Yea, buddy. They go racing — or testing in this case — in the northern portion of the Flower-da coast because the winter weather is so iffy and how else to attract tourists? Been that way since even before Frank Lockhart lost a tire on his Stutz and sailed from the beach into the horizon on a gritty, pulsating day.

At least the current fuel crisis is not enough to close the gates on Daytona’s 24-hour as with the original OPEC strike, but for sure the weather and cost of gas make it easy to get a cheap motel room of any choice at 10 p.m.

The beauty of the 24-hour is everything is relatively easy and the atmosphere among participants is always sunny, even moreso at the annual test days. It’s the new year and living is easy when it comes to banking on last season and changing gears into this one. If you’re at the track in any capacity, that means opportunity is in the air as well as the whine, snap, blip and gutteral thunder of engines on the banking.

If you’re lucky — and we are — these sounds wail beneath a ceiling vaulted by cumulus gold at winter’s early sunset. These days, once more there’s an array of stars from sun up on. Because the France family’s Speedway by the Sea has returned to the road racing glory days with the growth of its in-house sports car series.

This is no time to get series-ous about the inevitable racing politics, of course. Even the personal politics can be set aside from the ever-evolving kaleidescope of who likes whom in this business — unless you’re one of those types that holds over scowls from last year in order to play a marker for this year. It’s just a testing weekend for chrissakes, Juan.

Ricardo Zonta tests the tire wall at Turn 1 with a new Lola, perhaps with the assistance of tricky Pirellis new to the Grand-Am (which will make the Rolex Series racier and perhaps even return a nice calendar to my doorstep). He suffers memory loss — really. But it’s not like driving the man-o-wars such as the old 917-30’s back when there were some who still believed it was better to be thrown clear in case of fire. So the atmosphere has the hue of who can do it better, not who can turn the screws up on tempting fate.

Fate continues to lurk. The life cycle includes sons of old friends as well as old friends, some more excited about the coming season than others. The hard rain inevitably falls somewhere in the paddock. The Dallara replaces the Doran, the Coyote replaces the Fabcar, the Crawford is back home in the shops for a re-build. A testing ban makes it tough for all the newcomers to beat the reigning Riley, which has so scattered the opposition previously.

Mostly it’s more fun than usual. Jimmie Johnson talks about having a tough time against Michael Schumacher in the four-wheel drive segment of the Race of Champions at Wembley, the sport’s international Christmas card. Helio Castroneves talks about being in better shape after winning at Dancing With The Stars, as well as a heretofor unknown appreciation for clothes with sequins.

Patrick Dempsey thanks the Hollywood writer’s strike for assisting his racing career, i.e. more seat time. Jimmy Vasser wisecracks that he once won this race in the Camel Light class and all he got was a cap with series sponsor’s name on it. He wants to win it again and get the Rolex as hope springs eternal for that over-all victory and another piece of immortality — if not one day’s worth of real satisfaction.

A lot of people dis-miss the Pirellis, but that’s normal for a changeover in spec tires. Going from Hoosiers to the P-Zeros, after all, is quite like moving from Indiana to Italy. As good as that might be, an adjustment is necessary.

I’m having to adjust to recognizing that I’m the only guy in the windowless infield cell block, otherwise known as the media center, who can recall from memory what year the Great Baldwini, otherwise known as Atlanta’s Jack Baldwin, won the GTU class at Daytona. (’Twas seemingly less than 24 years back.)

The new year comes without the prospect of seeing Bill France Jr. in a little Kia runabout, the stealth power behind the throne of America’s first family of racing. Nor will you see a full-blown factory car challenging the ides of Hades on the banking like a muscular Porsche 917 because the France family likes it that way. At least a Ford-powered car could win it all come the last week of January.

There’s a handshake with Jim France and an honest appreciation for re-building one of the world’s great endurance races. It now includes yet another skirmish between a couple of other powerful racing names along the lines of Chip Ganassi and Roger Penske. The latter is preparing for Le Mans by running at Daytona, just like the good ol’ days when Mark Donohue drove for him in a blue Ferrari.

Like any motor sport, endurance racing is an acquired taste as well as a lifestyle. (The icebreaker for the hoseheads and Stewarts of midget racing, in other words, is in Tulsa at the Chilli Bowl.)

I make no claims for product liability. There are some people who think endurance racing is like watching paint dry. Which reminds me that I’d better get home to finish that remodeling before the 24-hour, the time capsule of fun racing before the 50th annual Daytona 500 sends motel rates into the sphere of an Italian villa on the Mediterranean and talking with Jimmie Johnson is as easy as getting an audience with the Pope, if not Michael Schumacher.

Jonathan Ingram can be reached at jonathan@jingrambooks.com.