Guest Column By Cathy Elliott

From February through November, stretching coast to coast and spanning many thousands of miles, the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series has raced just as hard as it could to reach its final destination: Champion’s Week in Las Vegas.

Champion’s Week is the top of the mountain, the icing on the cake, the big flashy show tune at the end of an episode of “Glee.”

Scheduled activities this year include the NASCAR NMPA Myers Brothers awards luncheon on Thursday, where deserving guys like the Rookie of the Year, Crew Chief of the Year and the Most Popular Driver get what’s coming to them.

The Myers Brothers post-event celebration includes a Victory Lap, naturally, but this one is multiplied by 12, as all of the drivers who made the 2010 Chase for the NASCAR Sprint Cup roar their way down the famous Las Vegas Strip. For sheer audacity and flash, I guess the Strip figured it had finally met its match in NASCAR, since it shuts down entirely for this cool spectacle. Smart choice.

Tony Stewart has a reputation for telling it like it is, but on Thursday evening, he lets fans call it like they see it at the fourth annual Stewie Awards, where the Cup season’s most memorable, and often outlandish, moments are recognized, applauded and occasionally mocked.

On Friday evening, the Wynn Hotel hosts the awards ceremony, including a lovely meal, some live music and the handing out of a few million dollars. I hear the band this year is called Rascal Flatts or something like that. That’s an unusual name. I wonder if they’re any good?

None of us could get to Champion’s Week fast enough, but for a while, I didn’t think I was going to get here at all.

Travel day began early but efficiently. In an uncharacteristic burst of both energy and adult behavior, I had checked in and paid for my overstuffed bag – hey, a girl’s gotta have shoes – online the previous evening. Too excited to sleep, I was up at 3:30 a.m. and on the way to the airport by 5. No restrictor plates were required at this hour of the morning; I was on Daytona time.

Figuring I had already lapped most of the field, I was expecting clean air for the rest of the day. Wrong. Thanks to weather issues in Atlanta, I ran into trouble in the form of a canceled flight and a long line of disgruntled travelers in front of me, all jockeying for position. Atlanta, I have noticed, certainly does have a knack for shaking things up.

Just a handful of miles from Darlington as the crow flies, I found myself smack in the middle of that dreaded Turn 2 wall. Regrouping was required if I wanted to see the checkers.

Somehow I managed to work my way through the field with some sneaky Richmond-like elbowing and maneuvering, and made the cut for a later flight which at its end would make my day complete.

I went airborne in Atlanta at last (write your own Carl Edwards/Brad Keselowski joke here), and gave a bit of an accidental nudge to Texas in the middle of the trip, where I briefly fretted over the possibility of being roughed up by Jeff Gordon. Unnecessarily, I might add.

I missed out on a few things I wanted and needed to do, but in the end I was safely and successfully deposited at the ultimate NASCAR destination. It can’t last long – unless of course you’re Jimmie Johnson – but for now, I am an official race Wynner.

How appropriate is that?