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I always think of the beginning of Days of Thunder this time of the year. The sun coming up. Fans filing in. The drivers walk out to their cars, surrounded by beautiful women and small armies of handlers. Meanwhile, back in North Carolina, Harry Hogge is out on a field on his tractor.

Five years have passed since I spent Speedweeks in Daytona Beach. I don’t have a tractor, but I have this laptop, and I’m sitting in this living room. My guitar leans against the couch, and a 24-hour news channel is on TV, and a long string of Andy Griffith Shows has run its course.

When I was growing up, there wasn’t much farming to do this time of the year, but Hollywood seldom lets reality get in the way of the story. And … NASCAR comes to mind, too.

I did spend at least half of 20 straight Februarys in the Daytona Beach area. The events, literally, are a blur.

The Busch/Bud/Nextel/Sprint Clash of Unlimited Shootouts.

The Twin Dual Duels.

The NextEra and God Knows What Else Trucks 250.

The Permatex to PowerShares QQQ Xfinity 300.

But always the Daytona 500, the Great American Race, at the Birthplace of Speed.

Back here, I feel the piercing breeze. I stand on a balcony, watching a cold rain fall. I see hundreds of seagulls take flight when the first morning engine roars to life. I trudge up the steps into the press box and assemble my tools as the bright sun shines directly through the glass. My mind is in simulation mode.

As Conway Twitty once sang, It’s onnnnly maaaake beliiieeeeve!

Much has changed since I first attended the Daytona 500 in 1988 and first wrote about it – well, directly – in 1993. A little hasn’t. The 500 retains its event status.

Once the season was interspersed with races that were informally premium: Daytona 500, Winston 500 (Talladega), Coca-Cola (nee World) 600, Brickyard 400 (Indy) and Southern 500 (Darlington). The others still have their lore, but they have been suppressed in stature by the 10-race postseason previously known as the Chase.

You’ll see this story soon, right along with other traditional Speedweeks fare such as, “Is This Finally Danica Patrick’s Year?” and “Can Anyone Stop Junior?”

You might hear it on radio, in the unlikely event that anyone obsessed with SEC still gives NASCAR the occasional lip service.

Why in the name of Joe Gibbs does NASCAR begin its season with the biggest race? It’s madness!

No, it’s not. Auto racing is different, even though NASCAR itself doesn’t believe it. At the beginning of the season, all the teams’ strength is as great as it will be. The next time they’ll marshal their resources will be at the beginning of the, uh, race-offs (because cars don’t play).

They’ve all got high hopes. Most have high-apple-pie-in-the-sky hopes. It’s funny that the beginning of NASCAR and National Signing Day are almost at the same time. All is naïve sweetness. At the moment, there exist no such things as the overrated recruit and the woeful race team.