A Friday night at The Old/New Asheville Speedway ... some mountain history

Once upon a time, Asheville used to have a speedway that was part of the Winston Racing Series. It was down off Amboy Road, next to the French Broad River. Had been there at least since the 1950s. Maybe before. No more. It closed in September 1999. Most of you know that same area now as the Wilma Dykeman Riverway, formerly Carrier Park. It is used for way more than Nascar Driving these days. It’s a walk along the river, a space to play Frisbee with your best 2 or 4-legged friend. It’s a bicycle track and playground heaven for young mothers with tots. It's a family picnic spot. And so much more.

The Speedway went by the wayside because the owner of the property was ready to sell and did not want it to become another racetrack. Not sure anyone knows the why of that thinking, but an anonymous donor came through and helped RiverLink purchase the land and turn it into what it is today. People had strong opinions about that deal. The Speedway was a part of mountain culture, even a proud nod back to the days of running moonshine and the filming of Thunder Road, starring Robert Mitchum. Others, who lived near the track were tired of Friday nights filled with stadium sounds that blasted for miles. Some folks even said The Biltmore Company was behind the financing and wanted it shut down to rid the noise so they could build a hotel. 

It doesn’t matter what’s what, or what’s not, now. The park is there. I think most of Asheville would agree the Riverway is a positive addition to our area that most of us would rather not do without. However, the fact remains that a very interesting piece of mountain culture was lost when the Asheville Speedway closed down.

So … from the archives of Out ‘n About Magazine ….. August, 23, 1991 ....

Friday Night at the Speedway; don’t forget the earplugs

By Tracy D. Hyorth

A night at the races.

It’s 7:30 p.m. and the parking lot is full. The races don’t start for another half hour but some people began hanging out in the parking lots around three in the afternoon, waiting for the gates to open at six.

It’s been a rainy day. Days like this the office phone rings all afternoon. “Speedway.” (Those in the know realize this is short for New Asheville Speedway.) “Uh-huh. We’re open. No, it’s just a regular race tonight. Costs $8,” Carol Licht tells the unknown caller on the other end.

The New Asheville Speedway is very much a family-owned and family-run business. Russ Licht, a driver himself, bought the speedway, a part of the Winston Racing Series, about 10 years ago. He wants to make a decent living, but he also wants to take care of his drivers and spectators. His wife Carol, daughter Sherry and son Russ, Jr. all work at the speedway and make sure the track runs properly.

Sherry explains that a lot of people think they come in on Friday afternoon, get the track ready, and then go home Friday night until the next race. Not true. It’s a business. There’s an office and paperwork to be taken care of; there’s concessions to be restocked and drivers to be dealt with.

But Friday’s the big night.

At 7:40, the stands are filling up. So is the ground underneath the stands. Beer cans, food wrappers, soft drink cups, the same sort of trash everyone probably dropped at high school football games (minus the beer cans) without thinking twice. But come on, folks, we’re talking about grown-ups here. The Lichts have placed plenty of garbage cans around. Carol says it doesn’t matter; there’s always more trash on the ground than in the containers. Oh well … it will all be cleaned up as soon as tonight’s race is over. The Lichts don’t want that trash there Saturday morning.

The cars all seem to blend together down in the pit. Some are new; some are old and there’s everything in between. Those with the sponsors, especially body shop sponsors, have the best looking cars. Not as many dents, if any at all, and maybe a brighter and showier paint job. Later when they break into their individual classes, they’ll take on their own identity. (There are five classes: Late Model, Super Stock, Limited Stock, Street Stock and the Winston Mini-Series.) The crews are busy checking tires, looking under hoods, doing other types of mechanical stuff.

Everyone’s getting excited.

A family of three sits on the third row in one of the curves. A little boy about 5 or 6 sits between his parents. He’s wearing protective ear phones. Pretty smart fella. The sound is so loud, you literally can not talk to the person sitting right next to you. And these are the just time trials. Wait until the racing starts. The mother sports a grin she never drops the entire evening, even as she rotates her head in hypnotic circles tracking the cars around the track. Dad is just plain enjoying everything.

Vrrrrmm. Vrrrrmm. VRRRROOOMMM. The drivers rev their engines. They drive around and around and around and around. The same direction, a constant left turn all night, that is if they’re lucky and don’t get knocked sideways at some point.

A group of young girls sits nearby, talking family talk. “I got me a three month old; it’s cute as shit.” Young boys wearing racing tee-shirts are hawking “Racing News” to the almost-filled stands.

Finally the drivers are called in for a meeting. Things are about to get started. This is the last time I’ll understand everything the announcer says for the rest of the night. I think he’s talking during the race. At least I hear a sound every so often that seems to be a voice. No one appears to care if they hear him or not. They’ve all got their favorites already picked out. Most of the spectators come every Friday night. They know what’s going on.

The drivers have come back from their meeting. The prayer thanking the Lord for the excitement the drivers provide every night has been said. The pre-recorded “Star Spangled Banner” has been played.

It’s race time.

The lights come up. And the first of Late Models is underway.

The drivers know where to line up. It’s an automatic shift they make to their positions. Those with the newer tires are up front. Newer tires mean a faster time which translates into top dogs. Because, as one driver explained, “You can’t run in the top five or six cars with used tires.” (The cost of keeping new tires, i.e., of staying in the front of the pack? About $400 a week. You better believe the drivers appreciate their sponsors.)

The yellow flag waves.

They’ll maintain their positions and slower speeds as they make a few caution laps. Some zig-zag as they go. A friend explains the zig-zaggin’ helps the tires stick better to the pavement.

It’s back to “go.” The starter waves a green flag three times like a baton, turning the simple act into a real art form.

The earlier loud sound has surged into LOUD. No communications now unless it’s screaming your lungs out. Better yet, wait until after the race to speak, unless, of course, it’s to yell for one of your buddies.

On the track itself, it looks like a very large, very colorful and VERY loud swarm of bees spinning in a set path. Numbers on sides of cars flash by, reeling around you and flying on until they pass in front of you again. As one goes by, look at another. Catching bits and pieces of action.

#81 in front. #6, third lap, has problems. #1 trying to go around #16. #66 at the back. #32 going around #1, he makes it. Keeps going around #16 on the outside. Makes it. #99 and #10 head for the pits. #10 has smoke coming from under the hood. #10 is on fire. #32 takes #81 on the curve, cuts him off. #32 not interesting to watch anymore, too far ahead. #9 butts into #81, pushing second. #32 in first. #81 is second. #09 in third. Whew!

Two things are for sure. They like driving fast and they’ve picked an expensive hobby.

The vehicles are not your standard street cars. Buying a brand-new late model can run you up to $20,000. And that doesn’t count the $400 weekly tire change. The lower division cars cost a bit less, but it’s still not cheap. There are all kinds of regulations: safety equipment, engine design, body style and interior and exterior specifications.

Sherry brags that her dad understands the costs. So he tries to give decent prizes. The high end is $1,000 with the low at $50. Most of the drivers at the Speedway are area drivers. A few are from Tennessee or Georgia. And a lot are from Madison County.

And they’ve all got family and friends to bolster them on. “Go Frank! Go Frank!” the teenagers scream from behind. Three men in their mid-twenties wave their upheld forefinger as their buddy Bill drives by.

We’re now into the second race of Street Stock, or “straaate stock,” as the announcer shrieks. These are the cars people work on mostly in their back yards. There’s a really good possibility these guys are going to end up crashing into one another. Probably more than once.

Twenty-nine cars. An old Dodge Ford, an old Mercury Monarch, a Chevy Nova, an Oldsmobile Cutlass, Chevy Monte Carlo, and more. Again, those with a sponsor’s name painted on the side have the better looking cars.

The sound changes a bit. More like a phhhtt, phhhtt, vrrrmm phhhtt. More puttering noises. #1 in front. Next is 31, 80, 1. #80 takes a turn, makes a donut, slams into #11 whose door eventually drops off. #83 has a flat tire, crawling towards the pit. The yellow flag goes up. Those who can, miss the pile up. A lot don’t. A track worker quickly sweeps off pieces of the cars. The announcer lists the fallen parts on the track. Bumpers, trim, a door. Workers go around checking the cars, making sure nothing else is going to fall off. The crowd loves its.

This is what everyone seems to have come for.

It’s a madhouse. The roar of the crowd is almost as loud as the cars. There are now 28 drivers on the track. The caution flag goes up. The zig-zagging motion starts. The green flag flies.

Less than a minute later the caution flag is back up. #83 starts smoking. Starts up again in 2-3 minutes. #70 gives #18 a push start. Same with #9 and #99. Dangling pieces of metal drag the track surface sending up sparks. Complete another lap. #33 loses it. Yellow flag. Pile up. Clean up. Start again.

And on it goes. You get the idea that they’re going to stay out there, banging each other up, until only one of them is left. Lap 22 - #33 spins. #32 loses its tires. Cars hiss. Engines smoke.

For me, any of understanding of what’s going on is completely lost.

Sherry explains later that when you first go to a track, you don’t really know who to cheer for. Sometimes you just pick a car because you like the way it looks. And then when you keep going to the races, you get to know the driver. You keep cheering for him. And so it goes. It’s fun.

What attracts the drivers?

“It’s really hard to explain. It’s kind of like alcohol. You just get into it and you can’t get out,” a driver named Lloyd tells me. “But it’s a lot better for you than drinking.” Except for your ears.


Old Speedway pictures from Citizen-Times gallery