10/15/2026
People always ask just how far a connection to a racetrack, a racer, or their family can reach. How deep can those connections really go? How much can a racing community mean to people, even when you least expect it?
Let me tell you just how far.
Yesterday, I found myself on the side of the road just south of Fargo with a RR tire sitting on the rim. I called my insurance company to send someone out to help. Semis were roaring past, cars and pickups were flying by, and there I was, with the spare tire off my vehicle, trying to get myself back on the road and into Fargo on time for a doctor’s appointment. What should have been a simple tire change quickly turned into a challenge. The lug nuts would not be coming off with the tire iron that was made for a small child, that was absolutely no way this girl was getting them off on her own!
As I stood there working on it, hoping I could somehow get everything taken care of, a gentleman stopped. He was on his way from Hankinson to Grand Forks. He had places to be and a trip of his own ahead of him, yet he took the time to stop and help a stranger on the side of the road.
As we stood there talking, the conversation naturally wandered, as conversations sometimes do. When he told me he was on his way to Grand Forks, a simple roadside encounter turned into another reminder of how small this world can really be.
Think about that for a minute. There I was, stranded on the side of the road, meeting a complete stranger who was willing to lend a hand. And somewhere between the tire change, the towing service that was dispatched from South Dakota (good one Progressive) and the conversation, racing became part of the story.
That is the thing about racing. It's never just about what happens on the track.
It's about the people. It's about the families who stand behind their racers, the friendships that grow in the pits, the people who show up week after week, and the connections that follow us long after the checkered flag falls. It's about the way one name, one family, or one shared experience can connect two people who might otherwise have never crossed paths. As we talked he asked if I knew Tim Berg. I said “I sure do, the . He thought his son was driving it now. I said Jory Berg name and he nodded his head confirming what I said.
Sometimes, we forget just how far those connections reach. We think of our racing family as the people we see at the track, the ones we work beside, cheer for, or share a few laughs with on race night. But the truth is, that family can reach far beyond the grandstands, the pit gates, and the track itself.
It can show up on the side of a highway, in a conversation with a stranger, or in a moment when you need a little help and someone chooses to stop.
And yesterday, that is exactly what happened to me.
It reminded me that the racing community is so much bigger than the sport itself. We may come from different towns, travel different roads, and have different reasons for where we're headed, but there is something special about the connections we make along the way.
Sometimes, you don't realize this until life puts you on the side of the road and introduces you to someone who reminds you.
So, how far can a connection to a racetrack, a racer, or their family reach?
Apparently, far enough to find you on the side of the road just south of Fargo, with a spare tire off your vehicle and lug nuts that won't budge.
And maybe that's the best part of all. You never really know where your racing family will show up, who you'll meet, or how one simple conversation can remind you that you're part of something much bigger than yourself.
Because racing may bring us together at the track, it's the people and the connections we build that make it a family.
When he was done, we had a child size bent tire iron and a spare that would fit the child sized car. He asked if there was anything more he could help with. I told him I knew we were strangers but would he accept a hug, which he did. He went one step farther following me into town making sure I made it safely.
As I was getting back into my vehicle it occurred to me I hadn’t asked his name. I ran up to his truck telling him I didn’t get his name.
He replied, Chett. I don’t know his last name and he doesn’t know mine. At that point it didn’t matter what our names were.
Thank you Chett, employee of Simplot, for stopping to help someone that needed a hand.
I hope you share my story when someone asks you how far a connection to dirt track racing reaches.
❤️🏁
