Before NASCAR drivers began bringing motor homes to the tracks, it was pretty routine to run into them in hotel lobbies and restaurants.

It was easy to strike up a conversation and, sometimes, that led to dinner invitations and a chance to get to know the drivers better.

For several years, I stayed at an old, antebellum-style motel outside of Florence, SC called The Swamp Fox Inn. It had no coffee shop or restaurant, so you had to go elsewhere for meals.

Heading out one night with no particular destination in mind, I ran into PR man Tom Roberts, a friendly and pleasant guy who did a great job of promoting his driver, Bobby Allison. As we talked for a few moments in the hotel lobby, Bobby walked up.

The two of them were also headed out for dinner and asked me to join them, which I immediately accepted.

Bobby was one of the biggest stars in NASCAR, but he was and is a very friendly and approachable man. I didn't know him very well, yet, but he was easy to talk to and had a great sense of humor.

Bobby loves his beer - which he calls barley pops - and he was sponsored for many years by Miller High Life.

We went to a small Italian restaurant in downtown Florence, which was a familiar place to Tom and Bobby but new to me.

When the waitress came to the table to ask for our drink order, Tom and I ordered wine and Bobby smiled and said, "A Miller beer, please."

Moments later, the waitress returned looking sad. She said, "Sorry Mr. Allison, we're out of Miller." She then named a list of other beers that were in stock. But Bobby wasn't about to be seen drinking a competitor's brand.

"Just bring me what they're having," he said, nodding at us. But he didn't look happy about it.

Moments later, we saw a man, apparently the owner, who was also the cook, hastily heading out the door. Meanwhile, the waitress brought our wine. Bobby took a sip of his, made a face and said, "Think I'll drink water."

About 10 minutes went by before the owner rushed back in carrying a paper bag.

The man walked up to our table with a big smile on his face, reached into the bag and pulled out a six-pack of Miller cans and plopped them onto the table.

"Nice and cold, Mr. Allison," he said. "Now, what can we make you for dinner?"

Bobby thanked him profusely and shook his hand. After the man walked away from the table, Bobby leaned toward Tom and me, grinned and whispered, "I was only going to drink one tonight, but I don't want to insult him."

During that same time period, the early 80s, Bobby and I bumped into each other in the garage area around lunch time. We stopped to talk for a moment and Bobby said, "I'm heading over to the Darlington Grill for one of their famous hamburger steaks. You want to join me?"

The Darlington Grill was located just outside the racetrack and was a hangout for drivers, crews and media people on race weekends. And, yes, the hamburger steak was awesome.

It would have been an easy walk, but Bobby knew he would be stopped and asked for autographs every couple of feet, so we took his car, which was parked in the lot just behind the garages.

We got in, he put the key in the ignition and sat there looking at me. It was an uncomfortable silence and I finally said, "Is something wrong?"

Bobby continued to look at me without saying anything.

"Are we waiting for someone?" I asked. Again he just sat quietly, staring at me.

Finally, he said, "I know it's just across the parking lot, but I don't go anywhere in a car until everyone is buckled up. Put that dang seat belt on and we'll get going."

I put the seat belt on and Bobby, satisfied, winked at me, started the car and we headed off to lunch.

Since that day, I have adopted Bobby's policy. When I'm driving a car, everyone in it has to be buckled in before we go anywhere. Safety first.

Another Darlington story involves Dale Earnhardt, certainly one of the biggest stars of all-time in NASCAR.

Again, staying at the Swamp Fox, I ran into Dale, his PR lady and a friend heading out for dinner. We stopped to talk for a few moments and, to my surprise, Dale said, "You want to get some dinner with us?"

Of course, I accepted. He said, "You drive."

We decided to go to a restaurant in downtown Florence and, after buckling in, of course, I headed out onto the four-lane road in front of the hotel and started towards town. I was cruising along at about 40 mph in a 35 mph zone and telling some story.

I looked over at Dale in the front passenger seat and he was grinning broadly, although I didn't think my story was that good. Suddenly, he reached over and threw the gearshift lever into park. The car bucked and swerved sideways and it was all I could do to get over to the side of the road and stopped without losing control.

Dale started howling with laughter. "Man, you should have seen your face."

The two in the back seat didn't seem surprised or upset and the PR lady later told me that Dale often pulled this trick on newbies.

I was a little shaken and also worried about what kind of damage that could have done to the transmission of the rental car. But, after a moment to compose myself, we continued on to dinner. There were no more hijinks that evening and I did get to know Dale a whole lot better.

Dinnertime was often a great time to get to know racing people better and I tried to take advantage of that as often as I could, often accompanied by Judy or my good buddy Lewis Franck.

Lewis and I were in Denver in 2002 for an Indy car race and staying at the famous Brown Palace Hotel. It was dinnertime and we had decided to eat in the hotel restaurant. Wandering through the lobby, we saw Brazilian driver Cristiano da Matta standing by himself in a corner.

We stopped to talk and asked if he would like to join us for dinner. He said yes.

The three of us headed toward the restaurant and ran into two other Brazilian drivers, Tony Kanaan and Christian Fittipaldi, who also agreed to join us. By the time we got to the restaurant entrance, Canadian driver Paul Tracy, Mexican driver Mario Dominquez and Scottish driver Dario Franchitti were all part of the dinner party.

I don't remember what the food was like, but the conversation was lively and fun, with everybody telling stories. When we were done, the waitress put the bill in the middle of the table and there it sat, waiting for someone to take the initiative and grab it.

Drivers, particularly when they are at race venues, are used to PR people and team owners picking up the tab. And most drivers are, shall we say, tight with a buck anyway. That bill sat there like a land mine waiting to be stepped on.

Finally, I thought, "What the hell. It's good PR" and I grabbed the check.

There were oohs and aahs from the assembled drivers and Tracy said, incredulously, "Are you buying? I've never had a journalist pay for a meal before."

I said, "No, the AP is."

There were smiles all around.

The bill wasn't too bad, considering that it was a race weekend and nobody was drinking liquor or wine. But it wasn't small, either. And, since it hadn't been authorized in advance, I wondered if putting it on my expense account would raise red flags in New York.

I made sure to label it as a "business meal" and write in all the drivers' names as my guests.

I was a little nervous until the expense check was deposited in my account a couple of weeks later with no backlash. But it would have been worth paying for that meal myself, considering the way the drivers reacted to it.

There were nice comments and thank yous from the drivers numerous times the rest of the season. And I had great relationships with all of them the rest of my career.

Another worthwhile evening meal.