I thank you for your time and readership, and I hope that you enjoy my farewell note to Dan Wheldon.
This weekend in Las Vegas, the world of motorsports lost one of its brightest and most promising stars, and I lost one of my long time heroes. Dan Wheldon, 2005 IndyCar Series Champion and two-time Indianapolis 500 Champion, husband to Susie Wheldon and father to 2-year old Sebastian and 7-month old Oliver, was killed at just age 33 in a harrowing crash, the likes of which I hope to never witness again.
I would like to start by saying that I am very close to IndyCar Racing. I have been following it for many years, and I've grown from being a single-driver appreciating fan (when I started, it was Helio Castroneves) to a passionate follower with a love of the sport, and love, respect, and admiration for all drivers. Sure, we harp and push humor on some of them, but the fact of the matter is that in the end, they are the ones who are out there putting their lives on the line for the sake of their sport and they are the ones who have been blessed enough to be granted an opportunity to follow their dreams, and for that, I have only admiration and the utmost respect, for they are far braver than you or I could ever hope to be.
It all started with two cars making contact at 225 miles per hour just below me in turn 1 at Las Vegas Motor Speedway. I had been recording audio at the time, and I picked up the crowd pointing and going "OHH!" At the time, I thought it was going to be "just another" typical IndyCar speedway crash, where the two involved cars and other minor casualties hit the wall, stop, get out and wave to the fans to show that they're alright, and the race continues.
For 14 of the drivers involved, they all got out of their cars, some helping other drivers exit their mangled and in some cases burning vehicles. For Dan Wheldon, that moment tragically never came.
The crash continued past the threshold of "what's normal", as cars behind the accident on track attempted to slow quickly from 225 to a safe speed to avoid the accident at, but as the cars in front drastically and unpredictably changed rates of speed, the other cars log-jammed in the pack behind them were still hauling the mail and as such had even less time to react, and had even less room to safely navigate themselves past harm's way. The end result was drivers upon drivers, fifteen in all, driving into, through, over, and under each other at full speed, with several acting as a twisted, horrifying form of a launch ramp for the trailing competitors. I could do nothing but watch and scream in horror.
"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!"
As the cars continued to pile into the cloud of fire, debris, and smoke, I prayed that the carnage would stop. It seemed to go on forever, as cars that hit the wall in turn 1 didn't stop spinning or crashing until a quarter mile later on down the track. Cars that were in the back continued to drive into the mess, with nowhere to go and out of options and escape routes. Only a select few of the drivers behind 12th place at the time of the accident were able to navigate through the chaos.
I was forced to helplessly watch in horror as I knew all of those drivers - my heroes - propelled themselves forward into the chaos, frantically trying to avoid peril, and could do nothing except keep a close eye on my twitter feed and do something I've not done in a long time: Pray.
I was nauseous and in tears before the cars came to a stop. There are so many words that come to mind in an attempt to describe what I saw: horrifying, frightening, terrible.. but I think it is most accurately described when I say that it was the single most horrible thing I've ever witnessed in my entire life. In a puff of smoke, a crash of such magnitude was sparked that made those rollovers on the freeway look like a 5-mph fender bender. Fifteen cars were involved. Fifteen. Of a 34-car field. Count 'em, that's 40%. 5 of which at least, got airborne. Of those 15 cars and drivers, 4 were transferred to the UMC Medical and Trauma Center in Las Vegas, with Dan Wheldon being transferred by air.
We sat in the grandstands for 2 hours, receiving little or no news, hoping for the best but bracing for the worst.. the most we heard was that they had flown Dan to the hospital and that all of the drivers were to report to a private room in the media center. The drivers heading up the unofficial drivers' safety coalition were called to race control.
Speculation came down from those around us. Strangers comforted strangers. People around us comforted my father and I, both shaken to the core and deeply concerned being that we are both Wheldon supporters. Others tried to distract themselves so as not to dwell too deeply on the situation at hand.
I could do nothing but sit in the stands, and wait, and weep for what I had just witnessed. Good news travels fast, and we had heard nothing on Dan's condition.
10 minutes later, my twitter feed popped up froma report through KV Racing saying that they were preparing to grid the cars 3-wide for a 5 lap salute. Although it had yet to be announced, the drivers' reactions on the jumbotrons and the mere usage of the word "salute" confirmed it.
After cheating death 133 times prior, Dan Wheldon was gone.
As the announcement came down, my Dad missed the beginning of it due to a phone call and couldn't piece together what had been said. I had started to cry long before the confirmation came down, but actually hearing it out loud from the mouth of the Series' president really did me in.. my heart broke.
Dad: "What? What did Randy just say?"
Me (Tearfully): "He's gone, Dad.."
Dad (eyes beginning to well up): "No.. what do you mean 'he's gone'?"
Me (borderline sobbing): "He's.. gone."
My father and I have never held each other in consolation quite like that.
It was determined that, in memorial of Dan Wheldon, the drivers would return to the racetrack not in competition, but in tribute. 5 parade laps in 3-wide formation akin to the style of lineup used at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, where Dan enjoyed so much success would be completed, and then the cars parked. The remaining 188 laps of the event were cancelled.
The lone scoring pylon at the facility was reprogrammed to show only one car number, the #77 of Wheldon.
As the cars pulled away, every single indycar employee that was working behind pit wall came out to stand along pit road in emotional salute. I've never seen this before in racing, ever.
The crowd was completely silent with the exception of respectful clapping and cheering when the 7 rows of 3 passed us on each of their 5 tribute laps.
While the cars circulated the track in memory of our lost friend, the track PA system began to play "Amazing Grace" through the loudspeakers, performed by a bagpiper who had happened to still be on location from pre-race events earlier in the day. It resonated the loudest towards the waning stages of the tribute, starting from a dim, mournful tone to a loud, prideful, triumphant tone very much reflective of the type of person Dan was. In between the crews lining up along pit road in unity, the drivers doing their 5 laps in solidarity, and the respectful silence given by the crowd, it was by far the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and experienced in twenty years on this Earth.
The cars then pulled into their pit stalls for the final time, shut down, never to be restarted again.
Dan was a special kind of person. Though he was a very busy man in between sponsor and team obligations, he always took time for his fans, and always recognized my father and I, fans of his for several years, and long time race attendees. I've only ever taken two pictures with him, including one the day before he died (although he didn't pose in it), but this one from 2008 is by far the better of the two.
Dan Wheldon meant a LOT to me both as a driver and a human being. He was a very special person who touched everyone around him in one way or another. I learned a lot of very important lessons from Dan, and I think the most important lesson of them all is to live life to the fullest no matter the circumstances. Dan is a two-time Indianapolis 500 champion, and although he boasts a very impressive resume, spent this season unemployed due to lack of competitive rides out in the field. Though he was upset at not being able to race, Dan was blessed enough to spend the time with his family. The man upstairs has a plan for everyone, and I'd like to think that he did that for Dan so that he and his family could come to truly appreciate each other in their time together. Yes, it's a very cruel way how he was ripped from this world, but when it's your time, it's your time. Dan died doing the one thing he loved the most, and he died doing it the way he did it every time before then: doing it well.
So to Dan, my long-time hero, while it pains me to see you leave this world, and while I grieve for the loss of such a genuinely good person as yourself and for your surviving family, I must admit, I envy you. I envy you, for you are in a better place than all of us. You're not in pain, and you're not suffering, and you're standing guard over all of us. You will forever be an inspiration not just to me, but to the thousands of people, whether they be fans, friends, or family members, that you left behind to cherish your legacy.
I didn't know you personally, and I'll admit that. I knew you as an avid follower of the sport. I knew of your skills, your abilities, and your charm with those around you. I didn't know Dan "the close reliable friend" Wheldon, I knew Dan "the fan-favorite racecar driver with a heart of gold" Wheldon. If I could talk to you now, as corny as this is going to sound, I'd tell you that even in my karting efforts, I based a lot of what I did on things I had learned from watching you. You were truly an inspiration, and I was proud to wear your No. 10 during all of my sports (karting, sailing, basketball) while you raced with Ganassi. I always told my parents it was because it was the first number in the number line with double digits, but that's not the truth. You were the reason I chose that number. I looked up to you as someone who was always looking for the next challenge, and took it on both bravely and fiercely. You were very admirable like that.
If somewhere up there you can look down and see me writing this, I'd like you know that I am for sure a better man, and we are all better people for having known you. It was an honor to have experienced your bright light in the time you were around, and a pleasure to have met you and experienced your talents one last time before your passing. You were a legend not only on the racetrack, but in life. I will do what I can within my rights to help support your widow and children, as I'm sure many others will as well. I will share your inspiring story for many years to come with my friends and family to come, and most of all, I look forward to seeing you again on the other side, my friend.
As Marty Reid beautifully said at the conclusion of the 5 tribute laps that were run in your honor, "I always sign off with 'til we meet again', because 'goodbye' is so final. Goodbye, Dan Wheldon."
Goodbye, Dan. I will never forget you or the many gifts you unknowingly gave me. You are a true inspiration, and I will always remember you for that.
- Kieran
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