Before the race, two young men give final instructions to a race car driver through the door window.
Last checks before the start. Faces are still fresh and voices loud enough to rise over the roar.

Even in North Carolina’s sweltering August, bridges over Hyco Lake let you run through mist in the morning. The morning was cool enough that white mist swirled as we drove the 45-minute trek to Virginia International Raceway — also known as VIR. The acronym always harkened the classicist in me, vir being Latin for “man,” especially since car racing is still very much a guy thing. For good reason, my daughter calls these events “sausage fests.” My wife…