25 years after his death, Earnhardt's presence lives on in Daytona

DAYTONA BEACH, Fla. -- He is still here.

It has been 25 years since Dale Earnhardt died in the final turn of the final lap of the Daytona 500. Twenty-five years since he last placed that Ironhead vice grip hand on the back of someone's neck. Twenty-five years since the Intimidator wheeled his black Chevy around the Daytona International Speedway in a manner so otherworldly that rivals claimed he could see the air. Twenty-five years since the Man in Black, One Tough Customer, the mustache, the Gargoyles and the wink.

But spending a race weekend walking around the racetrack that was already so connected to the man long before it became the last place that he would ever breath that air ... yes, he is indeed still here. And now, a full quarter of a century later, it is becoming easier to believe that as long as race cars sail around this place, Dale Earnhardt will always be here with them.

"I'm not a ghost guy. I don't really believe in that kind of s---," said Tom Long of Little Rock, who drove 1,000 miles to stand right where he did as he talked on Sunday, awaiting the green flag. He had his phone stuck through the chain link fence attempting to take a photo of Turn 4, the spot where Earnhardt died. "But damn, man. I look out there and I feel like he's out there looking back at me."

Most of us are destined to be forgotten. City parks are filled with statues of once so-important figures whose bronze likenesses are now glorified bird houses. So many names over the doors of so many buildings, from college campuses to government offices, that no one inside those structures has any idea what they did or how much they paid for that title placement.

On the Saturday prior to the Daytona 500, at a random midmorning hour detached from any significant happenings on the racetrack inside, a dozen fans circled the statue of Earnhardt that sits not far from the exit of that same fourth turn. He is frozen in time hoisting the Harley J. Earl Trophy, the moment that he finally won NASCAR's biggest race in 1998, after two decades of near misses, many so excruciating they still feel make believe.

"We got married that same weekend," explained Nancy Green of Orlando, standing next to her husband and dressed in a checkered flag dress and black bow affixed with a homemade button of Earnhardt's familiar slanted No. 3. "Got married on Saturday and spent the first day of our honeymoon watching Dale win that race. We met him the next year and told him. He joked with us that he'd known we were getting married the day before, so that was his present to us."

Their present to him, as they have done every year since Feb. 18, 2001, is to leave a red rose and one of Nancy's buttons at the base of that statue, added to the small mountain of mementos that piled up throughout this race weekend.

"Now we are going inside to root for another Earnhardt," the Greens continued. "We heard his grandson was here."

He was indeed. Bobby Dale Earnhardt, 38 years old and the Intimidator's oldest grandchild. There were other much more famous Earnhardts at the racetrack over the weekend. Dale Earnhardt Jr. was there hosting shows for his podcasting empire. He was joined by sister Kelly, co-owners of the No. 40 JR Motorsports Chevy, driven by Justin Allgaeir.

But their nephew was behind the wheel of his own Chevy. A black one, featuring a white, familiarly stylized No. 89, purposely designed to mimic the ride of his grandfather. His Rise Motorsports ride was in Saturday's ARCA Menards Series event, but instead of GM Goodwrench and Coca-Cola, it wore the sponsor stickers of Smart Grid Integrations, Mooney Excavating, Yulee BBQ Sauce, Racing with Jesus and a drawer full of stickers from sponsors who joined the team by way of a pre-Daytona online auction. The 25th anniversary of his grandfather's death made the special black paint scheme feel like the right thing to do.

In his Daytona International Speedway debut, he finished ninth.

Bobby is the eldest son of Dale's eldest son, Kerry. For years, he bounced around the lower stock car ranks trying to add to his last name's legacy, but a house filled with four kids and a wife is expensive business. So, after a handful of starts in the O'Reilly Auto Parts Series (formerly the Xfinity Series), he hung up his helmet and focused on his day job working construction. Last fall, his wife told him that if he had a chance to race again, he should. Especially if it meant running at Daytona.

Kerry didn't have a relationship with his father as a child. It wasn't until he drove to Earnhardt's house as a teenager that he introduced himself. When Kerry had kids, Dale was reaching the height of his powers as a racer and again wasn't around much. But when Bobby was 10 years old, he was riding his bike when his grandfather, mowing the field next door, pulled over, asked to use his grandson's bike, and proceeded to ride it around the yard backward.

"He told me that he had to leave to go racing, but when he got back, if I had taught myself to ride my bike backwards all the way around our house, he'd give me $10," Bobby recalled on Friday night. "Man, I spent all weekend working on that. The next time he came by, I showed him and he paid up."

There wasn't much more money to come from the bloodline.

"Most people only know me as Bobby and not Bobby Dale, because yes, I am proud of last name and of my family, but carrying that name also comes with a lot of other things that can be difficult," Earnhardt continued. "My family hasn't given me any sort of advantage. I work on everything and we pay for everything. We have to do it the blue-collar way. And I like that, because that's how my grandfather did it."

The last time Bobby saw his grandfather was the day before Dale left for Daytona in 2001. Bobby was 13. They went hunting. The kid bagged his first buck. The following week, he was at his granddad's funeral.

"When I first went out on that track, honestly, it felt good. Quicker than I expected. When I am out there, I feel like he is out there with me."

On Sunday, Dale Earnhardt was everywhere. He was tattooed on the thighs of three best friends from Central Florida, all younger than the 25 years that have passed, but all raised on the tall tales of the Intimidator. "We got these last year the night before the race!" one of them proudly revealed as he yanked up a leg of his jorts and pointed to the words inked below the black outline of Earnhardt's unmistakable likeness.

"RAISE HELL! PRAISE DALE!"

That same phrase has become an internet meme, used by so many others of that generation who never saw Earnhardt turn a lap. Last weekend it was splashed on T-shirts and hoodies throughout the Daytona grandstand. Those same words hollered through the infield like some sort of rough-hewn Morse code, echoed from the roofs of infield RVs, by people standing beneath black No. 3 flags blown stiff by the 25 mph winds.

"All you need to know about Dale Earnhardt is that he has been gone 25 years and yet he still outsells all of us when it comes to merchandise," said Ryan Blaney, laughing, as he pointed to a cluster of those flags. The 2023 Cup Series champion was 7 years old on Feb. 18, 2001. His father Dave finished 42nd in that race, behind the wall long before Earnhardt's fatal crash with a blown engine. "But the real legacy of Dale Earnhardt is what he has done for us who race today, and for everyone who has raced since that day 25 years ago."

And what did he mean by that?

"I mean that we are still alive. Hell, we rarely even get hurt very bad."

You see, that is where Dale Earnhardt actually still lives, at Daytona and anywhere stock cars are raced. In the extra roll bars. In race car crush zones and fire-resistant door foam. In reinforced belts and harnesses. And damn sure in head and neck restraints.

"I think we all grew up wanting to emulate Dale, wanting to make all of these badass moves and push our cars to the limit like he did all the time," said fellow seven-time Cup Series champion Jimmie Johnson, who never raced on the same track as Earnhardt, but met him after first moving to North Carolina from California and sleeping on the couch of Earnhardt's Truck Series ace, Ron Hornaday. "But it's because of his death that led to all of the safety innovations that are in our cars now that we feel like we can try to do that stuff, and if it goes wrong, we're probably going to be OK."

There was nothing OK about this day 25 years ago. There will never be anything OK with that day. It still hurts. The sting of 2001 might not be as sharp, but it is still indeed a sting.

That's why the memories shared and stories told over the weekend at Daytona and in the days since -- as they have for the past 25 years -- have, on some level, been therapeutic. Group hugs by statues, "Raise Hell! Praise Dale!" callbacks from Winnebagos. Beer-powered races in GM Goodwrench decal-adorned wheelbarrows. A conga line of fans pointing and clapping when they spot a homemade bar-slash-grill fastened atop a tarp-covered Airstream, all in Earnhardt awe.

Strength in numbers. OK, one number. The one lined in neon on the side of that grill. The number three.

On Lap 3 of this 25th Daytona 500 without Dale Earnhardt, a sellout crowd, nearly 200,000 people, stood and held three fingers in the air in silence. Just as they did to try to emotionally survive those dark race days after the worst race day of them all.

"I can't barely ever do this without breaking down and crying," confessed Van Hunter of Charlotte, North Carolina, standing with his family, kids and grandkids, all dressed in old-school throwback Dale Earnhardt jackets. They stood among the hundreds in the Fan Zone located adjacent to the Cup Series garage. Beneath a jumbotron screen where they watched video of the race that was rolling though that third lap on the racetrack in the distance.

"It has been 25 years, but it still feels like he might just come walking through here, headed out to go get in his race car," Hunter said as he kept one hand in the air and the other around his granddaughter's shoulder. "It feels like Dale is still here."

Because he is. Now, 25 years later, it's hard to imagine that he never will be.