7

by AlwaysDressesInStyle

Rating: everyone
Tags: Self Insert, Petunia Paleo, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 7338

Remembering a NASCAR legend in the park dedicated to his memory.

1,651 miles. Five states. One rambunctious filly.

The nice thing about traveling with Petunia Paleo is that it's easy to find activities we both enjoy. For example, the dinosaur exhibit at the Milwaukee Public Museum.

I think she'll like the Greenfield park memorializing NASCAR champion Alan Kulwicki. It's a trip down memory lane for me, and the perfect place to let my earth pony passenger get the 'I've been cooped up in a car and then a hotel for days' out of her system. Especially since we still have over eight hundred miles to drive before we get home.

This story dedicated to Alan Dennis Kulwicki, December 14, 1954 – April 1, 1993.

Pre-read & edited by Admiral Biscuit & Wanderer D

Published 2023-12-14 21:10:00 UTC
Last updated 2023-12-14 21:10:00 UTC

In Memory Of Alan Kulwicki

I pulled out of the parking garage adjacent to the Hilton Milwaukee City Center. A few blocks later I merged onto Interstate 94, heading west. Technically, it was the wrong direction to go home, but I had a stop to make first.

My passenger was excited because we were heading to a park. She’d spent an entire day cooped up in a car, followed by another three days in a hotel. She needed to get outside and gallop… and I needed to make a pilgrimage. Conveniently, we could do both.

The last time I’d been in Milwaukee, a year prior, I’d walked to Doc’s, a BBQ restaurant a few blocks from the Hilton. I’d looked up as I was passing the Panthers Arena and happened to glance at a bronze plaque that was part of the Wisconsin Athletic Hall of Fame. More than a hundred great athletes were on display, but I’d never been a sports fan. Of all of the inductees to the hall of fame, I looked up at the precise moment I was passing the only one I cared about.

Alan Kulwicki.

That wasn’t to dismiss the merits of the other inductees. Even without an interest in baseball or football, I was familiar with greats such as Hank Aaron and Vince Lombardi, both of whom were also immortalized on the wall. But this one hit home.

I’d had no idea Alan Kulwicki was in this hall of fame. Truthfully, I’d even forgotten he was from Wisconsin. But it wasn’t the first time there’d been a coincidence like that in my life involving the former NASCAR driver.

I read the inscription on his plaque, honoring his accomplishments. That much I knew, and remembered. I’d been watching on TV when he won his first Winston Cup race, and I’d likewise been watching when he won his first and only championship. Even if that day saw me rooting for Bill Elliott, who won the race… but came up short on the championship by just ten points. A margin of victory that had been determined by Kulwicki leading one lap more than Elliott in that final race of the 1992 season.

None of that mattered to my passenger. Petunia Paleo was a filly who’d come to Earth with her family. She was from Ponyville, conveniently located near the portal that had been discovered in the Everfree Forest. They’d settled in the suburbs of Philadelphia, which was the biggest city near the portal in New Jersey’s Pine Barrens. It was only through chance that I’d ever met her. Ponies had opened a car wash in my neck of the woods, and one of their employees, Coconut Cream, moved to Philadelphia. I’d driven her friend Toola Roola out to see her, and met Petunia in the process. We’d bonded over a shared love of dinosaurs.

Nopony else had come out to Milwaukee with me. Petunia’s parents often pawned her off on me to get some peace and quiet. She tended to talk almost exclusively about archeology and paleontology. Anyone without that shared love of dinosaurs and/or history quickly made excuses to be anywhere else. Her parents had no interest in either subject, nor did any of her classmates.

I didn’t mind. I hadn’t had that many friends growing up either, so I could relate to her. Unsurprisingly, she was more intelligent than most ponies her age. Offsetting that, however, she was also less mature than her peers, and completely lacked any concept of tact. She could also quote Jurassic Park and The Land Before Time. Not just the first movies in their respective series, but all of them.

Less than twenty minutes later we pulled into Alan Kulwicki Memorial Park. I opened the car door and Petunia galloped towards the playground equipment. I followed behind her at a more leisurely pace. The park was bordered by a Walmart, Planet Fitness, and a pair of automotive shops.

I let the filly get all the pent up energy out of her system while I sat at a picnic table, keeping an eye on her. Eventually she stopped by the swings, and I helped her into the seat and started pushing her.

“Hey!”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d we come to this park? We passed a couple of others on the way here.”

“This park is a memorial to Alan Kulwicki.”

“Who?”

“A NASCAR driver. From back when I was a kid, long before you were born.”

“That’s the auto racing series, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I’d forgotten NASCAR wasn’t as popular as it used to be. Now it was more of an afterthought to most people. NASCAR only had themselves to blame for that, not knowing how to maintain the wave of popularity they were riding in the 1990s and early 2000s. “Remember when we watched the movie Cars?”

“Yes.”

“That franchise is based on NASCAR. The third movie is basically a love letter to the good old days of NASCAR. It’s not the same as it was back then. It seems weird to say it, but the races were more exciting in the ‘90s than they are now. Maybe it’s just nostalgia kicking in, but looking at NASCAR’s current ratings, I don’t think I’m alone in that opinion.”

“So NASCAR’s best days are in the past?” Petunia’s eyes lit up. I’d inadvertently hit on one of her interests: history. Apparently, even sports history was of interest to her, which I hadn’t expected. “Say that name again? Alan Kul…?”

“Kulwicki.” I sounded it out for the filly. “Kull-wick-ee.”

“He meant something to you, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, the gesture meaningless since I was out of Petunia’s field of vision. “That he did. I’ll give you a brief rundown. I discovered NASCAR when I was seven, and it wasn’t long before I had my whole family watching the races with me. I was a Bill Elliott fan, Mom liked Harry Gant, my Grandma cheered for Mark Martin, and my Grandpa chose Alan Kulwicki to be his driver. I have so many fond memories from the time.”

“What happened?”

“Kulwicki died in 1993, Gant retired in 1994, and my Grandma passed away in 1995. That was also around the time Elliott’s career started a long slump that wouldn’t end until 2001. Mark Martin was still winning races, but my Grandma wasn’t around to see it. Mark won a lot of races, but he never won a championship. Alan Kulwicki was the opposite – he only had five career victories, but he won the 1992 championship over Bill Elliott by just ten points.”

“Ooooh, there must’ve been some interesting discussions that day. Your driver and your Grandpa’s driver.”

“It gets better. Every single one of our drivers came into the final race of the season with a mathematical chance of winning the championship, and they weren’t the only ones – Davey Allison was leading the points and was heavily favored to win, and Kyle Petty also had a chance. Six drivers had a chance to win the championship in the last race of the season – it was unprecedented. To this day it’s credited as NASCAR’s greatest race.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I replied, as she hopped off the swing. She spotted a bridge and made a beeline for it. She wasn’t galloping, which told me I hadn’t completely lost my audience yet. She wanted to hear more, yet she also wanted to look around a bit.

She walked past a sign, which I stopped to read. “Hold up, Petunia.”

“Why?”

“This creek is contaminated and in the process of being cleaned up.”

“Oh.” That didn’t stop her from walking right up to the water’s edge. “Whenever I see water I can’t help but wonder what rocks it’s cutting through. What fossils might be revealed by this little creek flowing?”

“I don’t know. Unfortunately, the geology of Wisconsin isn’t one of my areas of expertise. If I remember correctly, this is one of the states no dinosaurs are known from. My guess is the Mesozoic rocks have eroded or are buried under other rock layers.” I shrugged. “Probably has something to do with glaciation during the last Ice Age.”

“That doesn’t mean there aren’t fossils. Paleontology is about more than just dinosaurs or the Mesozoic Era.”

“I thought that was your favorite.”

“It is!” She poked around a bit on the shore, but didn’t find anything interesting. “But I study the Paleozoic and Cenozoic too. But there’s nothing here. I’m not very good at growing plants, but I can sense fossils.”

“You can’t grow plants? I’m a little surprised with a name like ‘Petunia’.”

“It’s not my special talent. I do have more luck with petunias though, now that you mention it. My connection to the earth lets me see fossils in the ground.”

“That’s cool.” I imagined her in the Badlands of Utah pointing to various rock formations and telling people exactly where to dig.

“I like to think so. My parents are kinda disappointed, but I like my talent.”

“That’s all that matters. Personally, I think that’s an amazing talent. I don’t know what it’s like in Equestria, but I think you’re going to revolutionize paleontology here on Earth.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. You can see fossils. Think about that scene in Jurassic Park where they’re trying to image the fossils with that radar machine. You can do that. If that doesn’t bring paleontology into a golden age, I don’t know what will.”

She turned away from the water. “I hope so. So you were telling me about Alan… Kuh…Kul…”

“Kulwicki. His nickname was Special K. How about you call him that?”

“Okay! Just like the breakfast cereal.” She looked longingly at the closed concession stand next to the baseball diamond. Alan Kulwicki Park was also the home of Greenfield’s Little League team. The sign reminding parents that the players were children, the coaches volunteers, and the umpires human beings amused me. This is meant for the same people who scream at the television sets when their team is losing. Disappointed by the lack of refreshments, she turned her attention back to me. “So tell me all about this ultimate NASCAR race of ultimate destiny.”

“Maybe I should give you some background on just how special this race really was. There was a driver by the name Richard Petty who won so many races over the course of his career that he earned the nickname ‘The King’. The King from the movie Cars was based on Petty and even voiced by him. He drove that Plymouth Superbird in 1970. He’d announced that this was his last race, and after a lackluster season, people were hoping to see him do something spectacular.”

“Did he?”

“Well, he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. He got the ‘blaze’ part right, anyway. He was caught up in an accident and his car went up in flames. He had an in-car camera and said a forbidden word on live TV as he tried to find a fire truck.”

“Oh.”

“It wasn’t his finest moment. To his crew’s credit, they patched the car up so he could be running at the end of the race. There just wasn’t much of the car left. Not the end to his career he would’ve liked, but no one will ever touch his 200-win record in the Cup Series. There were people who thought that Jeff Gordon might come close to his record. You might remember him as Jeff Gorvette from the second Cars movie.”

“The one you called an abomination?”

“Yes, that one. The first and third movies are great, but the second deserves a one-way trip to the junkyard. Anyways, I bring up Jeff Gordon because this was his debut race in the Cup Series. It was a passing the torch moment – Petty’s last race and Gordon’s first. Spoiler alert: Jeff didn’t do so hot in the race either.”

“So there were a lot of storylines to follow.”

“Yes. But the focus was on Davey Allison. A few years ago, for my birthday, a friend of mine asked me to pick any classic NASCAR race to watch. I could’ve picked the 1985 Daytona 500, or any of Bill Elliott’s other wins. But my birthday was also Alan Kulwicki’s, and I always called him one of my birthday buddies. Coincidentally, the other is Hershel McGriff, who’s also in the NASCAR Hall of Fame.”

“Oh wow. Your birthday is a good day for NASCAR drivers.”

“I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. What disappointed me in re-watching the race was just how biased the coverage was. It was all about Davey Allison, as if it was a foregone conclusion that he was going to win the championship.”

“But he didn’t, ‘cause you already said Special K did.”

“Right. To be fair, even Kulwicki didn’t think he would win the title. With six races to go, he crashed out at Dover and was almost three hundred points behind Elliott. But then both Bill and Davey had a string of bad luck. Davey’s season had been up and down, but Bill had been consistent… right until the end of the year when it mattered the most. By the end of the penultimate race at Phoenix, Bill’s point lead had completely evaporated and he dropped to third in points.”

“Ouch. You said Bill was your driver, right?”

“Yup. I assure you that it pained me to watch him give that championship away. A lot of people thought NASCAR had a convoluted point system at the time, but it never once confused me. Davey came in with a slight lead over both Alan and Bill, thirty and forty points, respectively. Realistically, they were the only ones with a chance to win the championship. Gant, Martin, and Kyle Petty were mathematical longshots. All Davey Allison needed to do was finish fifth or better and he’d lock up the championship regardless of where the others finished. Back then NASCAR rewarded drivers for leading a lap with an additional five points, and Allison led early on in the race, making it so he only needed to finish seventh or better to clinch the championship.”

“I think I follow. I bet you could math it out for me.”

“I can, but do you really want me to?”

“Please don’t.”

I stuck my tongue out at her and she giggled and rolled in the dirt.

“Oh come on! You’re going to get my car filthy.”

“But I’m itchy.”

“I have these things.” I wiggled my fingers. “All you have to do is ask.”

“But you always focus on just my ears. Which feels good by the way, so don’t you dare stop. But the rest of me itches too.” She hopped onto one of the park’s benches and I put my hand on her head, letting her direct me to where she needed to be scratched. “So what happened to Davey?”

“He was doing exactly what he needed to do… right up until Ernie Irvan wrecked in front of him. Allison got caught up in it and his championship hopes died then and there.”

“Ouch.”

“It gets worse. As he was being interviewed, the reporter told him ‘there’s always next year.’ 1993 was a really bad year for NASCAR. Davey also died in 1993 in a helicopter crash.” The hyperactive filly had plopped her rump on the ground in front of me, riveted on my words. I’d known she was a history buff, but I hadn’t thought that NASCAR history would interest her in the slightest.

“That’s sad.”

“I got a chill up my spine when he said that. Hindsight is… harsh sometimes.” I moved my hand back to her head, scratching her behind the ears. It felt nice to connect with someone when recounting the events of that day. A day that was so momentous at the time, and magnified in the years since because no one could’ve known then that two of those contenders wouldn’t be around a year later.

“So watching this race again was more than just nostalgic for you.” Petunia rolled onto her back, inviting a tummy rub.

“You could say that.” I started rubbing her belly, and Petunia laughed. I moved my hand back over the same spot and elicited the same response. “Ooooh, looks like somepony’s ticklish!”

“Eep!” She squeaked in surprise, as I started tickling her mercilessly.

“Who’s a silly little filly who keeps interrupting me?”

She giggled, squirmed, and eventually rolled off the bench, shaking herself off. “That was fun!” She looked at my fingers. “I love being a pony, but… fingers are so incredibly versatile.” She held up a hoof. “It’s a lot harder to do things with hooves. Sometimes I really envy unicorns and even pegasi. They’ve got magic and wings, but I have to do everything with my mouth.”

“But if you were a unicorn, you wouldn’t have your connection to the earth, and you wouldn’t be adept at finding fossils.”

“That’s true too. Don’t get me wrong, I love being an earth pony. I wouldn’t give up my talent for anything in the world. But I hate having to take tests in school. Have you ever written a three-page paper with your mouth?”

“No.”

“Exactly. How’d the race end, anyway?”

“Elliott won the race, but Kulwicki led one more lap than he did, and secured the five additional points for leading the most laps. Had Elliott led two more laps, they would’ve tied for the championship, and Elliott would’ve won on the tiebreaker: he had five wins on the season and Kulwicki only had two. Alan was leading as the race wore on, but he needed to make a pit stop. He and his team figured out how many laps he needed to stay out to secure the bonus points for leading the most laps, and then he did so. He’d broken the linkage in his car early in the race, so he had to leave the car in top gear when pitting. That left him unable to quickly accelerate, so he knew Elliott was going to get past him during the pit sequence. And he was right.”

“At least your driver won the race.”

“True. In retrospect, I’m glad Kulwicki won the championship. He wouldn’t get any further opportunities. Plus, he overcame a lot of adversity to get to the top of the sport. Alan was a perfectionist and difficult to work for. He wasn’t just the driver; he was also the team owner. Junior Johnson had tried to hire Alan in both 1990 and 1991, but Alan rebuffed him both times because he wanted to continue running things his way. To give you an idea of how unfathomable it was to turn him down, Junior Johnson was one of five inductees into the inaugural class of the NASCAR Hall of Fame in 2010. His cars had won six championships and his team was considered one of the premiere teams on the circuit. He wasn’t used to being told ‘no’ and he wasn’t one to take nicely to things like that.”

“What happened?”

“While Alan Kulwicki was negotiating with Kraft to have their Maxwell House coffee brand sponsor his team… Junior entered into his own negotiations with the company and lured them away from Alan.”

“That wasn’t nice.”

“No, it wasn’t. But people aren’t always nice to one another. You go to school, you know that.”

She sighed. “Yeah, my classmates really don’t like me ‘cause I only ever talk about dinosaurs and I break the curve on all the history tests.”

I hugged her. “It’s not your fault that others don’t understand you. They’re not you. I did things my way and got picked on too. I’ve never been one to conform to other people’s expectations. Never stop being yourself, just because other people want you to be something you’re not. You’ll find your people someday – probably when you’re in college around other budding paleontologists.”

She nuzzled me. “At least you understand me.”

“Yes, and you can always call me when you’re having a bad day.”

“Thank you.”

“Any time.” I smiled. “Now the hard part of my story.”

“Oh?” I’d piqued her interest.

“In 1992 Bill Elliott moved from Melling Racing to Junior Johnson’s team, in the car that had been offered to Alan twice.”

“The Maxwell House car?”

“Nope. Junior started a second team specifically for the Maxwell House sponsorship, and hired Sterling Marlin to drive that car. Bill was driving Junior’s primary car, the #11. Junior really didn’t want to lose that championship to Kulwicki – it was personal in his eyes. So after the race he fired Bill’s crew chief, Tim Brewer. It was a horrible decision, his teams never did well again after that. After 1995, Junior Johnson left the sport entirely.”

“Kinda hard to want to root for Bill Elliott in that scenario.”

“That’s what makes this hard to admit. But to be fair, I didn’t know about any of Junior Jonson’s backroom shenanigans until decades later, and keep in mind I’d been an Elliott fan since his Melling days. Also, none of that was Bill’s fault. Alan started the 1991 season with no sponsor, running the team out of his own pocket for the first four races before he convinced Hooters to sponsor him after he qualified on the pole for a race at their home track, when their driver failed to qualify for the race entirely.”

“What’s Hooters?”

“A restaurant chain.”

“Can we stop at one?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think you’d like their menu. It’s mostly burgers and chicken wings. And beer, and neither of us drink.” At least I don’t have to worry about explaining the scantily-clad waitresses to her considering ponies usually go around wearing even less.

“Well, chickens are birds, and birds are dinosaurs. I would be curious to taste a dinosaur.”

“Maybe someday when we’re not traveling. If you get a tummy ache, I don’t want to be miles away from a bathroom.”

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“Speaking of Hooters, the restaurant was founded on April 1, 1983. The founders chose April Fool’s Day because they thought the company had no chance of succeeding. I bring this up because it was April Fool’s Day when Kulwicki’s plane crashed, ten years to the day after the chain had been founded. The plane was owned by Hooters, and the other two passengers and the pilot were all employees of the restaurant chain. One of the other victims was the owner’s son.”

“That’s ironic.”

“Yeah, and when the kids at school all let me know about the crash the next day, I thought they were playing a mean April Fool’s joke on me a day late. It wasn’t until one of the teachers confirmed it that I finally believed them. Everyone knew I was a NASCAR fan and like you, I wasn’t popular. I moved here from elsewhere, so I was an outsider. Folks around my part don’t like outsiders much.” Petunia wrapped her forelegs around my leg, and I bent down to give her a real hug. “I know you have the same problem. Kids are cruel. Conform…or else. That’s why in retrospect, I like Alan Kulwicki so much. He was an iconoclast like us. He did things his own way, just like you and me.”

“I like that!”

“Me too. You know, he sold almost everything he owned, including all of his racecars and most of his equipment, just to move from here to North Carolina to take a crack at NASCAR. Everyone at the time thought he was crazy.”

“He bet on himself and won.” She motioned around the park. “I think that might be more important than his NASCAR highlights. Do you think anyone else here at this park today besides you knows his career stats? I don’t, and it’s not that I don’t care… but I’m really much more inspired by knowing he was successful at what he set out to do because he did things his own way instead of listening to everyone else.” Her eyes brightened as she smiled up at me. “That’s a good way to look at his legacy.”

“True.” I chuckled.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“How do you want to die?”

I took an involuntary step backwards. “What?”

“Like, what do you want to happen to you when you’re dead? It’s the circle of life. Everypony dies eventually, except maybe the alicorns.”

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess peacefully in my sleep would be nice. As for after that, I guess buried. That won’t be my problem. I don’t know whose problem that will be.”

“I could make sure your final wishes are carried out.”

“I’m guessing you’ve put some thought into this or you wouldn’t have asked me. How do you want to die, and what do you want to happen to you?”

“I don’t really care about the how, but I want my body to fossilize so I can be found thousands of years in the future by archeologists. I want them to muse about how I lived and died. I have a stronger connection to the land in Equestria. I bet if I asked nicely, it would honor my wishes.”

“The ground would listen to you?”

“It’s complicated. I can’t have a conversation with the ground, per say, but as an earth pony I can make requests and the ground will respond. I’m not asking for plants to grow; I’m asking to return to the earth from whence I came.”

That’s so odd and yet so Petunia.

She pointed to some litter lying on the ground. “Why do humans just toss their garbage like that? It makes the ground sad. Humans take and take and take from the earth below them, but they don’t give much back in return.”

“We don’t have the connection to the earth that earth ponies have. As a species, we’re also greedy. There are many who would sell out the environment just to make a few bucks. It happens all the time, even in protected national parks.”

“That’s sad.”

“It is.”

“Sorry, I got off topic a bit. I think you were talking about Special K’s legacy.”

“No worries.” Actually, I’m amazed I’ve held your attention this long. “Alan’s legacy in NASCAR gets a little convoluted. He was the first champion to also be the owner of his team in many years. So a lot of other drivers decided to do the same thing, including Elliott when his contract was up with Junior Johnson. None of the others ever had his success, mostly because none of them were Alan Kulwicki. Alan had an engineering degree and was the first driver with a college education to win the Cup championship. He was the second driver from the North to win, and the first since 1950. He really, really shook things up in NASCAR.”

“It sounds like things needed to be shaken up.”

“They absolutely did. They could use some shaking up again, because NASCAR has reached the point of desperately trying anything in a futile attempt to reverse the ratings slide that’s been going on for decades. Everything they try keeps making things worse. I don’t even bother watching the races anymore. I’d rather have my weekends free to do other things.”

“Like drive to Milwaukee?”

I tousled her hair. “Among other things. I’m going to bore you for a few more minutes. We’re here, I’m going to tell you his career highlights. He won five races, including the inaugural NASCAR Cup race at Phoenix, where he turned his car around and did a backwards victory lap. He didn’t invent it, but he made it popular, because no one at such a high level of motorsports had ever done that.”

“Another example of doing things his own way.”

“Indeed. It’s a local short track tradition, so the winning driver can wave to the fans in the grandstands. NASCAR flat out told him to never do it again. They relented when he won the championship. And after Alan died? A lot of drivers took what became known as ‘the Polish victory lap’ in his honor.”

“If I’m following this, that means they made four right turns instead of four left turns?”

“Correct.”

She took a look around the park and grinned at me. “I’m going to take a Polish victory lap around the park. Race ya!” She didn’t wait for me to respond; she just took off running.

“Petunia Paleo! Get your flank back here! I’m too old and out of shape to be chasing after you.”

“That sounds like something Bill Elliott would say.”

“Oh, it is on! Nopony insults Awesome Bill from Dawsonville!” I started running after her, knowing it was an effort in futility.

“Second place is just the first loser.”

“Alan…didn’t…insult…the other…drivers…” I huffed the words out between pants for breath.

“He did things his way, and I do things mine!” She reached a corner of the park and turned right onto Oak Leaf Trail, continuing along the perimeter. It was almost thirty seconds later before I reached the same corner, already struggling for breath.

The trail took us underneath Interstate 43, and she started waving to the motorists on the highway. I doubted anyone could even see her, but she was taking her Polish victory lap seriously. I did the same as I approached the freeway, waving to drivers on the overpass going by much too fast to notice. As I crossed under the highway, I looked over at the graffiti. Except it wasn’t graffiti – it was measurements of toxicity of the water.

“Petunia! I know you can hear me. Whatever you do, do not drink the water or eat any of these cattails.”

“Why not?” She bounded back to where I was standing.

“PPM is a notation for particles per million. It measures the levels of pollutants in the water. I’m not sure what chemical in particular it’s measuring, but the numbers are getting higher with each year, so that’s not good. We’ll stop to get lunch when we’re done here at the park.”

“Can we stop at that mac & cheese place I spotted the other day?”

“Sure.” The thought of a fast food restaurant specializing in macaroni and cheese appealed to both my curiosity and my taste buds.

I reached down to grab her but she squirmed out of my grasp and galloped under the freeway overpasses. “Nope! You’re not getting out of the victory lap that easily!”

She reached West Layton Avenue a few moments later and hesitated by the road until I caught up. Then she took off running down the sidewalk towards the Walmart. She was so far ahead of me she started walking backwards. “Oops, I spun out. Good thing you’re so far behind!”

“Okay Mater.”

She giggled and turned around in the right direction as I approached. “If you ain’t first, you’re last.”

“You’re not Ricky Bobby.” I regretted introducing her to Talladega Nights.

She cut through the Walmart parking lot, running in front of the store, dodging shoppers. She waited for me when she got to the end of the sidewalk. Once I was close, she checked both ways, then darted across the parking lot towards Planet Fitness.

Who needs to waste money on a gym membership when you’ve got a rambunctious filly to chase? This is the most exercise I’ve had in years.

She ran around the front of the gym, then down the trail that led back into the park. She stopped and shook her rump at me as I reached the trail. “Take a good look, ‘cause this is all you’re gonna see all the way to the finish line.”

That little brat just mooned me.

I had no hope of catching her, even with her pit stop to taunt me. She’d grown since I’d first met her, mostly in her legs. She’d grow into those oversized limbs eventually, but she could outrun me all day, every day. That, combined with her earth pony stamina, meant there was no way I was going to catch her. We both knew it.

She crossed the bridge over Wildcat Creek and passed the Brooks Pavilion before I’d even gotten to the bridge. She dashed towards the imaginary finish line where she’d started her victory lap. Meanwhile my heart was hammering in my chest as years of a bad diet and a desk job were catching up to me.

I leaned against the pavilion to catch my breath. Our race was over – Petunia was already prancing back. Once she got to me, she headbutted me, insisting I also complete my tribute lap.

“Are you trying to kill me, Petunia?”

“No, but that would be pretty ironic. Died in the park dedicated to the memory of your birthday buddy. For real irony, we’ll have to come back on April Fool’s Day and do it again.”

“Let’s not.”

“Yeah, then I’d be stuck in Wisconsin. Plus, I’d be sad if you died. I like you. You get me.”

I panted for breath. “No, if the last half hour or so has taught us anything, it’s that no, I can’t get you no matter how hard I try.”

She giggled. “I meant that figuratively, not literally!” She rested her hooves on my leg. “You can get me anytime. Just not when we’re racing.” She nuzzled me. “I race to win. Besides, a little exercise won’t kill you.”

“Why take chances?” I reached out to Petunia. “I don’t think Alan would’ve appreciated all the taunting you did, young lady. You know, I’m thinking I might pull a Junior Johnson on you and retaliate. I could leave you here.”

She stuck her tongue out. “We both know you’d never do that. Besides, my parents may not pay much attention to me, but even they’d notice I was missing… eventually. Probably. I hope.” She thought about it and sighed. “The teachers at my school would miss me.”

I patted her head. “Your parents love you. I assure you, they’d definitely notice if I didn’t bring you home in one piece. But you’re right about one thing – I can’t just leave you here…” I walked back to my car, Petunia skipping along behind me. I grabbed a piece of paper and a marker from the trunk. “We’re going into the pavilion so I can see the museum. You’re going to wear this the whole time we’re in there.” I scrawled ‘Bad Horse’ onto the paper, looped it to some string, and then tied it around her neck.

“I’m not a horse! I’m a pony!”

I added a ‘y’ to the end of the sign to make it read ‘Bad Horsey’ instead.

She pouted. “But I’m not a bad pony.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Her lip quivered and I turned away from her and walked to the pavilion that contained a museum to Alan’s legacy. Petunia sat just inside, facing the door, announcing to the world she’d been a naughty little pony. Not that there were any other visitors to the Brooks Pavilion, named for the then owner of Hooters, who’d donated the funds to build the park.

“1986 Rookie of the Year, 1992 champion, five victories, twenty-four pole positions, and seventy-five top-10 finishes in two hundred and seven Cup Series starts.”

Petunia had decided that ‘silent treatment’ was the correct response to her current predicament, and there was no reply from her regarding Kulwicki’s Cup Series stats. The pavilion had memorabilia from his racing career, including trophies and even a license plate celebrating his Cup championship. Wisconsin plate 7AK NO1. There was nothing to indicate whether that had been Alan’s license plate, or just a really dedicated fan’s.

After half an hour of documenting the display, I took the sign off Petunia and walked over to the other playground. My inner child could appreciate any park that had two playgrounds. She fiddled with a rocketship that could visit any of the planets in the solar system, including the moon and Pluto. Obviously, this playground had been installed prior to Pluto being downgraded to dwarf planet. On the other side of the board, the rocketship could go in and out of the clouds.

Petunia had fun going down the slides, though she avoided the monkey bars. I sat at one of the picnic tables and watched her get all of the pent-up energy out of her system. We still had a twelve-hour car ride to get back home. I didn’t want her going stir crazy, nor did I want her saying she was bored.

Eventually she tired herself out, and I had her pose by the park’s sign. She recognized the Hooters Thunderbird immediately. “Hey! Don’t you have a picture of this car in your house?”

“Yeah, that’s an art project I made in school. It’s a recreation of a photo taken of his second place finish to Bill Elliott at Richmond in 1992. It was a photo finish – Elliott had dominated the race, but Kulwicki came out of nowhere in the closing laps and almost stole the victory away. The red car you can barely see behind Kulwicki is Elliott’s. I’m not much of an artist, but if there’s one thing I can draw passably, it’s cars.”

“That seems legit.”

“He raced Fords exclusively in his Cup career, and for that final race in 1992 he received permission from both Ford and NASCAR to change the ‘Thunderbird’ to ‘Underbird’ since he considered himself the underdog. You can see that here on the sign.”

She leaned up to take a closer look. She’d grown past the point where I could easily pick her up, so she was on her own to scrutinize the sign.

“That’s really cool. I like underdogs, and I like people who do things their own way.”

“Me too. It’s why I wasn’t upset when he won instead of Bill. Plus, it made my Grandpa happy. Come on, there’s one more thing I need to do before we go.”

I herded her toward the parking lot and opened the car door for her, then pulled a bar of Irish Spring soap and a checkered flag from the trunk. I scrawled a #7 on each of the car’s side rear windows using the soap, then stuck the flag out the window to take my own Polish victory lap around the parking lot.

Once completed, I pulled out of the park and headed for the highway leading back to Milwaukee.

“Thanks for letting me gallop. I needed that!”

“It was mutually beneficial. Thank you for indulging my trip down memory lane.”

“Any time! You really know a lot about Kulwicki and NASCAR. I’m not going to lie, a lot of it went over my head, but you seemed so… so happy.”

“Memories of a better time. It wasn’t necessarily the best time of my life, there were dark moments too. Moving to another state was rough on me in many ways. But my family was still mostly intact back then. It’s a lot smaller now.”

“Friends are the family you choose.” Petunia couldn’t quite reach me from where she was sitting behind me, but I felt her pat my car seat. “I’ll always be there for you.” I saw her smile in my rearview mirror.

“I know you will.” I smiled too, but it was bittersweet. If only that was true. ‘Always’ is a relative term at her age. She’s growing up and she’ll have her own life soon enough. She’ll go off to college in a few years and become a famous paleontologist. Dinosaurs are her passion. Maybe someday she’ll be telling some young foal about me, looking back on days like this with a wistful tear in her eye.

“If it makes you happy, I don’t mind listening to you ramble. You listen to me talk about dinosaurs.”

“That’s a shared interest, though.”

“You don’t wear dinosaur costumes everywhere. I think we both know which one of us is more into the subject.”

“Point made and taken.”

“So tell me more about what makes him so special to you.”

“With the benefit of hindsight, he was more like me than any other NASCAR driver before or since. If I knew then what I know now, I’d probably have picked Kulwicki to be my favorite driver back then. Intelligent, college-educated, northerner, perfectionist, lifelong bachelor, and difficult to get along with.”

“You aren’t difficult to get along with.” Petunia stuck her tongue out at me. “As for the rest, bachelor for now. You might find the girl of your dreams is closer than you think.”

“Yes, and next you’re going to tell me she has hooves and a tail. Ponies are cute, but I’ll stick to dating inside my own species.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Exactly! Just leave everything to me.”

“How about I don’t, and we get mac and cheese instead?”

“Mac and cheese is pretty good too. I worked up an appetite out there!”

“So did I. Great job wearing me out before a long drive.”

“Oh darn, we’ll just have to stop for the night somewhere along the way.”

“We can’t. You have school tomorrow.”

She shrugged. “I can’t very well go to school if I’m not even in my home state.”

“You’re sneaky.”

“I prefer to call it calculating. You know, like Alan Kulwicki.”

“I don’t know if I would call him sneaky…”

“Staying out to lead that extra lap so Bill Elliott couldn’t.”

“Right. Okay, calculating it is.”

“So tell me more. What does he mean to you now?”

“Alan Kulwicki has been a source of inspiration for me in ways Bill Elliott hasn’t. Alan succeeded when everyone else thought he was crazy, and in spite of the odds against him. I regret that I was too young to appreciate him in his lifetime. It’s only as I got older that I realized just how much we had in common, and how amazing he really was. Don’t get me wrong, Bill Elliott was awesome in his own way – there’s a reason he was inducted into the NASCAR Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility. He’s shy, humble, and prefers to stay out of the limelight, which are all reasons I like him. He also races cleanly, unlike a number of the others he competed against.”

“That explains why you like him. I’m sorry for making fun of him earlier. I kinda got carried away.”

“It’s okay. Hey, I think this is our exit.”

I took the exit ramp and pulled into Mac’s Macaroni and Cheese Shop. Looking at the building, it was blatantly obvious that the food would either be really good or really bad. It was the kind of aesthetic that indicated a fast food joint was putting effort into their design. But that didn’t necessarily translate to the food, and we weren’t there to admire the building.

Petunia was the only one of my pony pals who didn’t care if I ate meat in front of her. Her obsession with dinosaurs made her all too aware of the food chain. I ordered a Memphis melt, which was a pulled pork sandwich. Petunia opted for the Original, a grilled cheese melt with a blend of four cheeses.

The server handed us the placard with our order number on it and Petunia giggled as I stood there dumbfounded. Sure, the odds were one in fifty, or maybe one in one hundred… but our order number was seven.

“Another Kulwicki coincidence. Maybe this is his way of saying he liked our victory laps.” Petunia wagged her tail as we found a seat. “What do you think?”

I looked out to the parking lot, where my car still had a soaped-on #7 on the windows. “I think it’s a distinct possibility.”

Author's Note

Story notes: https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/1028935/story-notes-7