If I won a gazillion-dollar lottery, I would buy myself a motor home, a big luxurious one like the NASCAR drivers have with five tip-outs, (I’d want a driver like them, too), so I could spend the next two years going to every NASCAR race.

I would space them, attending only every other one, so that I didn’t have to hurry from one track to the next but could wander leisurely back and forth across the country. The second year, I’d go to the ones I skipped the first year.

If the schedule allowed, I’d detour to catch the Kentucky Derby, the Belmont and the Preakness. Maybe I’d have to save the Triple Crown for the third year. I’d probably be ready to sell the motorhome and settle down by then.

For companionship, I’d have a black and silver German Shepherd named Shiloh and a long-haired black cat named Santee. I don’t know where those particular pets or their names came from, somewhere deep in my subconscious, I guess, because they are invariably present in the picture when I daydream about my future lottery wealth.

I would make it a point not to eat in any franchise restaurant for the entire time I was on the road, only independents specializing in the cuisine of the region – pulled pork sandwiches with cole slaw at Talladega; smoked beef brisket with barbeque sauce in Texas; boiled lobster at Dover; T-bone steak in Kansas.

I wouldn’t cook myself, especially on that thing beloved of NASCAR chefs, the grill. I have never grilled and have absolutely no desire to learn. But maybe my neighbors in the infield would share with me if I provided the beer. From what I see on television, it appears you can find every mouth-watering combination of breakfast, lunch and dinner dishes in the NASCAR campgrounds. They even fix chocolate chip cookies on the grill, although I can’t quite imagine what the endproduct is like.

I’ll have the medicine cabinet in my (ultra-posh) bathroom in the motorhome stocked with antacids since I’ll have to try Martinsville’s notorious bright red hot dogs as well as deep-fried cheeseburgers and beer-filled pretzels just because, well, because NASCAR aficionados eat those things and I want to live this experience to the fullest.

I’m not one of those NASCAR radicals. Oh, I would plant a Jimmie Johnson flag proudly in my little temporary yard. I might even wear aT-shirt with his picture on it, but I have no plans to ever dye my hair Lowe’s blue or to get a JJ tattoo or, even though I’m rich now, to buy a $6,000 pendant featuring a 48 in diamonds, (or for that matter, to sleep with a Jimmie Johnson life-sized blow-up doll).

I’d have to make some kind of arrangements with the postal service about where to have my Amazon.com deliveries sent because while the kids in the infield were partying, I’d probably be reading. Do perpetual travelers maintain General Delivery boxes at various places across the country where they know they will eventually be? Having plenty of free time between races, I’d take little side trips as I rode along — to historic sites and geographical landmarks, mountains and mansions, beaches and battlefields. I’d savor the ever-changing scenery of America — from palm trees and azaleas to yucca and saguaro — from snow-covered peaks to table-top mesas. I would hope I’d see deer and elk and antelope along the way, along with coyotes and maybe a few bear and buffalo thrown in for good measure.

In addition, several NASCAR tracks are close to, or include, casinos. I’d try to curb my enthusiasm for slot machines a little, though. I wouldn’t want to lose too much of the money I won from gambling by gambling.

My friends all tease me about how I love Big Water, and Big Water could easily be coordinated with NASCAR tracks, including the Mississippi which I’d have occasion to cross several times in my journey, and Lake Michigan (Chicagoland), Hoover Dam (Las Vegas), both oceans (Auto Club Speedway, Daytona, Dover) and Niagara Falls (Watkins Glen).

Because weather is such an elemental part of NASCAR’s schedule, I probably wouldn’t have to worry much about trekking through snow and ice. (Well, maybe a little bit crossing the Rockies). They race in Florida in February, Alabama in April, New Hampshire in June, upstate New York in August, Kansas in October and Phoenix in November which all sounds pretty ideal to me.

So, there you have it. My dream future. Maybe in some alternate reality.

• Vicki Williams is a columnist for the Pharos-Tribune. She can be reached through the newspaper at ptnews@pharostribune.com.