The fog is burning off over the farming fields as the sun is forcing it’s way through the thick trees to light the paddock. In that paddock, the crews are waking up the cars from their evening slumber on the top bunk of the transporters. They roll the DW-12s out onto metal shelving as it were, high above our heads to the wonderment of fans watching, their feet firmly planted on the ground while their minds reside in the clouds, dreaming about racing one of these magnificent machines.
The sun, now having won the battle against the trees, by simply rising above them, is dancing with joy against the liveries of green, blue, yellow and silver. They are impeccable, not a single scratch or smudge, as the crews tucked them in properly the night before.
Strolling through the pits, it seems relatively quiet until a crew member of the No. 5 car starts revving the wheel gun. A smile sneaks on his face as quickly as it does mine – maybe for different reasons, but one thing is certain, the sound of that tool cracks the settled air and in it’s own way, signals the beginning of another day at the track, much like a green flag waving signifies the start of a contest.
A few friendly good morning’s are exchanged up and down the lane, no big conversations are needed and it’s not a puzzle to anyone why we all seem content. It’s raceday.