It would have been safe to say I was living under a rock when it comes to my knowledge of NASCAR. Sure, I knew it existed. I grew up hearing the roar of engines from the television screen, and some of my little brother's first words were: "Put 'em in the wall!" Other than that, I knew nothing.

Until Saturday, when I walked up to Kevin Harvick's pit box and my entire view of NASCAR changed.

It started with the drivers meeting. Each driver-and-crew-chief team listened to directions, jotting down notes and nodding their heads. Then everyone returned to their haulers where the air smelled of barbecue chicken, as everyone mentally prepared for the Dan Lowry 400.

I am given a scanner so I can hear Harvick's discussion with his spotter, Bill O'Dea, and his crew chief, Todd Berrier. The tension in the garage starts to simmer as the grills turn C6 off and the crew members start focusing on their duties.

As I'm walking toward the pit box, I see the mass of dots staring. Are those people? The roar is enormous; the energy is a pickup better than any cup of coffee.

Suddenly, I'm alert, focused and climbing the stairs to the pit box as the crew teams line up. After a giant "Amen" from the crowd, and the swooping appearance from the Blue Angels, the drivers did what they'd been waiting to do all day: start their engines.

Harvick wishes his pit crew a good race, and then:

"Ready . . . ready . . . green! Green! Green!" Spotter O'Dea said. And Harvick was off.

I watched the pit crew members practice removing lug nuts. One team member checked the weather. DeLana Harvick sat calmly in the corner. She wrote down her husband's lap statistics: his timing, the gap and other important statistics Kevin Harvick and the team will need in postrace analysis.

"Thirty-five laps from having a pit," crew chief Berrier said.

The crew grabbed tires, gas, tools then exchanged a special handshake and jumped over the wall.

This was the exact moment NASCAR changed for me. It was the moment I became a fan of the intense bonds holding these teams, sponsors and fans together. It's a brotherhood of support. In less than 13 seconds, Harvick was off again.

The crew hopes the work they just performed on the car will work magic on the track.

This time, it didn't. Harvick noticed a change in the car. He dropped from third to sixth.

"Everything we gained we're going to lose right here," Harvick said. Berrier assures him the problem will be fixed on the next stop.

The crew starts analysis. They take the temperature of the tires, they discuss, they bounce questions off each other and then jump over the wall.

I watched as crew members tried to fix a problem they themselves were not experiencing. I suddenly saw NASCAR racing as a relationship with communication still being the key.

I thought the 1,600 left turns would take forever, but by the time my neck had seemingly twisted 360 degrees, it was time to do it again.

Harvick's crew struggles to fix the problem, and his placement keeps slipping.

"We had it figured out in the beginning," Harvick said. "I don't know what happened."

Berrier replied, "I don't know what happened either."

With 10 laps to go, the crew is covered with oil smudges, and Harvick still is holding on.

"You're better than those guys in front of you," O'Dea said. "Let's go."

Harvick finished eighth, placing him fifth in the Sprint Cup standings with 1,350 points -- not exactly his original plan.

But what he doesn't know is how he helped open the eyes of a 22-year-old who has focused on ballet and literature. Those eyes now see deep relationships, optimal driving skill, engineering genius and the business intricacies of NASCAR.
Contact Sheena Jeffers at sjeffers@timesdispatch.com.