The Pass in the Grass That Wasn’t Really a Pass

Bill Had Done Everything Except Keep the Lead

Elliott had won the pole and dominated the first two segments. When the final sprint began, he had every reason to expect the race to continue behaving itself.

Then Geoff Bodine got involved.

Bodine made a move on the restart, the available pavement became crowded, contact followed and Bodine spun. Earnhardt came through the confusion with the lead.

Now Bill Elliott had a fresh problem. He had spent almost the entire race proving his Ford was faster than Dale’s Chevrolet, and with only a handful of laps left he was staring at the back of the No. 3.

That is an irritating way to discover speed is only useful when the slower fellow lets you use it.

Elliott closed in. Earnhardt began making the Chevrolet wider.

Then wider.

There are race cars built to particular dimensions, and there are race cars being driven by Dale Earnhardt with a pile of money sitting at the finish line. NASCAR’s tape measure may have claimed both were the same width. Bill Elliott probably had another opinion.

The two started leaning on each other as the laps disappeared. Elliott had the quicker car. Earnhardt had possession of the pavement Bill needed.

Nobody was volunteering anything.

Then Dale Ran Out of Racetrack

Coming through the tri-oval, Elliott was alongside Earnhardt and the cars touched again.

Dale’s Chevrolet headed left.

The racetrack did not.

There is a useful little survival instinct most drivers develop when a stock car leaves the pavement at speed. It generally involves lifting off the throttle, gathering up whatever is still pointed forward and trying to avoid converting the car into several smaller pieces.

Dale went into the grass with all four tires.

The Chevrolet got sideways. The infield started coming past the windshield at a speed normally associated with the straightaway, and Bill Elliott was still right there trying to take the lead.

The sensible move was obvious.

Dale declined it.

He kept his foot in the Chevrolet, wrestled the thing straight enough to remain useful and drove back onto the pavement.

Still leading.

That last part is important, because somebody eventually gave this episode a name that has confused the story ever since.

The Famous Pass Included No Passing

Everybody knows it as the Pass in the Grass.

Dale Earnhardt did not pass anybody.

He was leading before he entered the grass, leading while the Chevrolet was chewing through the infield and still leading when he returned to the racetrack.

Calling it the Pass in the Grass is like calling a fellow hanging onto his wallet during a mugging a successful bank withdrawal.

Nothing changed hands.

The more accurate name would have been something like the Refusal to Get Passed While Temporarily Using the Lawn.

That probably would not have fit as nicely on the souvenir merchandise.

But the bad name should not distract from the good part. Earnhardt had been knocked completely off the racing surface during a flat-out fight for the lead, got sideways in the grass and somehow treated the whole expedition as a minor lane-selection problem.

Charlotte had stopped paving.

Dale had not stopped racing.

Grass Is Usually a Poor Racing Surface

The infield was not some secret high-speed shortcut waiting for a clever driver to discover it. Grass offers considerably less cooperation than asphalt, especially when a stock car arrives sideways with the throttle still involved.

That is why the sight became famous.

The No. 3 was not neatly clipping an inside corner with two tires. It was completely off the pavement, moving fast enough for the situation to become ugly in a hurry, with Elliott still close enough that surrendering the lead would have been the normal price of getting the car back under control.

Earnhardt somehow paid a different price.

He lost the pavement.

He did not lose the position.

For a few seconds, the definition of Charlotte Motor Speedway became whatever surface happened to be underneath Dale Earnhardt’s tires.

As long as the Chevrolet remained approximately pointed toward the finish line, Dale seemed willing to keep considering it racetrack.

Bill Was Still Not Finished

A trip through the grass would have been enough excitement for most races. Elliott and Earnhardt still had business left.

Bill stayed after him. The two continued racing hard, more contact followed and eventually Elliott suffered a flat tire that sent him to pit road and removed him from contention.

He finished fourteenth.

Earnhardt went on to win ahead of Terry Labonte and Tim Richmond.

Consider the arithmetic.

Bill Elliott led 121 laps.

Dale Earnhardt led ten.

Unfortunately for Bill, one of Dale’s ten came with a checkered flag attached to it.

There are days when dominating the race earns you a trophy. There are other days when it earns you an excellent view of another fellow collecting the money.

Bill was experiencing the second kind.

The Cool-Down Lap Wasn’t Especially Cool

The checkered flag did not immediately restore everybody’s good humor.

After the race, Elliott drove over to Earnhardt and door-slammed the No. 3 to make sure Dale had received a properly formatted summary of Bill’s opinion.

Bill Elliott was generally regarded as one of the calmer fellows in the garage.

Dale had managed to use up some of that too.

That little post-race delivery helps explain why the grass excursion cannot be separated from the fight around it. This was not a driver innocently losing control and making a spectacular save. Elliott and Earnhardt had been leaning on each other while fighting for the lead, and neither one was particularly interested in leaving Charlotte believing the other fellow had been reasonable.

Dale won the race.

Bill still got the last bump.

A Bad Name for a Magnificent Save

The nickname survived because it sounds exactly like something racing history ought to remember.

Pass in the Grass.

Three words. Easy to say. Easy to print. Much easier than explaining that Earnhardt was already ahead when the car got knocked off the pavement and therefore passed precisely nobody.

But getting the name wrong almost improves the story.

The famous part was not Dale finding some miraculous shortcut through the lawn. It was the fact that leaving the racetrack failed to convince him he should surrender the lead.

Elliott had the faster car.

Dale had the position.

Bill helped remove the pavement.

Earnhardt kept the position anyway.

The Lawn Wasn’t Supposed to Count

That is why the scene lasted while thousands of cleaner, faster laps disappeared into old race results.

Anybody can understand it without seeing a stopwatch. Two drivers are fighting over the lead. One gets knocked completely into the grass. The car gets sideways. Every normal expectation says the fight is over.

Then the black No. 3 comes back onto the pavement still in front.

No complicated strategy. No obscure rule. No explanation from the crew chief required.

Dale simply refused to let leaving the racetrack interfere with racing.

Bill Elliott had spent 121 laps proving he owned the fastest car at Charlotte.

Dale Earnhardt spent a few seconds proving he had a considerably shorter definition of where Charlotte ended.

And somehow the move where nobody passed anybody became one of the most famous passes in NASCAR history.

That sounds about right for Racing Shenanigans.