John Bandimere's fast times.

• Author: Schley, Stewart

Great news for truth-seekers: You don't have to trek to a remote Indian Ashram to learn the secrets of life. You can just go to the drag races in Morrison and look up John Bandimere Jr.

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]

At a place where cars gulp nitro methane like Gatorade and hit 300 MPH in a few seconds, Bandimere has divined some of life's essential truths.

Like the importance of humility. It's the sort of thing you can't help but learn when you're sticking your hand into the foul mess of a portable toilet to fish out a set of keys dropped by a distraught young woman. Bandimere did that once.

Or the virtue of loyalty. Lawyers advised Bandimere to file for bankruptcy in the late 1980s after his speedway lost its National Hot Rod Association certification. He thought about it. For about a second. But shutting down would have been an unthinkable slap to Bandimere's father, who started hosting Friday night drag races on a barren strip of land near the Dakota Hogback in the 1950s. In one of the worst financial environments Colorado has known, during the savings and loan breakdown, Bandimere didn't just dodge a Chapter 11 filing, but convinced two banks to lend him $4.7 million to transform Bandimere Speedway into a marquee drag strip--and restore his NHRA credentials.

Then there's the faith thing. Eight years ago Bandimere was on the verge of selling his land and building a new facility when he made a private compact with God: If the deal ran into serious snags, Bandimere would take that as a sign he should call things off. When opponents of a new motor sport complex Bandimere was planning to build in Watkins, Colo., passed a referendum to derail the effort, the unassuming Bandimere got to thinking that there was something bigger going on.

At a meeting of attorneys who were advising Bandimere on ways to persevere, he calmly announced he was done, knowing his departure would allow another group to take over the project. Bandimere returned to Morrison and resumed doing what he's always done: counsel young drivers, encourage his staff, on occasion man the tower on Friday nights. A few weeks later, the rival group abandoned plans that would have competed for Bandimere's drivers and fans.

"I told my staff, 'When God closes a door, he always opens a window," Bandimere says.

Faith and family have guided just about everything Bandimere has done. As a youth football coach in Jefferson County in the 1970s, Bandimere gathered his players for pre-game and...