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Speed bumps
L.I.'s Park on road back after injury detour
By WAYNE COFFEY
DAILY NEWS SPORTS WRITER
Park's career takes turn for worse at Darlington on Sept. 1, 2001.
JOLIET, Ill. - Twenty-five thousand feet over middle America, the clouds are thick and the air is choppy, and the only NASCAR driver on the planet from East Northport, L.I., seems utterly unfazed by the conditions.
It is 72 hours before today's Tropicana 400 at Chicagoland Speedway, before Steve Park's latest chance to dispel any notion that his once-promising career is heading for the salvage yard. Park is sitting on the left side of an eight-seat Richard Childress Racing (RCR) aircraft, sunglasses pushed atop his head, his yellow labrador retriever, Harley, asleep at his feet. Across the aisle, Park's girlfriend, Jessica Skarpalezos, looks as if she wouldn't mind a motion discomfort bag.
Turbulence is nothing new to 35-year-old Steve Park, which may be why he seems to roll so effortlessly with it. Not even two years ago, Park wasn't merely a rising star in the fastest growing sport in the country. He was a Winston Cup storybook come to life, a handsome and humble guy who went from the small-time world of Saturday-night short-track modified racing in the northeast to become a top 10 Cup driver and the first pilot Dale Earnhardt hired when he started his own team.
When Earnhardt sustained his fatal crash on the last lap of Daytona in 2001, and Park won the first race after it and cried in victory lane in Rockingham, N.C., the story only became more poignant.
These days, Park's story line has become increasingly complicated, and punctuated by question marks. It has been that way for close to 18 months, since he returned from the concussion he suffered in a crash on Sept. 1, 2001, when his steering wheel came off in the 20th lap of a Busch Series race in Darlington, S.C. Park was airlifted to a hospital, his brain traumatized, his racing year over.
After a six-month rehab, Park returned, only to learn a hard lesson about the fragility of Cup prosperity. Each week now, with the regularity of a pit stop, Park finds himself engulfed in speculation and inquiries, about why he hasn't won in 71 races; why he's fallen to No. 33 in the point standings; about the slight speech impediment that he still suffers from, and the mostly whispered suggestions that he has become an accident-prone driver who some competitors are wary of racing near in traffic.
All of the issues began swirling faster two months ago, when Park was fired from the No. 1 car by Dale Earnhardt, Inc., the only Cup ride he'd ever had. Fourteen hours later, he was signed by Childress, who put him in the seat of the No. 30 car.
"Sometimes change is good," Park says.
Midway through his seventh season of racing Winston Cup, Steve Park talks confidently about a new beginning and how DEI did him a favor, but doesn't minimize the hurt he felt about being let go, or the unforeseen speed bumps he's hit. "I feel like a rookie again," Park says. "It's been a tough year and a half. You get tired of hearing about it all. The only way to quiet the critics is by running good, and winning races."
Says Michael Waltrip, his friend and former DEI teammate, "I just think it would be much better if people don't jump to conclusions. As soon as things aren't where you want them to be, everybody blames the driver. Give Steve some time with his new team. He'll put up results."
In the ferociously competitive world of NASCAR, few people are more well-liked than Park, or more passionate about what they do. Park basically grew up at Islip Speedway, watching his father, Bob, and his uncle Bill, race modifieds. When Steve had to do a science project Northport HS, he built a mini modified and brought it to school on a trailer. Whenever he was fussy as a baby, his mother, Dorothy, discovered early on that the surest way to calm him down was to put him in the seat of Bob's race car, in the garage.
"When he was on a hobby horse, he tried to race it," Dorothy Park says. "When he was on a tricycle, he tried to race it. From the time he could talk, he told me he would be a race car driver. The funny thing with Steve is that he never changed his mind."
Bob and Dorothy Park moved from Long Island to North Carolina several years ago, Dorothy presiding over Steve's office and fan club, Bob working as a rear-end and transmission specialist for Jerico Performance Products. Dorothy admits after Steve's crash at Darlington that she wished he'd find a nice office job, as opposed to one that operated at 180 mph. Then the Twin Towers fell, 10 days later.
"Those people were in an office, and look what happened to them," Dorothy Park says. "We don't talk about the dangers very often, but I know Steve's attitude is that he'd rather die in a race car, doing something he loves, than live to be 110 and doing something he doesn't love."
Says Bob Park, "It's something you have to face in the business we're in. A skier could ski down a mountain and hit a tree. He's probably safer in that race car, with that helmet and all those bars around him, than he is walking across the street."
The first thing Park told his mother in the hospital after his brain trauma was that he wanted to race again. Nothing has changed, even as the crashes have become more commonplace. Park has wrecked six times in 17 starts this year and had four DNFs. He wrecked in what turned out to be his last two races for DEI, including the Auto Club 500 in Fontana, Calif., where he won the pole and then crashed in the first lap, taking out Ryan Newman with him. Park won another pole 10 days ago in Daytona and wrecked again, though that time he was helpless to avoid it, getting rammed from behind.
"It's been a very hard road back for Steve, and the problem hasn't been driving the race car fast," said Mike Joy, a former modified driver who calls NASCAR for Fox Sports. "Where Steve is having trouble is in situation of close proximity, in tight traffic." Joy is quick to point out that not all the crashes have been Park's fault, but adds, "The statistics of the accidents he's been involved in would give you cause for concern."
Waltrip says that wrecks "are consistent with being part of a new team," and Park, for his part, believes there is no difference in the way he drives a car now and the way he drove before his concussion.
"We can dissect every incident if we want to," Park says. "I am as comfortable or more comfortable in traffic (as I ever was). I've been driving this way for 25 years. I have no intention of changing now."
Says Bob Park, "Everyone thinks he lost something, because of his speech impediment. But he's been on the pole twice this year, and you've got to be pretty sharp to do that."
Park was 10th in the 2001 Cup rankings when he was hurt at Darlington, having finished in the top 10 in half his 24 races, including five top 5s. Since receiving medical clearance to return in March, 2002, he has managed just three top 10s in 50 races.
Park insists it's not a valid comparison, because nothing is the same, and he has a point. His No. 1 team was broken up by DEI in his absence, and his crew chief, Paul Andrews, left to work for Jeff Burton, DEI replacing him with a rookie crew chief, Tony Gibson. Park is just now getting acquainted with Mike Beam and his new team behind the No. 30 car.
It's undeniably true that, like a quarterback in football, a driver is only as good as the people around him - and that good teamwork is vital in a sport in which victory margins can be in the hundredths of seconds. Still, fairly or not, Park's dropoff has been dramatic enough to raise concerns about his well-being.
"It's a tough deal to come back from," Childress says.
Indeed, serious injuries put drivers in an almost impossible spot. If they wait too long to get back, they risk being forgotten, or worse, replaced. If they return too soon, they may not be ready to drive, and may suffer poor results. Childress has signed Park for the balance of the year, and says his evaluation is ongoing.
"I want to see Steve back where he was," Childress says. "I believe he can do that. Steve has all the talent and ability. I believe that physically and mentally, he's 100%. I just don't know if anything has changed during the race. I haven't run him long enough to know that."
Childress believes that the single biggest ingredient missing from Park is confidence. He's not in a rhythm. He may be thinking too much.
Bobby Labonte, the 2000 Cup champion, agrees. Labonte says he sees no difference in Park's driving, other than in the results.
"I don't know, but I think it just may be that he's trying too hard. That's how I am when I go a long time without winning - I try too hard, and start thinking too much about everything instead of doing things naturally."
TAKES SUCCESS IN STRIDE
Park lives in a sprawling home on Lake Norman in Mooresville, N.C., where he goes out on his boat, or on one of his four motorcycles. Those closest to him tell you success never changed him, and neither has struggle.
Before boarding the plane for the race last Thursday, Park signs autographs and poses for pictures with fans who have stopped by at RCR headquarters in Welcome, N.C. After signing for a middle-aged couple, he smiles and says, "Shouldn't you all be at work?" Everybody laughs. When a little girl hides behind her mother, Park playfully seeks her out and disarms her shyness.
He goes outside and walks around the bend to the RCR engine shop and shakes hands all around and thanks the guys for helping him win the pole last week at the Pepsi 400 in Daytona. Then he goes to the fabrication shop and does the same thing, guys putting down fenders and rollbars and visiting with the new No. 30 driver, wishing him luck for the race today.
"We're thrilled to death to have him," says Paul Wise, quality-control manager of the RCR fab shop. "He's a great person, and a great driver. He'll be back. He's already back." Directly behind Wise is a framed poster with a heading that says "Challenges." The poster reads: "A Bump In the Road is Either an Obstacle to be Fought or an Opportunity to be Enjoyed."
Says Mike Joy, "Steve's giving it his all. And really, what more can you ask? I hope he makes it, (because) he's a great young guy."
There are no shortage of people rooting for Steve Park, Long Island interloper in a sport that still teems with good 'ol boys. It's hard not to be taken by his humility, his gentle touch with people. After publicly chiding the media for focusing on rumors of his impending exit from DEI in April, he issued an equally public apology.
"They were right and I was wrong," Park says.
Park will follow his usual routine today, his prerace meal consisting of a ham and cheese sandwich with spicy brown mustard, and a couple of Tylenol. Then he will get behind the wheel of his blue No. 30 Chevy, and do what he loves, and try to not just race 400 miles, but begin to put the turbulence and doubts in his rearview mirror.
Steve Park reaches down and rubs Harley's head, and looks out at a white bank of clouds. He is tired of having every lap picked apart, of the constant scrutiny, the reminders of his victory drought. He knows he and his team, alone, have the power to stop it.
"The ending of this story is not going to come until we win races and get back to to consistently finishing in the top 10," he says. "I don't have any doubt that it will happen. Once we jell and spend a little time together, I think we have the potential and the resources to run really good." Park pauses, and smiles. "Then we can just go out and race - and someone else can be the story."
Speed bumps
L.I.'s Park on road back after injury detour
By WAYNE COFFEY
DAILY NEWS SPORTS WRITER
Park's career takes turn for worse at Darlington on Sept. 1, 2001.
JOLIET, Ill. - Twenty-five thousand feet over middle America, the clouds are thick and the air is choppy, and the only NASCAR driver on the planet from East Northport, L.I., seems utterly unfazed by the conditions.
It is 72 hours before today's Tropicana 400 at Chicagoland Speedway, before Steve Park's latest chance to dispel any notion that his once-promising career is heading for the salvage yard. Park is sitting on the left side of an eight-seat Richard Childress Racing (RCR) aircraft, sunglasses pushed atop his head, his yellow labrador retriever, Harley, asleep at his feet. Across the aisle, Park's girlfriend, Jessica Skarpalezos, looks as if she wouldn't mind a motion discomfort bag.
Turbulence is nothing new to 35-year-old Steve Park, which may be why he seems to roll so effortlessly with it. Not even two years ago, Park wasn't merely a rising star in the fastest growing sport in the country. He was a Winston Cup storybook come to life, a handsome and humble guy who went from the small-time world of Saturday-night short-track modified racing in the northeast to become a top 10 Cup driver and the first pilot Dale Earnhardt hired when he started his own team.
When Earnhardt sustained his fatal crash on the last lap of Daytona in 2001, and Park won the first race after it and cried in victory lane in Rockingham, N.C., the story only became more poignant.
These days, Park's story line has become increasingly complicated, and punctuated by question marks. It has been that way for close to 18 months, since he returned from the concussion he suffered in a crash on Sept. 1, 2001, when his steering wheel came off in the 20th lap of a Busch Series race in Darlington, S.C. Park was airlifted to a hospital, his brain traumatized, his racing year over.
After a six-month rehab, Park returned, only to learn a hard lesson about the fragility of Cup prosperity. Each week now, with the regularity of a pit stop, Park finds himself engulfed in speculation and inquiries, about why he hasn't won in 71 races; why he's fallen to No. 33 in the point standings; about the slight speech impediment that he still suffers from, and the mostly whispered suggestions that he has become an accident-prone driver who some competitors are wary of racing near in traffic.
All of the issues began swirling faster two months ago, when Park was fired from the No. 1 car by Dale Earnhardt, Inc., the only Cup ride he'd ever had. Fourteen hours later, he was signed by Childress, who put him in the seat of the No. 30 car.
"Sometimes change is good," Park says.
Midway through his seventh season of racing Winston Cup, Steve Park talks confidently about a new beginning and how DEI did him a favor, but doesn't minimize the hurt he felt about being let go, or the unforeseen speed bumps he's hit. "I feel like a rookie again," Park says. "It's been a tough year and a half. You get tired of hearing about it all. The only way to quiet the critics is by running good, and winning races."
Says Michael Waltrip, his friend and former DEI teammate, "I just think it would be much better if people don't jump to conclusions. As soon as things aren't where you want them to be, everybody blames the driver. Give Steve some time with his new team. He'll put up results."
In the ferociously competitive world of NASCAR, few people are more well-liked than Park, or more passionate about what they do. Park basically grew up at Islip Speedway, watching his father, Bob, and his uncle Bill, race modifieds. When Steve had to do a science project Northport HS, he built a mini modified and brought it to school on a trailer. Whenever he was fussy as a baby, his mother, Dorothy, discovered early on that the surest way to calm him down was to put him in the seat of Bob's race car, in the garage.
"When he was on a hobby horse, he tried to race it," Dorothy Park says. "When he was on a tricycle, he tried to race it. From the time he could talk, he told me he would be a race car driver. The funny thing with Steve is that he never changed his mind."
Bob and Dorothy Park moved from Long Island to North Carolina several years ago, Dorothy presiding over Steve's office and fan club, Bob working as a rear-end and transmission specialist for Jerico Performance Products. Dorothy admits after Steve's crash at Darlington that she wished he'd find a nice office job, as opposed to one that operated at 180 mph. Then the Twin Towers fell, 10 days later.
"Those people were in an office, and look what happened to them," Dorothy Park says. "We don't talk about the dangers very often, but I know Steve's attitude is that he'd rather die in a race car, doing something he loves, than live to be 110 and doing something he doesn't love."
Says Bob Park, "It's something you have to face in the business we're in. A skier could ski down a mountain and hit a tree. He's probably safer in that race car, with that helmet and all those bars around him, than he is walking across the street."
The first thing Park told his mother in the hospital after his brain trauma was that he wanted to race again. Nothing has changed, even as the crashes have become more commonplace. Park has wrecked six times in 17 starts this year and had four DNFs. He wrecked in what turned out to be his last two races for DEI, including the Auto Club 500 in Fontana, Calif., where he won the pole and then crashed in the first lap, taking out Ryan Newman with him. Park won another pole 10 days ago in Daytona and wrecked again, though that time he was helpless to avoid it, getting rammed from behind.
"It's been a very hard road back for Steve, and the problem hasn't been driving the race car fast," said Mike Joy, a former modified driver who calls NASCAR for Fox Sports. "Where Steve is having trouble is in situation of close proximity, in tight traffic." Joy is quick to point out that not all the crashes have been Park's fault, but adds, "The statistics of the accidents he's been involved in would give you cause for concern."
Waltrip says that wrecks "are consistent with being part of a new team," and Park, for his part, believes there is no difference in the way he drives a car now and the way he drove before his concussion.
"We can dissect every incident if we want to," Park says. "I am as comfortable or more comfortable in traffic (as I ever was). I've been driving this way for 25 years. I have no intention of changing now."
Says Bob Park, "Everyone thinks he lost something, because of his speech impediment. But he's been on the pole twice this year, and you've got to be pretty sharp to do that."
Park was 10th in the 2001 Cup rankings when he was hurt at Darlington, having finished in the top 10 in half his 24 races, including five top 5s. Since receiving medical clearance to return in March, 2002, he has managed just three top 10s in 50 races.
Park insists it's not a valid comparison, because nothing is the same, and he has a point. His No. 1 team was broken up by DEI in his absence, and his crew chief, Paul Andrews, left to work for Jeff Burton, DEI replacing him with a rookie crew chief, Tony Gibson. Park is just now getting acquainted with Mike Beam and his new team behind the No. 30 car.
It's undeniably true that, like a quarterback in football, a driver is only as good as the people around him - and that good teamwork is vital in a sport in which victory margins can be in the hundredths of seconds. Still, fairly or not, Park's dropoff has been dramatic enough to raise concerns about his well-being.
"It's a tough deal to come back from," Childress says.
Indeed, serious injuries put drivers in an almost impossible spot. If they wait too long to get back, they risk being forgotten, or worse, replaced. If they return too soon, they may not be ready to drive, and may suffer poor results. Childress has signed Park for the balance of the year, and says his evaluation is ongoing.
"I want to see Steve back where he was," Childress says. "I believe he can do that. Steve has all the talent and ability. I believe that physically and mentally, he's 100%. I just don't know if anything has changed during the race. I haven't run him long enough to know that."
Childress believes that the single biggest ingredient missing from Park is confidence. He's not in a rhythm. He may be thinking too much.
Bobby Labonte, the 2000 Cup champion, agrees. Labonte says he sees no difference in Park's driving, other than in the results.
"I don't know, but I think it just may be that he's trying too hard. That's how I am when I go a long time without winning - I try too hard, and start thinking too much about everything instead of doing things naturally."
TAKES SUCCESS IN STRIDE
Park lives in a sprawling home on Lake Norman in Mooresville, N.C., where he goes out on his boat, or on one of his four motorcycles. Those closest to him tell you success never changed him, and neither has struggle.
Before boarding the plane for the race last Thursday, Park signs autographs and poses for pictures with fans who have stopped by at RCR headquarters in Welcome, N.C. After signing for a middle-aged couple, he smiles and says, "Shouldn't you all be at work?" Everybody laughs. When a little girl hides behind her mother, Park playfully seeks her out and disarms her shyness.
He goes outside and walks around the bend to the RCR engine shop and shakes hands all around and thanks the guys for helping him win the pole last week at the Pepsi 400 in Daytona. Then he goes to the fabrication shop and does the same thing, guys putting down fenders and rollbars and visiting with the new No. 30 driver, wishing him luck for the race today.
"We're thrilled to death to have him," says Paul Wise, quality-control manager of the RCR fab shop. "He's a great person, and a great driver. He'll be back. He's already back." Directly behind Wise is a framed poster with a heading that says "Challenges." The poster reads: "A Bump In the Road is Either an Obstacle to be Fought or an Opportunity to be Enjoyed."
Says Mike Joy, "Steve's giving it his all. And really, what more can you ask? I hope he makes it, (because) he's a great young guy."
There are no shortage of people rooting for Steve Park, Long Island interloper in a sport that still teems with good 'ol boys. It's hard not to be taken by his humility, his gentle touch with people. After publicly chiding the media for focusing on rumors of his impending exit from DEI in April, he issued an equally public apology.
"They were right and I was wrong," Park says.
Park will follow his usual routine today, his prerace meal consisting of a ham and cheese sandwich with spicy brown mustard, and a couple of Tylenol. Then he will get behind the wheel of his blue No. 30 Chevy, and do what he loves, and try to not just race 400 miles, but begin to put the turbulence and doubts in his rearview mirror.
Steve Park reaches down and rubs Harley's head, and looks out at a white bank of clouds. He is tired of having every lap picked apart, of the constant scrutiny, the reminders of his victory drought. He knows he and his team, alone, have the power to stop it.
"The ending of this story is not going to come until we win races and get back to to consistently finishing in the top 10," he says. "I don't have any doubt that it will happen. Once we jell and spend a little time together, I think we have the potential and the resources to run really good." Park pauses, and smiles. "Then we can just go out and race - and someone else can be the story."
