By Mike Kitchel
Motorsports isn’t a world for people obsessed with sticking to a plan or those who draw comfort in the monotony of working nine-to-five. Part of what makes this business fascinating is the inevitable consistency of the unexpected. It’s remarkable, at times, to analyze just how far you deviate off the map and still manage to hit the mark. No matter how much you prepare, or how deeply in stone your original plan is etched, a time will arrive where its relevance becomes moot.

Pole Day at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway is one of professional sports’ true anomalies – even within the very sport that’s made it an annual staple for over a century. Here, a collection of the world’s most brash and fearless athletes – explicitly wired to exceed speeds most humans cannot comprehend – line up to dance along both sides of the razor’s edge.

By Mike Kitchel
My youngest son is unbelievably particular. Everything must be organized perfectly or he gets irritable and restless. He’s very selective about what he wears and refuses to put on any piece of clothing he doesn’t pick out himself. His shoes, specifically, must always be immaculate. Anytime he’s in a room, he’s the center of attention with no exceptions. He’s disarmingly charming and a damn good-looking kid – which is complicated by the fact he knows it. Max Daniel is three years old.

My son’s similarities with the behavioral nuances of Dan Wheldon, while eerie, are merely a coincidence. His name is not. It serves as a constant reminder for our family to embody the distinctive qualities that made DW’s impact on us so profound. The race wins, championships and Indianapolis 500 victories made him a legend, but there is no statistic for what truly made him great. It wasn’t just the charisma, the compassion, the engaging sense of humor and the legendary practical joking. Or the relentless drive for excellence, meticulous attention-to-detail or brutal unwillingness to accept anything less than perfection.

By Mike Kitchel
I’ve been around for more than 30 Veterans Days, and probably let most of them pass without much notice. I’m sure somewhere in the back of my head I understood what Veterans Day was all about, but I never gave it the respect it has earned. This week I started thinking how much my perspective has changed – having spent a better part of the last five years working on an IndyCar dressed in camouflage, and interacting daily with people wearing the uniform that symbolizes the importance of what today really means.

The offseason in 2007 was like many in IndyCar; a year had flown by at 230 mph, another championship had been celebrated and – like a lot of teams – we’re back to wearing suits and ties in board rooms, presenting business executives with the laundry list of advantages that come with motorsports sponsorship. Somewhere along the way that offseason, the National Guard started to explore expanding their involvement in motorsports into the IndyCar Series. And by the time engines were fired on the 2008 season, our No. 4 car was painted red, white and blue and the corporate executives that once filled our hospitality area were replaced by men and women in camouflage uniforms.

By Mike Kitchel
It was a year ago this weekend in St. Petersburg, on the eve of the first practice day of the 2011 season, that the IndyCar Series entry list had one very notable omission. Dan Wheldon, the former series champ and Indianapolis 500 winner, was not slated to race in the season opener on the Streets of St. Petersburg, his beloved adopted hometown, and the site of one of the league’s signature events.

I’d told friends that if Dan didn’t secure a full-time ride before the start of the season, there was no way you’d find him anywhere near our open-wheel circus in St. Petersburg. He hadn’t spoken a word to the media all offseason and had no intentions to until he’d scored a seat. He had been close on some deals, but with the season opener within sight nothing materialized, and the previously ridiculous notion of Dan Wheldon walking through the IndyCar paddock on a race weekend in street clothes – and not a firesuit – was about to become a reality.