The trip to Phoenix during my first year on the auto racing beat also featured one of the strangest moments of my career.

In those days, you could cover the races at Phoenix Raceway from the roof of the one-story media center in the middle of the infield and then dash down the steps with a few laps to go and file your story.

That roof gave a panoramic view of the one-mile oval and, as usual, the late fall Arizona weather was sunny and pleasant. Johnny Rutherford, driving his iconic "Yellow Submarine" was dominating the race.

Suddenly, coming off turn four, Rutherford's car slid sideways, tapped the wall and flipped over, sending JR and his open-cockpit car sliding upside-down along the main straightaway. It was spectacular and frightening. My heart sank and I think I stopped breathing for a moment.

The roof usually attracted a few non-official spectators and this race was no exception. Among the people watching alongside me was Linda Vaughn, the statuesque former Miss Hurst Golden Shifter and now the mother hen of the series.

As the bright yellow car slid down the track, the crowd grew silent and Linda, screaming, collapsed onto my shoulders and back. In other circumstances, I probably would have enjoyed the close contact with the beautiful Linda, but definitely not in this case.

I knew I should be dashing down to my computer to file a story about the crash. But, first, I had to console a gasping, white-faced Linda, telling her that JR would be just fine - hoping silently I was right. As she calmed down, I extricated myself from her grasp and went to write my story.

Thankfully, JR was not seriously injured, thanks especially to his helmet, which cracked as it skidded on the ground during the incident.

I've always enjoyed milestone moments in sports and I got to cover more than a few of them. One of my favorites was Richard Petty's victory in the 1981 Daytona 500.

From the time I first met "The King," I found him to be less of a celebrity or star and more of a real person - somebody you could have a real conversation with and who was genuinely nice and caring.

But, by the time I began covering NASCAR in 1980, Richard was in his 40s and on the downside of his glorious racing career. Wins, which had come in bunches earlier in his career, were now occasional and he was no longer the man to beat most weekends.

That made his record seventh victory in NASCAR's premier event all the more exciting.

I was thoroughly enjoying writing about Richard's victory and the words were flowing smoothly. But I also was feeling a strong urge to head for the bathroom after sitting and drinking coffee for the last half of the race.

Finally, I was at the point where I could take a quick break before the winner's interview began. I walked to the bathroom at the back of the press box, on a mission and taking no notice that a crowd of people _ photographers, writers, PR people and even a few VIP fans were standing in a crowd outside the men's room door.

I walked quickly through the crowd and darted into the bathroom, which was empty with the exception of a tall, slim man in a feathered cowboy hat standing at a urinal, his back to me. Of course, it was Richard, who had felt the same urge as me after nearly three hours in his race car.

It was a very strange moment as I stood there, wondering if I should go about my business or wait until "The King" was finished with his. I stood there in that nearly empty bathroom lost in a fog until Richard turned around and headed for the sink to wash his hands.

He saw me standing there, gave me a big wink and said, "We got 'em today, son!"

I said, "Congratulations, Richard," then stood and watched as he finished his ablutions and left the room. The crowd outside began applauding, which also seemed very odd, considering where Richard was coming from.

At that point, I remembered what I was there for and took care of business, walking out just in time for the first question of the winner's interview. The incident was both surreal and memorable.

That year's Indy 500 was also memorable, mostly because the winner wasn't determined until four months later.

I wrote the main lede and was well into my story about Bobby Unser winning the 500 for the third time when word began to filter down to us that Unser faced a possible penalty for passing cars illegally while returning to the track after a pit stop on lap 149 of the 200-lap event.

Everything was suddenly on hold. Several hours after the race, the U.S. Auto Club, the sanctioning body at Indy at the time, issued a one-lap penalty to Unser, apparently giving runner-up Mario Andretti his second Indy victory.

After finishing yet another lede, I walked to the pace car room under the grandstands and knocked on the door, hoping to interview the driver and find out what he saw from his unique perspective. Duke Nalon, a former Indy driver, was the celebrity driver, but a speedway employee, Don Bailey, took over the wheel after the start of the race.

Bailey opened the door and got a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face when I introduced myself and said I'd like to talk to him about the race. Next thing I knew, the door was slammed in my face. No amount of knocking brought Don back to the door. I guess I got A for effort on that one.

Results at Indy were not official until they were posted at 8 a.m. the next day. I was outside the USAC office door the next morning, along with a small handful of other writers and photographers, when the results were posted on the window, Mario was in first and Bobby second, a lap down. A quick call to the office put the news on the wire.

There were protests and appeals galore throughout the next few months. Finally, on October 9, USAC reversed its decision and Unser had his third Indy win again - this time, for good.

It became just another episode of the so-called "Andretti Curse" at Indy, where, after his win in 1969, bad luck kept Mario from winning again. His son, Michael, led more laps than any other driver in the 500 and never won. And grandson Marco came close in his rookie year and has not been close again.

Some feel the "curse" was finally broken when Michael won Indy for the first time as a car owner in 2005 with Dan Wheldon behind the wheel.

My second season of auto racing also included my first visit as a writer to Las Vegas. The fall race, run on a temporary circuit built on a parking lot and open field behind Caesars Palace, was the season finale for Formula One.

This time, I made sure I wrote up front for credentials and I asked the PR person for the race, new friend Hank Ives, if he could make me a room reservation at Caesars. He was very apologetic but said the race promoter didn't want media staying at the host hotel.

So he got me a room at Bally's on the strip.

I arrived in Vegas on Thursday evening and, after checking into the hotel, decided to play some video poker. After losing a quick $20, I thought I['d change my luck and head to another hotel.

Walking out to Las Vegas Boulevard, I saw the Flamingo Hilton was across the street about a block away. There was unusually light traffic on the boulevard that night and I decided to jaywalk in the middle of the block - not the brightest thing I've ever done.

As I began to cross the four-lane boulevard, I saw a shapely young woman wearing tight toreador pants and an even tighter silk baseball jacket walking directly toward me. We met at the center line and as I nodded at her in greeting, she stepped in front of me and said, "You looking for some fun, honey?"

Sheepishly, I said, "No thank you."

As cars sped past us on both sides, she reached for the zipper of her silver jacket and began to pull it down, revealing a whole lot of flesh.

She smiled and said, "Are you sure?"

I said something witty like "Yes, maam!" She shook her head, said, "F... you" and continued across the street. I stood there in the middle of the traffic thinking, "Welcome to Las Vegas, Mike."

Over the years, I had many interesting adventures in Vegas - but never another one like that.