I admit it. I was skeptical. I didn’t expect to enjoy a NASCAR race. It’s not that I expected to not like it, but whenever I thought about the sport all that I could think of was watching cars go in circles, looking to cut each other off for better positioning. Which I could see in the parking lot of any mall during the Christmas shopping season.

So this is where I say with great conviction that I was mistaken. Having just witnessed the SaveMart 350 Sprint Cup race at Sonoma’s Infineon Raceway, I defy anyone to attend a NASCAR event and not enjoy at the very least the sheer spectacle.

As the cars came roaring past my seat in the Ninth Turn Terrace on their first lap at full speed, all I could do was smile. In fact, I think I probably laughed out loud – not that anyone would have heard me. The noise of 43 supercharged cars running flat out literally rattled my chest. Actually, from a pure volume standpoint, it wasn’t as loud as I was anticipating. I’ve been to rock concerts that infringed more upon my eardrums, and instead of that type of painful, wincing loud, this was more of an exciting, impressive, exhilarating loud.

And that’s when it hit me that the entire scene was not so much like a sporting event, but more like country music concert meets state fair. It was a carnival, complete with a ferris wheel, if you were so inclined to shell out a few bucks to view the race from high above the track for a few minutes.

As for the crowd…well, it was largely what I expected on some fronts, and pleasantly unexpected on others. Yes, there was a disquieting amount of bare skin being displayed by men who, for the sake of those with weak stomachs, shouldn’t have been doing so. But the mythical legends of NASCAR fans routinely getting sloppy drunk, throwing chicken bones and loudly calling out for female “wardrobe malfunctions” were pretty much just that – myths.

On the whole in fact, it was a pretty family-friendly and downright serene crowd. I’ve seen far more fan obnoxiousness at an average NFL game. And when I stopped to think about it, I realized that the noise level at a NASCAR race is probably the most effective crowd control device you could ask for. At those aforementioned NFL games, conflicts usually arose when somebody under the influence of various questionable substances starts loudly drawing attention to themself. Inevitably, somebody else takes it personally and the name-calling, pushing and shoving begin. And that’s just the players on the field. It’s much worse in the stands.

But at a NASCAR event, no matter how loudly somebody stands up and yells, nobody can hear a word they’re saying anyway – so why bother?

As for the race itself, Jimmy Johnson, who at last count had won every Sprint Cup championship since the invention of the wheel, jumped immediately out to a lead and built steadily upon it, lapping the last car in the field after just nine times around the track. The less-heralded Marcus Ambrose followed Johnson out and the two pulled steadily away from the pack.

Then, in the 10th lap came the first yellow caution flag, thus beginning my orientation to the less exciting part of a NASCAR race.

Understandably, every time there is a crash or other incident severe enough to alter the track and create unsafe conditions, the race continues under caution, requiring everyone to throttle back, settle into their place in line and “maintain a reasonable pace” until everything is squared away on the track. This is not an overly entertaining process.

The interesting thing though, is that the definition of “reasonable pace” is a little squishy, so pretty much everyone is able to drive fast enough to catch up to the car in front of them. Which means that if you’ve built up a 10, 12, 15 second lead, as Johnson did on at least one occasion, that pretty much evaporates under a yellow flag. I’m still not entirely sure I love that rule.

On the one hand, it keeps the race close pretty much throughout the day, as the leaders are drawn back to the pack every time caution laps are necessitated. It also adds to the intrigue of the “chess match” nature of the race as teams continually adjust their pitting strategy. And the sudden increase in the combined roar of the engines as they go full throttle on the restart is the absolute best part of the race. It really is comparable to a violent thunderstorm – without the pesky lightning bolts and pelting rain.

On the other hand, there’s not a ton of reward for excellence maintained throughout the day. And on this particular day, the timing of laps run under caution quite literally decided the outcome. With less than ten laps to go in the 110 lap race, the seventh yellow flag came out, reducing the race to a seven lap sprint to the finish between Johnson and Ambrose.

Except that Ambrose, leading the race at that point, failed to “maintain a reasonable pace” – in fact, he failed to keep any pace at all. Trying to conserve fuel for the last big push once the green flag was waved, he throttled down just a tad too much…and stalled out coming up a hill.

It immediately brought back repressed memories of my buddy Feesh trying to teach me how to drive a stick shift going up Ithaca’s steep South Hill. After several downhill rollbacks, I eventually put the car in neutral, engaged the emergency brake and got out of the car to turn it back over to Feesh. I’m going to bet that the smirk on his face that day fell into the same general category as the look that Ambrose received from his team when the race was over.

And it was over for him, at least in terms of his chances to win. He was penalized by having to restart from several positions back, in the place he had drifted to when he stalled. Consequently, when the race restarted Johnson had clear sailing to cruise to the win. I’m not a NASCAR expert, but I’m going to guess that in the eyes of the fans Ambrose “achieved” the equivalent of having a ground ball go through his legs in the ninth inning, or fumbling on the goal line on a game-winning touchdown drive.

And so came to an end my first NASCAR experience. While I can’t say that I’m an out and out convert, I would bet that this won’t be my last race. And in the Random Observation department, the lingering image that I have is not so much the race itself, but more about the crowd. For what it’s worth, the number of people I saw walking hand-in-hand – either couples innocently strolling, or parents guiding their kids – at Infineon Raceway dwarfed the number of people doing the same at Pebble Beach. I’m just saying.