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Although Connie likely understood the nature of her marriage, she refused to let the public know. Thanks to her husband, her life was a comfortable one. She lived in a breathtaking home, employed a live-in nanny, shopped at the fanciest department stores, and dined out as she pleased. According to Holmes, Connie once approached him about possibly leaving Walter. “I told her the truth,” he said. “ ‘Connie, it’s a helluva lot easier being Mrs. Walter Payton than the ex–Mrs. Walter Payton.’ ”

If Walter saw retirement as an opportunity to forge closer ties with his children, the steps he took were, at best, minimal. Though far from a disinterested father, he was, even without football, a largely absent one. No longer living at the home on 34 Mudhank, he checked in as often as he could, took them on trips every now and then, stopped by the house regularly. With Jarrett approaching his eighth birthday and Brittney having just turned three, retirement had provided Payton with an opportunity to finally become deeply involved in their day-to-day lives. Instead, Walter’s wayward search for meaning and significance and excitement took him to a most quizzical place: the racetrack.

Even with the enjoyment he derived from Studebaker’s and even with the nonstop flow of women entering and leaving his office, Payton was unable to uncover anything to match the adrenaline rush that came from slipping on his No. 34 jersey and running across Soldier Field. The buzz and jolt and euphoria had been addictive, as had the sense of comradery he shared with teammates. Now he was a man in need of a fix.

During one of his final seasons Payton had been introduced to Ove Olsson, owner of a race car shop, Olsson Engineering, in Lake Forest. Born and raised in Stockholm, Sweden, Olsson immediately admired Payton not for his celebrity status (“I had no idea who he was,” he said), but for the silver Porsche 930 that he used as a primary vehicle. “I worked on his car early on, and we bonded,” Olsson said. “We shared a passion for fast vehicles.” As a kinship developed, Olsson became increasingly aware of Payton’s dangerous driving habits. He would watch Payton clear 100 mph on his Kawasaki GPZ 750 and cringe. He would see him swerve left and right in the Porsche and gasp. He heard that Payton had been pulled over for driving 125 mph in a 35 mph speed zone (celebrity being celebrity, police let him off with a warning), and shook his head. Once, the driver of an adjacent vehicle became so incensed by Payton’s recklessness that he rolled down a window and threw a large chain at the hood of the superstar’s BMW. The sizeable indentation served as a warning sign to other cars: WATCH OUT. “He wasn’t necessarily a bad driver,” Olsson said. “He was just incredibly wild.” One day, upon a chance meeting with Connie, Olsson pulled her aside and said, “I think it’d be a lot safer for Walter to drive on a track rather than the road.”

Retired and in search of a spark, Payton took Olsson’s words to heart. On April 16, he found himself behind the wheel of a Celica GT-S Liftback at the Toyota Grand Prix of Long Beach, a pro-celebrity event featuring such luminaries as Susan Ruttan and Brian Wimmer. The two-mile track wormed through the downtown streets of Long Beach, California, and Payton deemed the experience a barometer. Were he to do well and have fun, he’d take a stab at driving competitively in a semiprofessional circuit called the Sports Car Club of America’s Pro Sports 2000 series. “For some reason Walter missed the test day before the race, and I was livid,” said Olsson. “He was always too busy. There was always a phone to his ear, always a meeting to attend. Where was the commitment? But then he raced really well, and I think we both thought, ‘Maybe this can work.’ ” Payton placed ninth, leapt from his car, and squealed with delight. He had slammed into a wall—and loved it. “I’m going to drive four or five, maybe six races in Formula 2000!” he said. “This was amazing!”

True to his word, Payton made the