nothing there that we could afford.

Each year, as we walked through the lobby, Judy would stop and stare at this one intricate necklace, with exotic figures tumbling down its length, that stayed in the store's window. Finally, she asked one of the ladies if she could try it on, just for fun.

As she put it on, Judy asked how much it was selling for and what, if any, it's signifiance? The sales lady smiled and replied, "The price is $400,000. It's the Kama Sutra."

Judy blushed, thanked the lady and quickly handed it back. But she still stopped to look at that piece of jewelry every time we walked past.

Another time, years later, one of the NASCAR sponsors held a cocktail party after hours at Tiffany & Co., on Fifth Avenue. There were bars and tables of hors d'oeuvres, which most of the guests took advantage of. Not Judy.

The store was fully staffed for the event and Judy started asking the clerks what she should see. We wound up touring the entire five-floor store and talking to people at almost every counter. At one point, Judy tried on a $2 million ring with a rare yellow diamond.

The clerk almost had a heart attack when Judy began to wander off to look at something else while still wearing the ring. Then I had a small anxiety attack when she had a bit of trouble getting the ring off. But it really was a fun event that we were able to take part in for consecutive years.

There were a lot of fun events connected with the New York banquets that we got to take part in. One especially good one was a yearly concert at the Roseland Ballroom, sponsored by what was then The Nashville Network (TNN). We saw Reba McIntire, Brooks & Dunn, Tanya Tucker and Faith Hill and Tim McGraw, among others.

Some of the perks of my job were definitely great.