Life in the Fast Lane

You win as a team

When you coach and support a superstar like Jeff Gordon, you give him the best equipment possible, you give him the information he needs, and then you get out of the way. But racing is a team sport. Everyone who races pretty much has the same car and the same equipment. What sets us apart is our people. I like to talk about our "team IQ" - because none of us is as smart as all of us.

I think a lot about people, management, and psychology: Specifically, how can I motivate my guys and make them gel as a team? I surround them with ideas about teamwork. I read every leadership book I can get my hands on. One thing that I took from my reading is the idea of a "circle of strength." When the Rainbow Warriors meet, we always put our chairs in a circle. That's a way of saying that we're stronger as a team than we are on our own.

I also base rewards on team performance rather than individual performance. When our car wins, everybody shares in the prize money. And everybody gets a cut of what I make. I put a percentage of my bonus into the team account. When I sign a personal-service contract and I get paid to sign autographs or to give a talk, everybody shares in what I earn. I wouldn't be in a position to earn that income if it weren't for the team. Everyone should feel as if his signature is on the finished product.

Push for perfection - but accept imperfection

This sport is so competitive that you must never stop trying to improve. Even when the car is running well, I make Jeff find something wrong with it. A lot of people who hear him talking to me on the radio think that he's complaining. He's not. I've got a series of questions that I ask him over and over. I'm pumping him for information. I'm trying to find out exactly how Jeff feels in that car. The only time when we stop working on our setup is when it's time to race.

We always try to make the car perfect. But the car doesn't have to be perfect to win; it just has to be less imperfect than everyone else's car. Last year, on the very first pit stop at the Coca-Cola 600, we dropped the car off the jack and banged up the front end, leaving the car aerodynamically flawed. It took us three or four pit stops to straighten the fender. But we still won. After all, we had hundreds of laps in which to recover from that mistake.

Take risks, but don't gamble

When we're going into a race, we always have a clear strategy. But we can't predict exactly what's going to happen. Change is part of racing. Sometimes during a race, it looks as if I'm making a daring call. Well, I may be taking a risk, but I'm not gambling. I've calculated everything beforehand. I'm constantly looking at four or five possible scenarios: At the next pit stop, are we going to put in all of the gas or only half of it? Are we going to add air to the tires or let some out? Are we going to raise or lower the track bar to adjust the "roll center" - which alters the steering? There are so many variables to consider, and the slightest adjustment can make a huge difference in the car's performance. A race may come down to whether we change two tires or four. I need to make the right call.

[Editor's Note: Two days after this interview, the Coca-Cola 600 came down to just such a decision about tires. With 21 laps to go and with Gordon trailing the leaders, a caution flag went up. While the other cars changed two tires, Evernham opted to take longer in the pit and to change all four. When the green flag came out, Gordon easily sped past the others - and on to victory.]

To speed up, slow down

I still have to prove this principle to Jeff sometimes. I'll say, "Go out and bust me a lap." He'll drive the car hard, really work it. He'll mash the pedal on a straightaway, drive down into a corner, jam the brakes, turn the corner, and mash the pedal again. Then I'll say, "Now take it easy, and drive a smooth lap." And by letting the car do the work, he actually improves his time.

The same principle applies to a pit stop. Watch Mike Trower, my best tire changer, at work, and you'll swear that the guy next to him will be done first. You'll be thinking, "I wish Mike would hurry up." But nobody can beat him. He just looks as if he's going slow. It's all in the choreography. If you watch Mike change a tire, you'll see how efficient he is: He's so deliberate that he never has to hit a lug nut twice. It's "zzzt - zzzt - zzzt." Nice and smooth.

Don't strut your stuff

There aren't many secrets in the Winston Cup, so you've got to protect as much information as you can. We want to have the fastest car on the track, but we don't want everybody else to know how fast we are. We don't show our hand until it's time to race or to qualify.

We also try to mix things up on race day. We don't want to fall into patterns or to tip off the competition about our next pit stop. Since everybody can hear us on the scanners, we might use a code word to signal whether we're changing two tires or four. Sometimes, when the car is running well, Jeff might get on the radio and complain to me that the steering's tight, even though he's about to pass another driver. And that driver's crew chief will fall for it: "Yeah, Gordon can't pass you right now, because he's tight." The driver will leave a little opening and - boom - we're past him.