H. Scott Hoffman | The Greensboro (N.C.) News & Record

Jerry Nadeau's career as a NASCAR Cup driver came to an end when he crashed during a practice session at Richmond International Raceway in 2003. The one-time Cup race winner needed months of rehabilitation after the accident.

Associated Press

Jerry Nadeau is pulled out of the roof of his car on a backboard after he was seriously injured during practice for the Pontiac 400 at Richmond International Raceway on May 2, 2003.

Photo courtesy of Jerry Nadeau

Dale Earnhardt (left) motions congratulations to Jerry Nadeau after Nadeau won the only Cup race of his career — at Atlanta Motor Speedway in 2000.

Courtesy of Jerry Nadeau

Gerard Nadeau, father of former NASCAR driver Jerry Nadeau, was his son's biggest influence in racing. He died in 2007.

MOORESVILLE, N.C. -- Pictures, posters and other keepsakes adorn a wall in Jerry Nadeau's office. Helmets, diecast cars and T-shirts sit on shelves, untouched except by dust.

Among this montage of memories, two framed items stand out. One is a photo of Nadeau's car beside runner-up Dale Earnhardt's black No. 3 moments after Nadeau had won the 2000 season finale at Atlanta. Earnhardt's left hand juts out of his car, his index finger saluting Nadeau on his first and only NASCAR Winston Cup victory.

"That is the ultimate picture," Nadeau says with a widening grin.

Below that photo is a newspaper clipping from the race. A large picture captures him in Victory Lane, cheeks rosy and bulging smile toothy.

His right hand and that of teammate Jeff Gordon are clasped in celebration.

The headline proclaims: "Happily ever after."

If only it was true.

A head injury suffered five years ago today in a crash at Richmond International Raceway turned Nadeau's ultra-focused life into tumult.

Racing defined Nadeau, and even today, he still struggles to accept that he'll never compete in NASCAR's top series again.

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The son of a racer, Nadeau was doodling race scenes and checkered flags even as a 4-year-old -- at least when he wasn't driving a go-kart. He won races and titles before competing in Europe in a step-ladder series to Formula One.

He returned to the U.S. to focus on NASCAR. He reached his goal, won and then it was gone.

Nadeau, fuller in the face and midsection these days, still spends his days pondering and wondering: Why him? What next?

"I need to find something, do something that inspires me," the 37-year-old says behind the wheel of his Denali.

Tucked in a bag on a seat is the uniform he wore at Atlanta during his victory. He plans to have it framed.

"Racing was an inspiration to me," he said. "It was something that I'll never get back. I've got to find something that is equivalent that I can be happy with."

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Nadeau remembers the days leading to that 2003 Richmond spring race. He remembers testing at Lowe's Motor Speedway and being the "fastest car, by far." He remembers visiting injured soldiers at Walter Reed Army Medical Center that week with other drivers. He remembers qualifying 12th-fastest at Richmond and the final practice, where he again was fast.

He remembers coming into the garage early in the final practice session the day before the race, so his team could make an adjustment to the car.

"Here, go try this," Nadeau recalls crew chief Ryan Pemberton saying as he sent his driver back out."I did three or four laps ... And boom."

Memories of the day end there.

A video replay caught thick, white smoke trailing Nadeau's spinning car like a comet's tail. Nadeau's car performed a half-spin as it slid up the track before slamming the concrete wall on the driver side.

"I just," Nadeau stops and sighs, "made a mistake."

He blames himself because he's found no other explanation.

Nothing broke on the car.

Numerous viewings of the crash proved inconclusive because the car already was spinning toward the wall when the camera caught it.

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Nadeau might still be racing had the winter in Lincoln, Neb., been more forgiving.

Thirteen inches of snow that February and 11 days of sub-freezing temperatures delayed crash-testing of a new safety barrier that was being developed by the University of Nebraska's Midwest Roadside Safety Facility.

The test didn't take place until mid-March and more work was needed. Richmond would not have the SAFER barrier in May, as was hoped by series and track officials.

The barrier is now standard at every Cup track. It attaches to the concrete wall and cushions the contact, limiting the severity of a driver's injuries.

Only Indianapolis Motor Speedway had the energy-absorbing barriers in all four corners in the spring of 2003. Richmond and New Hampshire were among the next tracks scheduled to have them installed, but the design of those tracks required more time to get the alignment right.

Both installed the barrier in time for their fall races that year, but a few months too late for Nadeau.

The impact of his crash remains among the hardest recorded since NASCAR began using crash data recorders in 2002.

The accident sheared three lesions in the right side of his brain, literally tearing it apart. He suffered a partially collapsed left lung, fractured his left shoulder blade and had left-side rib injuries.

Nadeau, in a medically induced coma, remained in critical condition for three days. He did not regain full consciousness for nearly three weeks. He still experiences constant numbness on the left side of his body, though that is about the only physical side effect that remains.

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A small sign next to the dirt oval track proclaims it Knock 'em, Sock 'em Speedway. To Nadeau, this was home.

He and his late father built the go-kart track on family land in Troutman, N.C., after Nadeau's accident. There, Nadeau could drive something fast at a time when no one would put him in a car to compete. This was where he raced his dad and friends. This was his rehab.

Near the sign is where Nadeau once flipped and rolled down the embankment about 8 feet. The drop-off is greater along the backstretch, where Sprint Cup driver David Gilliland rolled down more than 15 feet. Nadeau's father also tumbled down about the same place another time. The crash knocked his father's helmet askew, but when he removed it, Nadeau recalls that he smiled.

"We had some good wrecks here," Nadeau says. "It was just a fun place."

Nadeau's mother, Pauline, says she'd sit under a nearby tree and watch Nadeau and his dad race. Pauline Nadeau recalls a time both men finished with their faces caked in red dirt.

Her son's blue eyes shined through the muck, as did her husband's brown eyes.

There are no new memories to make. Nadeau's father died in March 2007, about two months after finding out he had a rare form of thyroid cancer.

Nadeau says he lost his best friend, the person who supported him as he tried to find a direction beyond racing -- whether by tutoring young drivers or planning for a go-kart facility.

"I always try to look into the sky and have him ... tell me what I need to do," Nadeau says.

Pauline could see her son's pain when he visited, his eyes darting around the house like he was still looking for his father.

"I could tell everything was hurting him as he looked toward the race track," she says.

Soon, the track could be gone. His parents' land and house are for sale.

But there is hope for Nadeau. Divorced in 2005, he recently became engaged to Amanda Mumpower. The two have been together 11 months, and they're looking at a wedding early next year.

"I looked at her eyes and that was it," Nadeau says. "The thing that I ... feel the best is knowing that I've got a purpose and a reason."

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Nadeau enjoys poker but admits he's no good.

"I'm honest," he says. "It's hard to bluff."

Just as he can't fake it with a pair of low cards in his hand, he also can't pretend that everything is fine without racing.

His attitude changes on the subject depending on the moment. He has plenty of time to debate himself. Wise financial investments made during his career and selling his home near Lake Norman, and his boat, for a house in a less-pricy zip code means he doesn't need a job to live day-by-day.

But all that free time can be a curse. When Nadeau is looking for something to do, his thoughts often return to racing.

"There's not a weekend that goes by that I don't think about the NASCAR stuff, and I continually watch," he says in his race shop, which stores two racing simulators, his dad's 1979 black Corvette and Nadeau's mud-speckled go-kart, among other items collected from a lifetime of racing.

Later, at a table in a small cafe tucked in a strip mall, Nadeau admits that the crash feels like only yesterday.

"I'm still depressed," he says, his head bowed slightly as he stares out the window.

"I'm still down. I'm still like, why did this happen?

"Something's programmed into everybody's body. I feel that I was programmed to race. I still think on a given day, I can probably go out there for 10 laps and run around with the leaders. My problem is, I've got to get my fire back, and I haven't seemed to found it yet."

Nadeau's attitude changed about half an hour later, after leaving the restaurant.

"I've already faced the fact that I'm never going to go back there and [race] again," he says, speaking in measured, soft tones as he drives past farms to his mother's home.

"I'd love to try one time just for the heck of it, but I've already figured that I'll never do it. I just need to find something else to do."

After visiting his mom's home and seeing the oval dirt track, the desire returns, his voice grows stronger and hope replaces despair.

"I would love to go do a lap around Lowe's," he says.

He led the Coca-Cola 600 two different years at the Concord, N.C., race before mechanical problems set in.

"I would love just to have another test just to see if that would spark my engine," he says.

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Just inside the front doors of Nadeau's shop sits a cardboard box, 3 feet high and 2 feet wide, that Nadeau passes most days without notice.

As he shows off his foot-high glass trophy for winning the Atlanta race in 2000, he opens the box.

Inside is the beat-up seat Nadeau was strapped to when he crashed at Richmond and the bent steering wheel he clung to as the car skated toward the wall.

"[NASCAR] kept calling me, ... kept calling me to come get my stuff or if I wanted my stuff," Nadeau says, displaying the flexed steering wheel. "I picked it up a while ago."

What will happen to it?

"Collect dust," Nadeau sighs. "Nothing I can really do. You don't like to live with these memories."

So why does he?

Nadeau pauses.

"It's a part of what I am now."