In New York, the ceremony is only the beginning of it

NEW YORK -- The velvet rope isn't really a rope at all, but one of those metal barriers police use to keep crowds at bay. On this Wednesday morning it's separating the throng in Times Square from the 10 Nextel Cup cars lined up along 44th Street, the starting line for the sport's annual lap around Midtown Manhattan. As the firesuit-clad drivers emerge, fans and media members are all pushed back to clear the way. That is, until a NASCAR representative appears out of nowhere, orders you to follow him, and virtually thrusts you into a temporary passenger seat wedged into Kevin Harvick's No. 29 Chevrolet.

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Welcome to the kickoff of Champions Week, the year-end celebration that concludes Friday night with the Nextel Cup banquet at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. Jimmie Johnson may be the champion, but this week NASCAR also honors all of the top 10 drivers in final points. And No. 10 is Harvick, fresh from an appearance at a convention for associate sponsor Camping World in Kentucky, who slides into his red and yellow racecar and flips a switch to make it howl.

It may be a show car now, but this machine is still very much the real thing. A team representative says it was one of the first Cars of Tomorrow built at Richard Childress Racing, and the car owner himself confirms that it was used in competition a handful of times. There's no passenger door, so despite a buttoned blazer and topcoat, the reporter along for the ride has to reach inside the window opening, grab hold of the roll cage, swing the left leg in, and carefully lower his 6-foot-1 frame onto a stadium seat perched atop a foam block. Oh, and then there's the matter of this duffel bag containing Kevin's street clothes. Would you mind holding onto that as well?

The vibration made by the 750-horsepower engine can be felt to the bone. So can every pothole or bump in the road. So can the 40-degree cold, pouring in through the window openings. But all that's quickly forgotten as you make the left turn onto Broadway, closed to all traffic except the Nextel Cup cars, and you have the canyons of neon and concrete virtually to yourself. Carl Edwards, the driver in front of Harvick, spins his tires and fishtails to play to the crowd, pressed three- and four-deep in Times Square. Sure, TV ratings are down. But the mass of humanity witnessing this, observers say, is bigger than it was last year.

The line of cars winds down Madison Avenue, past St. Patrick's Cathedral and the Museum of Modern Art, and back to Broadway. Every other person, it seems, is snapping a photo with a cell phone camera. There are waves from doormen in top hats, fist-pumps from businessmen in suits, and scowls from those who want to cross the street and get to work. But the only real casualty is the rear bumper of Matt Kenseth's No. 17 car, clearly dented from a bump by Kyle Busch.

It's only the beginning. Succeeding in NASCAR's premier series takes dedication, perseverance, stamina and strength. So does Champions Week, a continuous loop of receptions, engagements, dinners, toasts, luncheons, introductions and interviews that tests the mettle of everyone from Johnson down to the lowliest of reporter or public relations rep. The banquet itself is the part that gets on TV. But it's only a small portion of an entire week of activities that NASCAR and its teams and sponsors use to celebrate success and wield influence. Sure, much of this week is about honoring Johnson, the back-to-back champ. But it's also about getting noticed, and to that extent nothing is too much. (Continued)