NASCAR Terminology

Even longtime NASCAR fans are regularly confused by racing terms tossed around by drivers, crew chiefs, and TV reporters. Here's part of the problem: Those expressions must first be translated from the original Piedmont drawl or 'Bama twang. In addition, few fans have driven a car to its true limits, much less attempted to adjust suspension. While it's one thing to not comprehend pit reporters, it's an entirely different matter when your racing knowledge is challenged by the owner of the NASCAR team. It's even worse when you hope to race his car. "What's the difference between 'push' and 'loose'—" It wasn't a question, but rather an accusation.


I was an experienced road-circuit racer—what stock car racers disdainfully called a "sporty car driver." We were testing at the Willow Springs road course in preparation for the '93 NASCAR Southwest Tour race at Sears Point (now Infineon) Raceway. This was more than a big deal for a lot of us. The race would run the day before the Cup race. I wasn't the only one thinking "Hey Mr. Car Owner, watch me!" The field would include NASCAR veterans Davey Allison and Ken Schrader, as well as a then-little-known sprint-car driver named Jeff Gordon. It was important for my wife and kids because I paid the tire bill from a checkbook marked "Children's Education Fund." (You might be a racer if...)


My first practice laps produced competitive speeds, but the car was a bit "free." By that I meant the rear tires, while not sliding as much as the fronts, were slipping some. A free-handling car is fast, but it's a demanding mistress who is intolerant of less-than-perfect driver inputs. (Psychologists: Why do drivers describe ill-handling racecars with a word that rhymes with witch—) Also, the sliding usually overheats the rear tires and the car soon becomes loose: It tries to spin out.


Team owner Jack Lee ordered a change that he said would "snug it up": reduce how much the rears were sliding. But after the adjustment the handling was worse. In the second session, the Lee's Iron and Metal Lumina was on the verge of going loose: In Willow's Turn Nine—a sweeping 140-mph right—the steering wheel was pointed no more than a handful of degrees right of center. My description prompted the team to install a stiffer front sway bar (more correctly termed an "anti-roll bar"), which should have reduced front grip and restored the car to a more drivable balance. Instead, the car went seriously loose: It was trying to ruin my reputation in every turn.


That's when Lee challenged my understanding of oval-track terminology. (I'm thankful he didn't say "Boy, the simplest thing to replace on this car is you." But he was thinking it!) I easily passed the oral portion of the exam: On top of my extensive racing experience, I had covered oval track racing for various publications including "Stock Car Racing" magazine, been a crew member for sprint-car teams, and read every book on race car chassis setup. Still not trusting me, Lee sent NASCAR veteran Ron Esau out in the car. Esau reported: "It's so loose I could barely hang on to it." (It turned out that older rear tires gave up before newer fronts.)