In my daydreams I imagined it to be the best day of my life, but I was horribly wrong. The sun was unbearably hot. It was made even hotter by the 100,000 people I shared a grandstand with. We all smelled of sun, dirt and sweat – some even of beer. However the sound of turbo-charged engines, and watching 25 race cars almost fly as they raced by, was enough to compensate for the heat. This one race would climax eight grueling months of work. I carefully watched “my guy” gracefully pass the field. I watched him so very closely, in awe of his every move. His beautiful blue and white car along with his gold helmet gleamed in the sunlight, making all the others look like dull heaps of carbon fiber. Faster and faster he went, devouring those that dared to cross his path - the path that led to victory. One time he flew by, going three wide into a turn – that was his unforgettable trademark move. That same lap, he crashed. I thought nothing of it; crashes happen all the time in a sport of speed, aggression, and yes, danger. But this was a crash that he didn’t walk away from. My idol, the one who inspired me to reach for the stars, was gone. It couldn’t be so, heroes don’t die. All my past beliefs seemed to crumble in that one moment, and I was forced to face the inconceivable. The sound of horsepower and the din of the crowd faded into nothingness. A feeling deeper than sadness overwhelmed me. The air around me seemed to thin, and I found myself gasping for it. I felt as if I would implode from the pressure forcing itself upon me. Fragments of thoughts whirled about in my head. Freak accident...Greg Moore…24 years old...#99…hero…idol. Gone forever. Then, my mind cleared and focused on one, individual memory. It was a day just over a year ago, a day just like this one. It was the day that I met my hero. His words were still clear in my mind, and I could see his tall, wiry body frame outlined by the sunlight. He looked as if he could be one of God’s angels - and now I know he is.