The text came early this morning, a reminder how quickly bad news can sweep across the horizon to blot out the sunshine and steal the joy of a promising new day.

Scott Bloomquist, killed early this morning while flying his airplane near his Mooresburg, Tenn., home.

At first, it sounded impossible. Bloomer, you see, was an unstoppable force, operating beyond normal human constraints. It would take more than a silly airplane to silence him. This was surely yet another Internet hoax.

But no, it was true. The life of one of the most influential and impactful people motorsports has ever known had ended.

Many emotions rushed through my mind: shock, sadness, disbelief. A great many memories immediately came to the surface: reflections of good times, amazing performances, memorable interviews, long and enjoyable conversations.

No person has dominated the culture of Dirt Late Model racing over the last four decades more than Scott. His incredible success, his outsized personality, his far-reaching technical influence, his polarizing comments, his controversies, and his unyielding independence combined to create the most compelling motorsports figure of modern times. He defied all attempts to define him and he operated within his own set of rules.

All of that — the abundant victories, the outsized influence on the world around him — was exactly what Scott desired. As a young and inexperienced racer he set out to be the greatest at his craft and never wavered from that mission. He sought not just to be the best, but the most important and the most impactful. He never grew tired of the sharp glare of the spotlight because the spotlight was the thing he most desired.

Some 20 years ago, my interactions with Scott increased dramatically when I began working as a pit reporter for broadcasts of Dirt Late Model races, first on Speed TV and later on MavTV. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this guy; certainly his reputation preceded him. But he was immediately friendly, and always willing to talk.

At first our conversations were measured and professional, but over time we began to talk of many things beyond racing. To be sure, Scott had some views that were far outside the mainstream. That said, he was also surprisingly human.

I say surprisingly, because there were elements he worked hard to keep people from seeing. His humanity, his vulnerability, his doubts, his faults. He preferred to project an aura of invincibility, and for the most part, he did. But as we all know, none of us are invincible.

And so began a friendship that was cemented over late-night conversations in a darkening pit area, after everyone had gone. Those were the times when I came to know Scott not as a racing titan, not as a lightning rod of controversy, but as a man who was still trying to figure it all out.

Just like the rest of us.

I distinctly remember a night some years ago at Wheatland, Mo., when Scott was as deflated as I had ever seen him. Bottom line: he missed his wife and young daughter, back home in Tennessee. When the racing finished that night at Lucas Oil Speedway he announced to his crew that they would load up and drive back to Mooresburg because it would give him one day at home. Then they would make the drive all the way back to the next race — Cedar Lake, perhaps. Scott’s crew chief, Tommy Hicks, pleaded with Scott to reconsider. Going home meant 25 hours of riding in the truck, just to gain a few hours at home. Scott finally relented, but as he talked to me that night he was lonely and hurting. Even the titan sometimes longed for something beyond the next race.

But through our many conversations, I never felt that I truly knew Scott. Not really. Frankly, I believe Scott sometimes struggled to fully know and understand himself. It was like he was driven by competing forces, pulling him this way and that. Most of all he was consumed with an insatiable appetite to win ... at anything and everything he attempted.

Somewhere along the way, Scott connected with Randy Sweet, a mercurial free spirit and a guru in the realm of designing and manufacturing racing steering systems. If there were ever two peas in a pod, it was Scott and Randy. Equal parts brilliant and eccentric, they shared many memorable times. Massive appetites, massive egos, massive brainstorming sessions, massive ideas and opinions ... everything they did together was about five clicks past normal. They were fiercely loyal to one another, however, and kindred spirits. They shared one key philosophy: life was meant to be lived over the top — in every way.

There is a memory — a vision, actually — that is forever burned in my mind. It was a warm and sunny Sunday morning in Florida, one of those glorious February days when winter seems a million miles away. We had raced at East Bay the previous week, and Scott wrapped things up with a victory in the Saturday finale the night before. Everyone packed up and headed north to Ocala for a Sunday night race.

Somewhere along I-75 I spotted them. A convertible Mustang rental, rolling easily in the right lane, with the top rolled back. Scott behind the wheel, his long hair fluttering in the wind. Randy riding shotgun, his right hand resting on his head to keep his hat from blowing off. An enormous trophy perched in the back seat, towering a good 6 feet above the windshield line of the Mustang.

Riding in style, the two audacious friends. On to the next race.

Randy’s passing in 2019 was a tremendous loss for Scott, and it came in the midst of a tumultuous period. After years of success and triumph, Scott’s fortunes had taken a dramatic and difficult turn. There was a serious motorcycle accident that brought multiple surgeries, a lingering shoulder injury, a painful divorce ... the setbacks kept coming. Through it all, the legendary Bloomquist magic on the racetrack was now eluding him.

In late 2021 I stepped away from doing television and didn’t see my racing friends as often as before. My last visit with Scott came at the World Finals at Charlotte this past November.

They were struggling to find speed, and as I approached Scott’s pit it was obviously not a good night. But when Scott saw me he immediately smiled and turned his attention to our conversation. He was supremely confident — as always — that they were just on the cusp of regaining the upper hand with his racing program. We had a nice discussion and he invited me to come down to Mooresburg sometime for a visit.

“I miss our conversations,” he said with a smile. I missed them, too. I said I’d like very much to take him up on his offer. But, as we often do, we never got around to making it happen.

I’ve never known anyone quite like Scott Bloomquist. I doubt I ever will. He was —and is — difficult to describe and impossible to define. His passing leaves an enormous vacuum in Dirt Late Model racing and throughout motorsports. He is one of the most dynamic and colorful characters our sport will ever know. His impact on the sport is literally beyond measure.

The sadness of the moment is mixed with a profound gratitude that I was privileged to witness the arc of Scott’s career, and privileged to call him my friend. He wasn’t perfect — just like the rest of us — but perhaps that’s what made him all the more compelling.

Life is just for a little while. No matter the outcome, no matter the ending, I doubt that Scott would have changed much. Only one thing, I suspect: He would have tried to soar even higher.

Rest easy, my friend. We are going to miss you.