
DATE: Sunday, July 20, 1997                 TAG: 9707180272

SECTION: CAROLINA COAST          PAGE: 42   EDITION: FINAL 

SOURCE: BY DAVE MCCARTER, CORRESPONDENT 

DATELINE: ELIZABETH CITY                    LENGTH:  129 lines

HOT CARS, HOT TRACK HEAT UP THE NIGHT DIXIELAND SPEEDWAY IS A COOL PLACE TO BE ON A HOT SUMMER NIGHT.

It's that time of twilight when the descending night swings into the fast lane to finally overtake a sinking sun that's just about out of gas.

And the Friday evening scene on the north side of town at Dixieland Speedway is like an all-American drive-in picture show with a 120-decibel soundtrack.

A couple thousand folks take it all in from the wooden grandstands, while others watch from the beds of pickup trucks lined outside turns 3 and 4 of the 3/8-mile dirt track. Some of the young'uns play king of the hill in a big sand pile behind the bleachers, as teen-agers, in pairs and small packs, stay busy seeing and being seen.

Long, pink clouds that look like shoals in the sunset, and a beautiful moon that's about, well, three-eighths-full, emerge behind the dissipating smoke that's just been belched by the number 6 car. A stand of verdant green trees cradle the quiet side of the track, while the modified C Class stock cars skid around the last curve and scream down the homestretch, the engine roar loud enough to loosen your fillings.

Ah, race night in Pasquotank County.

Don't let the song fool you, this Dixieland isn't a-way down south. In fact, it's an easy 90 minutes north of Nags Head (the congestion's not so bad with most traffic, of course, headed to the Banks) and it offers one heckuva pleasant, economical evening of summer fun, even if you don't know Rusty Wallace from Mike Wallace or Jeff Gordon from Jesse Helms.

The setting is lovely, everyone is friendly as can be and - despite the romanticized (here in the heart of race country anyway) history of hard-livin', hard-driving dirt track racers who would just as soon see the fists fly as the checkered flags - the atmosphere is absolutely family-oriented, as is the price: $7 per person to pass through the wire gates.

Debbie and Red Swain built their dirt track 15 years ago after filling in a swamp about 5 miles north of Elizabeth City. Every Friday night of summer through the end of August, a wild variety of modified stock cars in several different classes race at Dixieland. Some of the races last as long as 40 laps.

``The season's been a good one,'' Debbie says from beneath the pressbox, where a local preacher is perched to provide the play-by-play for the racing faithful. He's the track announcer. And his speedway sermon is non-stop as the disciples of dirt fight like the devil to reach the short-track promised land.

In the infield, accessible with a $12 pit pass, the mood is businesslike, as some four dozen race drivers and teams from throughout the area have set up shop for the evening. The scene and the stories are scaled-down, but very similar to the ones America has become intimately familiar with as stock car racing - and specifically NASCAR Winston Cup racing - has positioned itself as the sport du jour among an amazingly eclectic demographic.

Tonight, Jeannie Barnes is playing the part of the concerned spouse. She's standing on the empty car carrier that she and her racing husband, Chris, used to tow the number 72 car to Dixieland. And she's nervously smoking a cigarette. ``I always smoke a little more than usual on race night,'' says Jeannie, who runs her own cleaning service from her Knotts Island home. Oh yeah, she also sets up the race-car chassis for Chris, whose day job is as service manager at a Honda dealership.

``Sometimes racing gets a bad name. But once people get out and watch it and meet the people who love it and see the kids, they see it's really a great time,'' Jeannie says.

As if to illustrate the point, the Dixieland Speedway's own magic bus - a long schoolbus painted red - makes its circuit around the oval track at about that time, a bearded man on the back bumper watering the track down with a big hose. As the bus passes the grandstands, kids flock to the retaining fence and are rewarded with a refreshing shower of water.

Back in the infield, Boyd Allison plays the role of the gruff-but-likable mechanic. He lives in Great Bridge, and has been trading work on racing engines for some cabinetry work. He says modified 350-cubic-inch powerplants like the two he built for cars that are in the running tonight will generate ``an honest 325 horsepower.'' When asked about safety, something NASCAR officials love to rev their own corporate engine about, Allison lights another cigarette and calls the cars at Dixieland ``real safe.''

``They've got fuel cells, window nets, roll cages and five-point harnesses,'' he says. ``And that's good, 'cause by God I've seen 'em run flat-out, straight down that straightaway into the first turn wall without so much as slowing down.''

Sonny Dixon used to race at Dixieland before his heart attack a few years ago. A mechanic for 31 years with the City of Virginia Beach, Dixon now builds cars for his 29-year-old son, who drives Chevys but works at the Ford truck plant. The black car's number 3 has the same slant as the one on the side of the Chevy piloted by the Dixons' favorite driver, Dale Earnhardt. But the similarities end there.

A scuffed-up shell from a 1980 Malibu is propelled by an engine yanked from an old van that Sonny bought for $80. ``Like the big boys, the faster you go, the more it costs,'' he says.

Sponsors - so annoyingly synonymous with NASCAR racing, where a driver doesn't simply drive a Ford, but rather the `Valvoline-Tide-Huggies-Winn Dixie Ford Thunderbird' - help, but at Dixieland they're small-scale too. Forget Budweiser, Coors and Quaker State. Try J&L Flea Market, Bubba's Construction, Ricky's Welding and R&M Automotive.

This racing story's obligatory up-and-coming kid is Larry Grimstead, a bookish-looking 17-year-old from Virginia Beach with round spectacles and a buzzcut. ``He looks like he oughta be flippin' burgers at McDonald's,'' says Allison, who built Grimstead's engine. ``But he'll drive the hell outta that car.''

Grimstead just graduated from Kellam High School a month or so ago. The rules at Dixieland prohibit racers younger than 16. Grimstead ran his first race on the day after his 16th birthday last September. He had his highest finish of the season last week (a third). ``Runnin' door-to-door without touchin', that's what I like,'' he says with a smile. Grimstead has never had a ticket. On this night, he finished in the middle of the B Class pack.

Races last until 11 p.m. at Dixieland, when the local noise ordinance requires drivers to stop revving their engines. Coolers are allowed in the bleachers. And earplugs are sold at the small souvenir shop.

While there were a few alcoholic beverages spotted in the grandstands, ``Red does a real good job policing the place,'' says Allison.

``There's not near the profanity you'll hear at a ball game.'' ILLUSTRATION: Debbie, at left, and Red Swain built the Dixieland

Speedway dirt track about 15 years ago after filling in a swamp.

Every Friday night through the end of August, a variety of modified

stock cars noisily take to the dirt track. Some of the races last as

long as 40 laps.

Staff photo by WILLIAM C. CANNON

HOW TO SEE IT

What: Dixieland Speedway, a 3/8-mile dirt racing track

Where: Outside Elizabeth City, about 90-minutes from the Outer

Banks. Take U.S. 158 west through Elizabeth City to U.S. 17 North.

Take U.S. 17 past the hospital and the Nissan dealer. Turn right on