NASCAR
Sam Alipour, ESPN The Magazine 9y

Shark diving with Kasey Kahne

We are halfway through our dive off the coast of the Bahamas, kneeling on the sand 10 feet apart and 35 feet below the surface of the Atlantic, when Kasey Kahne's alarming words ring through my wired-for-sound scuba mask. "I feel him hitting me in the back of the head," the NASCAR driver says.

All things considered, I'm cool with that Shaq-sized Caribbean reef shark head-butting Kahne. Because then it isn't head-butting me.

But now Shaq Shark and his many feisty finned friends appear to lose interest in my dive partner. "Oh boy," Kahne says. "Now they're headed your way." Most peel off, and one zooms past, but one pumps the brakes at my waist, hovers and, holy mother of --

"You just got kicked by a shark!"

Technically, I got finned, square in my deep end, by a shark. Hurting and so very scared, I'm now thinking only one thing: We're going to die today.

It didn't seem like a crazy idea when Kahne's team cast its line, inviting SportsCenter to join the driver for a shark-diving excursion that came highly recommended by the folks at Discovery Channel's "Shark Week," the sponsor of Kahne's No. 5 Chevrolet at the Daytona race on July 5. Surely the experts at Discovery, not to mention Hendrick Motorsports, owner of Kahne's ride, wouldn't put either of us in harm's way. "It's safe," a rep confirmed. "But we're buying insurance for everybody, just in case." Here's the account of one NASCAR star's highly insured dive into the deep blue sea.

JUNE 10, 9:30 A.M. ARRIVAL AT THE TRACK

Kahne, 35, arrives on the dock at Stuart Cove's, a diving outfit in Nassau, with a perma-grin and a skip to his step. "I've always watched 'Shark Week,' and I'm really interested in the different types of sharks and their aggressiveness," Kahne says. "To learn more, and actually swim with sharks, sounds like a blast."

A blast is one way to describe a date with Jaws. Stupid is another. Really, what could be scarier? "Kevin Harvick in a restart," he quips.

Good point. Kahne is battle-tested, his courage steeled by a 12-year Cup career that includes five Chase appearances and 17 wins in 413 races. This year Kahne is off to a solid start, running eighth in the standings to date, but he has yet to win a race. So how will this excursion help him on the track? Kahne explains, "They're big, they're dangerous, and maybe they'll get me over that hump, winning some races."

11 A.M. QUALIFYING

After a classroom session and hands-on training in a swimming pool with our diving instructor, Charlotte Faulkner, the scuba school results are in: Kahne won the pole, and I'm back in the garage with a blown engine. "Just stay calm, stay relaxed," the driver says. That laid-back vibe is the product of his upbringing in Enumclaw, a rural town in Washington's east Puget Sound lowlands, just about the most relaxed region in America. There, he earned his first paycheck by plucking rocks from the family farm.

The second of three kids born to Kelly and Tammy Kahne, young Kasey wasn't a stereotypical middle child prone to attention-grabbing outbursts, and the adult one is no different. When Kahne does have something to say, which isn't often, he's soft-spoken and unerringly polite -- even when he's zinging me about my scuba gear's color scheme, which differs from his blue-tinted equipment. "Pink really suits you," he assures me.

12:30 P.M. START YOUR ENGINES!

Anchored off the coast of Nassau, we try our best to ignore the torpedo-shaped blobs that circle our boat while listening as Beto Barbosa, this outfit's shark whisperer, delivers the opposite of a pep talk.

Among Barbosa's interesting factoids: The largest of the native Caribbean reef sharks, adult females, are nearly double our size at 10 feet long. (Kahne is 5-foot-9.) Reefers are known to exhibit aggressive behavior, such as creating contact with divers, when there's food in the water; today there'll be chum in the water, and excessive motion on our part could lead to a bite, so it would behoove us to keep our hands at our chhests, which is a pretty unnatural position to take when you're A) swimming or B) getting felt up by a species of shark credited with 27 attacks on humans since 1960. None of the attacks was fatal, but almost all happened in the spring and summer -- uh, like today.

What does Cool Hand Kahne think about all of this? "I'm thinking it's different than what I expected," he says with a sheepish grin. "I'm nervous."

1 P.M. GREEN FLAG

Splash.

Led by our crew chief, Faulkner, we begin our slow climb down a dive rope, popping our ears to adjust for ocean pressure at every turn of our hands. Kahne naturally makes it to the floor first. Our fancy masks have a built-in intercom system, and I know I can count on Kahne to inform me of an incoming threat.

"It's a different world down here," he says.

Could you be more specific?

"Yeah, I see lots of sharks. Wow, they're bigger than I thought they were. Wow!"

Actually, be less specific.

1:10 P.M. YELLOW FLAG FOR CAUTION

Thirty-five feet down, on the sandy bottom, all manner of sea life swarms us: Nemo-looking cuties, snakelike creatures, hubcap-shaped creepers. At least six sand-colored, seemingly curious reef sharks are taking turns staring us down in highly intimidating swim-bys.

"Um, so yeah, these guys get pretty close," Kahne says as one tough son of a fish with a hook in its lip swims past his nose. The driver switches his nerves into astonishment: "Their eyes are amazing!"

1:15 P.M. RED FLAG

We arrive at what Faulkner calls "the Shark arena," which sounds like something we absolutely should avoid. It's a man-made circle of rocks 10 feet in diameter. We kneel around its perimeter and watch as Barbosa swims over with his trunk of chum, which he parks at the arena's center.

The shark feed begins, and all hell breaks loose. At least a dozen sharks emerge from the shadows of the sea to snatch fish guts with ferocious snaps of their jaws, our very own Sharknado swirling around us.

When they're not feasting, they're trading paint with Kahne's noggin or pummeling my reproductive organs.

Kahne isn't helping. Earlier he was a shy, small-town boy of few words. Now he's Mike Joy calling the Daytona 500.

"Look at the one behind you, left shoulder!"

I don't want to look.

"Now he's right on top!"

I wish you'd stop talking.

1:30 P.M. BLACK FLAG FOR CONSULTATION

Luis Aldea, a producer for SportsCenter, radios in from the boat above with a reminder. Apparently I'm supposed to be conducting an interview.

Who's the least likely NASCAR driver to be down here with us? "Dale Jr.," Kahne says.

Most likely to scare these sharks if he was to join? "Maybe Kurt [Busch]."

Wouldn't it be more fun to swim at our hotel pool? "No."

1:40 P.M.: WHITE FLAG -- FINAL LAP

"Look at that thing!" Kahne yelps. "What kind of shark is that?" No clue, but Barbosa's head is on a swivel tracking the newcomer, a large brown shark with what appears to be a mustache, curled at the edges like some unironic hipster, but if hipsters had teeth with serrated edges. He makes a beeline for the chum trunk and repeatedly rams it with his nose.

"He wants in that box, bad!" Kahne says, and Barbosa wants him out of it. He shoves the shark before trying a gentle kick, a headlock -- everything but a suplex to keep him at bay. Then, our fearless leader locks the chum trunk. Hallelujah! The shark feed must end.

Barbosa would explain the stakes later: If the ill-tempered nurse shark had succeeded in wrestling the trunk away, chum would have flooded the water, which would have led to an incredibly dangerous feeding frenzy, and then ... Honestly, I tuned Barbosa out at that point. Easier on the heart that way.

Kahne tells me over our intercom that he has a headache. I'm dealing with a chest ache. Clearly we're on the same page: Captain, we'd like to go home now.

2 P.M.: CHECKERED FLAG

Back on the boat, laughter and breathless post-dive analysis flow with equal gusto between two conquerors of the sea. "It was awesome down there," Kahne says. "Seeing the sharks up close and personal, touching me, swinging their tail at me, it was so different than what I expected."

Looking to keep our buzz going, we exchange ideas for future adventures. I'm thinking golf. Kahne, of course, is thinking "something in the Alaskan wilderness." But for one of us, an even gnarlier undertaking awaits: fatherhood. Kahne says he and his girlfriend, Sam Sheets, are expecting a baby boy in October, which raises a question.

"No, I wouldn't let him go shark diving," he replies. "Absolutely not."

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