Oh, that burns.

Not necessarily in a bad way, mind you. It's sweet and fruity, like apple cider with a monstrous kick. Rolling over the tongue, it has a pleasant taste that reminds you of hay rides or stringing holiday lights. Then you swallow it -- and that's when the burn begins. That's when you realize for certain that no, this isn't cider. This is the kind of stuff that people have gone to jail for brewing in their backyards. This is a distant relative to the hooch the likes of Junior Johnson used to haul down mountain roads in cars that were hollowed out and turbo-charged.

This is moonshine.

The jar has been in the back of my refrigerator, behind the brown mustard and the citrus marinade, for years. I have no idea who distilled it, where it came from, how old it is, what it's made of, what it was filtered through, or what the alcohol content is. The liquid is copper-colored, and clear enough that you can see a cinnamon stick bobbing around within. I've never had the courage to open it, much less taste it. I've heard stories that backyard liquors can kill you, that they're filtered through old car radiators, that they can contain trace bits of antifreeze, that they can be loaded with toxins. I've never had any desire to unscrew the lid on that Mason jar and bring this unknown stuff to my lips.

Until now. Johnson is being inducted into the NASCAR Hall of Fame on Sunday, as part of an inaugural class that also includes Dale Earnhardt, Richard Petty, Bill France Sr. and Bill France Jr. All of them had major impacts on the sport, but only one of them is as equally well-known for his connection to the fire water that helped provide NASCAR with many of its first drivers and cars. Legend has it that Johnson invented the "bootlegger's turn," the 180-degree whip-around that helped 'shine haulers evade the law. Eventually the revenuers caught up to him, though, and he served 11 months in a federal prison.

So there seems no better person to ask about the role bootlegging played in helping to get early NASCAR off the ground. "It is the start of NASCAR," Johnson said by cell phone in the midst of a busy Hall of Fame week. "There were a lot of people that put money into race tracks and cars and stuff, and NASCAR had to have it to race. Because nobody else had the money to race except pretty much the bootleggers."

Drivers would hone their skills on winding mountain roads, driving cars so fast that it was only natural that they'd start showing up at race tracks. Lloyd Seay and Roy Hall, early stars for renowned owner Raymond Parks, would race at Atlanta's Lakewood Speedway by day and haul moonshine at night. Federal officers from the Alcohol Tax Unit, outfitted in vehicles that had little hope of matching the souped-up cars of the bootleggers, would try to chase them down. Sometimes they were successful, and they'd arrest the moonshiners and chop up their stills. But more times than not, the cars were too quick, the bootleggers too good behind the wheel.

Related:
• Johnson reflects on his Hall of Fame nod
• Johnson's still part of pre-NASCAR exhibit (Continued)