I spent the past two weekends at VIR and Road America, not as an observer of motorsports, but as a participant.

I was racing in vintage sports car events, nothing that anyone tuning into the SPEED Channel on Sunday would’ve seen. Still, there were pretty sizeable crowds at both these beautiful and hospitable road course venues.

But as far as I was concerned, the only people eyeing the action who mattered were the corner workers.

Racing is a solitary pursuit. You are alone in the car, and when you pull on the helmet and the cinch up the harness, you shut yourself off from the world and accept a level of personal responsibility that’s a pretty lonely prospect.

Like most vintage racers, I don’t have an in car radio, or guys spotting for me around the track. The only communication I have with anyone once we roll out of the pits is with the corner workers. The flags they wave are my eyes, ears and mouth.

The speed differentials in vintage sports car racing, especially at track like Road America, can be extreme. You’ve got to watch your mirrors constantly, and just as important, pick up the signals at every flag station. See the flagger looking back up track, but holding the blue and yellow flag back, and you know you’re OK for the moment. See it unfurled and suddenly waved furiously, and you know someone’s closing on you, fast.

When this happens in white-knuckle sections like Road America’s treacherous Kink, you realize as a racer just what level of trust is placed in the corner workers. Every driver in the field is putting his or her welfare in their care. It’s no wonder they dress in all white. These people are angels.

There were some that were quick to demonize the corner workers at Sears Point last Sunday. But it’s important to recognize that there’s a huge distinction between the role of corner workers manning a flag station, and fire and rescue crews rolling to the scene of a serious crash.

As Dale Earnhardt Jr.’s Corvette went up in flames, the corner workers did exactly what the situation demanded. They manned the flags, signaling the danger to drivers approaching the corner and preventing a multi-car conflagration.

As one member of the flagging station attacked the flames at the source, the fire and rescue was quickly on the scene. The time Junior was alone in his racecar were terrifying, horrifically-long moments, but the system all racers rely on worked.

Its been reported Junior wasn’t wearing his Nomex balaclava. If that’s true, then driver indifference was the weak link in the system.

Toward the end of my qualifying race at VIR, I spun on the outside of Turn One, and stalled. Unable to restart the car, I was a sitting duck. Knowing how easily another car could overcook the corner and come barreling into me, I looked back at the flag station and was relieved to see that the corner workers instantly knew, too. After a quick hard wave of the yellow flag, they posted a double yellow, signaling my fellow drivers to slow way, way down and proceed with utmost caution.

It’s not easy when you’re blasting by during the race itself to look the corner workers right in the eye, to acknowledge your understanding of their critical role in keeping you safe. But on the warm-up and cool down laps, I try to let the SCCA members who man the flag stations know how much I appreciate what they do.

They’re not just observers. They are in fact the ultimate participants.

It’s not uncommon to see a "Thanks, Workers!" sticker on the back of a club racer’s car. I wouldn’t be surprised to see one on the back of No. 8 this weekend.

Rich Conklin is a Senior Writer for RACER magazine.