Jeff Gordon: His Dream, Drive & Destiny

by Joe Garner

  Jeff Gordon

  His Dream, Drive &

  Destiny

  Joe Garner

  Foreword by Tom

  Cruise

  Copyright © 2016, Jeff Gordon

  CONTENTS

  Foreword by Tom Cruise

  Introduction: Behind the Visor by Jeff Gordon

  Chapter 1: The Kid from California

  Chapter 2: You Lied to Me!

  Chapter 3: Bring On the Thunder

  Chapter 4: Mr. Hendrick Wants to Meet You!

  Chapter 5: Rise of the Rainbow Warriors

  Chapter 6: A Family Divided

  Chapter 7: Don’t Stink Up My Show!

  Chapter 8: The End of the Era, and the Start of Another

  Chapter 9: Live from New York

  Chapter 10: A “New” Jeff Gordon

  Chapter 11: Team of Rivals

  Chapter 12: It’s Not Where You Start, It’s Where You Finish That Matters

  Chapter 13: A Renewed Commitment

  Chapter 14: The Final Checkered

  Jeff’s Ten Favorite Tracks

  Acknowledgements

  The No. 24 Axalta Chevrolet SS on the track during Jeff’s final Cup race. Homestead-Miami Speedway, Florida, November 22, 2015.

  Tom Cruise and his daughter Suri with Jeff and his daughter Ella at Infineon Raceway in Sonoma, California.

  FOREWORD

  BY TOM CRUISE

  I HAVE ALWAYS LOVED RACING. Growing up in the South, it’s just what we did. I can remember taking my mother’s car—I only told her about it years later—and racing with my friends down the dirt roads of Kentucky. We worked on engines. We built our own motorcycles. And when NASCAR was on television, I always watched. I loved the sport, and I dreamed of being able to go do something like that.

  When I met Paul Newman in the mid-1980s, I raced for his team at an amateur level and even ran a couple of pro races sanctioned by the Sports Car Club of America, but what I really always wanted was to make a film about racing. So after I finished Top Gun with director Tony Scott and producers Jerry Bruckheimer and Don Simpson, I pitched them the idea of doing a movie about NASCAR. Tony was a true visionary, and I knew that the way he would direct it, in terms of camera angles and colors and making it more cinematic, would help people see racing in a new way, make them feel like they were in the driver’s seat. That was part of my goal in making Days of Thunder—to really contribute something to a sport I loved.

  During filming, I met Rick Hendrick, and he and I became friends. Back then, Rick was really building his team, and it was fun having some of these incredible racers teach me how to drive. I got to take a car around Daytona at 200 mph. Rusty Wallace let me drive his car at Charlotte. I hung out with Darrell Waltrip and Richard Petty. I got to meet Dale Earnhardt out on his farm. In the film, the character of Rowdy Burns, who’s notorious for his aggressive banging and bumping, says, “Rubbin’ is racing.” That line came straight from Dale. I had the privilege of meeting all these guys, all of them legends in their field. It was an extraordinary experience.

  Days of Thunder came out in 1990, and to be able to introduce NASCAR to a worldwide audience and share something that meant so much to me growing up is something I am still very proud of.

  The film’s release also coincided with a new era of growth for NASCAR, and that’s when a kid named Jeff Gordon came on the scene. Rick Hendrick told me early on he had seen this driver who was a different kind of guy. Jeff was unusual in that he had started racing at five years old, and he just crushed it. He had this blazing, brilliant young career. He was a born competitor, a born winner.

  Jeff was an outsider, an open-wheel racer from California—in his case, by way of Indiana—and now here he was in NASCAR, still very much a Southern sport, competing against this legend in Dale Earnhardt. And you saw that he wasn’t going to back down from Dale. It was very, very exciting. Every race, you’d wonder what was going to happen with these two guys who were just going at it. It was wonderful. It was a great story, and I became a fan. I’d watch all the races. I really wanted to see Jeff do well. He brought a real sense of drama and excitement to it all.

  At the same time, the sport was evolving. It was starting to look better on television and to attract more fans. And the racers really began to change how they trained. They became athletes at a high level and just kept pushing the bar higher and higher. There’s a lot of endurance that comes into play and a tremendous amount of work that goes into preparing. I don’t think many people truly understand the level of discipline and athleticism it takes to be a NASCAR driver, to be in that car for so many hours, week after week.

  But it takes much more than fitness to succeed in the long term. It takes real dedication, a true passion and love for what you do. You have to gear your whole life around it. From the time I was four years old, it was my dream to make movies, and for me, it’s a privilege that I get to do something I love. When you look at Jeff Gordon, when you look at how he competed at such a high level for so long, when you see the dedication it took day in and day out, you begin to understand the deep passion and love he has for the sport. No matter what you’re doing or what’s coming your way, you have to know: “I love doing this.” You saw that with Jeff. It was there the whole time.

  It’s what motivated him to perpetually strive for perfection, to be constantly learning. I remember watching Jeff in his post-race interviews, and each time, he was very clear about what had happened. When he didn’t know, he admitted he’d have to figure it out. Every race, he was learning something. You’re forever facing that challenge, whether it’s making the car better or understanding what you can do better as a driver. In my profession, that same kind of self-evaluation, that willingness to be a student of the game and to learn and improve, is very important. In racing, it’s what separates the champions from the also-rans.

  Equally important is the understanding that no one goes about it alone—you need to have people around who support you in your dream. I was always amazed by the crews and crew chiefs, all the guys dedicating seven days a week around the clock to getting those cars ready. Jeff recognized that. With him, it was never just me—it was us. Always us. He never failed to thank his crew and the people he’d been able to work with. I always respected that about him. He’s incredibly gracious, and you see that in how he treats people. Jeff may have been a very tough competitor, but he was a great sportsman. The man always had class.

  I was disappointed, as we all were, when he retired. I had hoped he would race for a few more years, but it was his decision. I had the opportunity to speak at the year-end banquet when he was honored by NASCAR and his fellow racers, and it really meant a lot to me to be a part of that. I’d been pulling for him all those years, and as I said then, when you’re treated to excellence every week for twenty-three years, that’s not something you let go of easily. But there’s comfort in the fact that he brought something exceptional to racing and that he leaves behind such a tremendous legacy of passion and professionalism to a sport I, and all of us, love so much.

  Jeff mentally prepares for another battle. He’s buckled up tight and in the zone.

  INTRODUCTION

  BEHIND THE VISOR

  BY JEFF GORDON

  FOR MOST PROFESSIONAL ATHLETES I know, game day begins in solitude. It’s all about getting in the zone. For me, race day started the night before. Sometimes I would have difficultly going to sleep. It depended on how the day went in practice. Did it go okay? Did I qualify well? Is the car really good? If it wasn’t running well, I’d get concerned and hope we could make it better. I’d be anxious about the opportunity we had to win.

  When I woke up, typic
ally the only things on my mind were the race car and what I might experience in the race that day. Will I be starting tenth on the outside? What’s that first turn going to be like? While it’s good to think about some of those things, I could really get myself worked up. I’d have to stop and shift my thinking. I’d tell myself, “Don’t worry about that now, deal with it later.” I could get so worked up trying to anticipate every little scenario that I’d exhaust myself before I even got on the track.

  I’ve had moments when I’d wake up and think, “Okay, today’s the day we’re going to wear out the competition.” Then the green flag would drop, and it couldn’t have gone worse. There were days where we had the absolute worst practice and I thought we were going to finish twenty-fifth, but we’d blister them and win.

  I didn’t try to set my expectations too high because I didn’t want to be disappointed. So I’d go into it hoping for the best but with zero expectations.

  I’ve never believed in luck. If you perform well, execute, have a good race car and a good race team, you’re going to increase your chances dramatically of having better results.

  WHILE MY MAIN FOCUS WAS ALWAYS on the race, there were many obligations to be met before I’d ever get on the track. My PR man, Jon Edwards, would lay out a detailed schedule with everything geared toward getting me to the driver’s meeting.

  Mornings typically started with media interviews, then it was on to sponsor events. Pre-race meet-and-greets and appearances at sponsor hospitality suites are part of the deal. You can choose to see them as a huge distraction or have fun with them like I did, understanding that sponsors are what make the world go around for us. It’s the part of the business that enables us to do what we love doing, and I was fortunate to have awesome sponsors throughout my career. So you take some pictures, sign some autographs, and move on to the next step of the day.

  A fan favorite nearly his entire Cup career, Jeff always made sure the fans knew how much he appreciated them.

  After the drivers’ meeting, I’d do my stretching and workout routine and then I’d head to the hauler to meet with the team to get ready for the race.

  Seeing the fans was always a big part of the race day excitement. There’s no other sport that gives fans more access. Periodically, over the years I’ve seen drivers fight against it. Some guys had the mindset of, “I’m here to race. They pay me to race, they don’t pay me to do these other things.” They’re wrong. Nobody’s going to pay you to race if there are no fans in the grandstands or watching at home. When you get to the big leagues, you’ve got to be professional and understand all the things that come along with it. I accepted the fact that fans, sponsors, and the media are all a part of the process. If you accept that fact, then you’re more comfortable and you have more enjoyment in life at the racetrack.

  Even if I was running to the drivers’ meeting or to the track or just trying to get to the bathroom, and I spotted an enthusiastic fan, they’ve got all my gear on, they’re screaming, I felt guilty if I didn’t stop to sign an autograph. I’m not saying I stopped for every person, but I tried to always make some sort of effort. Sometimes it’s taking a selfie. Sometimes it’s just a fist-bump, a high five, or a handshake. But I’ve always believed the fans deserve my attention. They deserve an experience.

  When I see a kid waiting for an autograph, I think back to my own experience getting Rick Mears’s autograph. It was a big moment for me. So I always think to myself, “Okay, I need to stop for that kid because this could become that same big moment for them.”

  WHEN I’D STAND NEXT TO THE CAR ON the grid, I guess you could say I was zoned out. My mind was split. Half of it thinking about the race, and the other half just going through the motions. You could’ve had a conversation with me. I’d smile. I’d wave. I’d take pictures. I’m pretty good at appearing calm and cool. But if I was asked something complicated or something that really required focus, I’d avoid it at all costs.

  It took me several years to learn how to balance race day obligations while focusing on the race. I had to work at it. Another adjustment came when Ingrid and the kids joined me at the car before the race. Kids being kids, they’d tug on me and want to get in the car and play. It was a distraction at first. But then I realized that a little interaction at that time was important for us as a family. I was getting ready to risk my life, and they just wanted to give me that last good-luck hug and kiss.

  WHEN I FINALLY TOOK THAT STEP INTO the car, that’s when I truly got in the zone. I loved that moment.

  I had a routine for how I buckled in, how I put on my helmet. I’d always do it in a certain order so I didn’t forget anything. First, my lap belt. Then crotch belt. Left shoulder belt. Right shoulder belt. Then the head and neck support, earpieces, nose strip to help me breathe a little better, and eye drops for moisture in my eyes. Helmet. Gloves. Then steering wheel. There’s a mark that lines it up to the steering column preset from the day before. I’d give it a good tug to make sure it was on nice and tight.

  Once he stepped into the car, Jeff would focus all thoughts on the race.

  I’d have a quick conversation with my crew chief while getting settled in the car. Even with him, I was only half paying attention. I can remember several times when I’d have to ask him to repeat what he’d said because I was getting into the zone.

  He didn’t tell me what I should be doing on the track. He left that completely up to me. His job was to look me in the eyes, give me his thoughts, and remind me of certain details like a setup change or how to get in and out of the pit stall, or remind me how bad the wheel spin for restarts was at that particular track. Then I’d give him a fist-pump and a look of confidence that I was ready to go get the win. Once the window net went up and the engine fired, I was truly thinking about nothing else but the race.

  Jeff following his routine for adjusting and tightening the seat straps before getting on the track.

  I’d tighten the belts as much as I could, turn on the team communication radio, and head out. Once I was on the track, it was just me at peace, in a place where I was very comfortable.

  When the green flag dropped, I was all business. I’d think of it as a battle because I’m constantly fighting all kinds of adversity and challenges.

  The start. The first couple corners. That’s when I’d get the feel of the car. That’s when I was anxious, because I didn’t know exactly how the car was going to react. You have to be prepared for all sorts of things. Is the grip level going to be higher or lower than I anticipated? I had to think about the drivers around me. Some were super-aggressive, and might want to take the third lane as I’d get through Turns 1 and 2 on a restart. So I had to be prepared to block. I might also have to be concerned and extra cautious about the level of talent of the driver in front of me. There were just so many factors to process all at once.

  It was never easy. It was always tough. You could have the best car out there and you’re still going to have moments that are tougher than others. Some days, I didn’t have a good car, and I’d have even more of an uphill battle. Sometimes I’d be expecting the car to be loose and not very good, and all of a sudden I’d drive by five cars in the first lap. I’d be like, “Man, this is awesome!” I’d be thinking these guys are either really bad, or we’re really good. But to be clear, that wasn’t me as much as it was the car. It meant I was getting out of the car what I should get out of it. That was the crew doing a really good job setting it up.

  From 1995 through 1998, the No. 24 DuPont Chrevolet rainbow car was dominant and consistently out front.

  From 1995 to 1998, we had a pretty distinct advantage over the competition with our cars. While the top three to five drivers were fierce challengers, the depth of competition wasn’t what it is today, so we just dominated. I’d be out there with a five-, six-, eight-second lead, just on cruise control, and I’d be thinking, “Hmm, what am I going to have for dinner?” And then I’d go, “Okay, stop that. Pay attention.”

  Nowadays with the �
��free pass,” “double-wide restarts,” and the level of competition in general, there’s no relaxing anymore. The cars have much more grip and reliability, and you’re able to push them harder every single lap. You have to push track position. You’re not conserving tires, brakes—nothing. It used to be a marathon, and you had to figure out where you could conserve. It was all about who could survive, who could hang in there and be around at the end.

  FANS STILL TAKE PICTURES AND VIDEOS, but you don’t see multiple flashes going off anymore. Now, during night races, you just see one constant light from the camera phones. But when Earnhardt and I were battling for the championship in ’95, or I was chasing Rusty during the night race at Bristol—those significant moments when passes really mattered—I would make the move to get inside, and all of a sudden I’d look up and see flash bulbs firing off. POP! POP! POP! You’re like, “Whoa, what was that?” I can remember the first time it got my attention; it caught me off guard, and I probably didn’t complete the pass. But it would get me excited. I’d pass that car and those light bulbs would go off. Fans don’t do that unless they like what they see. It’s a way of linking up and connecting with them. I knew they were enjoying that moment.

  IF I WAS IN AN INTENSE BATTLE with somebody, my heart rate went up. I didn’t blink. My grip on the steering wheel was tighter, and everything was tense. I’d be fighting and fighting, motivated by anger or the speed of the car or the fight I was having with the car. There are all kinds of things motivating you.

  When I was in the car, all I was thinking about was driving it, racing it. I’ve got to go faster. I’m sixth, I need to be fifth. Don’t screw up the pit stop. Don’t make a mistake on the restart. I’ve got to pass that car. I have to win. It’s tons of pressure, and there are a lot of expectations. That process is not enjoyable to me. It’s not fun. It’s the results that are fun. It’s getting yourself in that mindset, going through it and getting the results. That’s the fun part. Not the practice, not making a qualifying lap. It’s not fun until you cross under the checkered flag. Right up to that point, it’s just stressful.