Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge) (2 page)

I still remember shaking from the adrenaline I experienced racing with kids twice my age as well as the sick but energized feeling in the pit of my stomach when I took the green flag.

By the time I was eight, I was running competitively and had won two USAC Regional Quarter Midget Championships, three track championships at Grays Harbor Raceway, and had won the Deming Speedway Clay Cup Nationals.

At the time, racing quarter midgets contained me and I soon became extremely comfortable in them but that also meant, in my mind, that I was ready for more.

I moved to full size midgets at nine and now, at eleven, I was ready for something more and which meant full-sized winged sprint cars.

The problem was convincing the parental units.

Most tracks were beginning to enforce age restrictions on full-sized sprint cars so I knew that parental consent was necessary.

It was time for the art of persuasion that I adroitly mastered.

“Mom
...
” I cooed in my best compelling voice when I entered the kitchen. I had perfected it over the years for moments like this. “Dad said to ask you but I was wondering if it’d be okay if I raced tonight
...
dad will be there.” I offered.

She ran her hands through my mess of my rusty colored hair tilting my head to look up at her. Her fingers looped around the curls at the ends. “Honey
...
I don’t know about that.” She said continuing to do dishes while leaving me with soapy hair. “You know you have to be sixteen to race full-sized sprints.”

“But
mom
...
” I whined brushing the bubbles from my hair. “I’ve been racing since I was five. I’m eleven now, almost twelve, it’s time I broadened my horizons.” I grinned when she arched an eyebrow at me. “Besides, Charlie knows us and he said if dad signed a waiver he’d let me race.”

“Jameson, sweetie, I don’t want you to get hurt. Sprints are a lot different from the quarter midgets or even those mini sprints and full size midgets. Try tripling the weight, not to mention the speed.”

She was right.

Sprint cars pushed 120 mph at Elma some nights but I didn’t care about that.

“I know that
but
I’ve been racing them out back for months now. My lap times are faster than dad’s.”

“Don’t flatter yourself—you’re smaller than him. Basic laws of gravity, son.”

I had nothing left. I broke down into childish whining to prove my point which was somewhat revolting from a bystander’s perspective and I may or may not have resorted to the eye blinking that she loved so much.

Racing was my life and I knew that if I wanted to make a future in it—it was time to race with the big boys; at least that was my eleven-year old logic.

After a good ten minutes of sucking up, Spencer, my older brother walked in when I plopped down in a chair at the table.

“Just let the little shit race mom
...
he’s annoying when he doesn’t get his way.” He chuckled and shoved a cookie in his mouth. “Besides
...
I’d like to see him get his ass handed to him out there.”

Mom slapped the back of his head as he walked by. “Spencer, watch your language.”

Spencer, now fourteen, thought he was god’s gift to girls and football.

I had other ideas.

I threw a cookie from the plate in front of me at him, smacking him in the forehead. Although somewhat satisfying, it did result in a gladiator style wrestling match between the two of us that mom had to break up with the hose from the sink.

“Stop it—both of you get up!” she yelled slipping sideways in the water. “Spencer; clean up this mess. Jameson, go talk to your dad about racing tonight,” She held up her hand to stop me from running into the race shop. “If you wreck, you’re done.”

“Uh-huh,” I yelled over my shoulder as I ran to the race shop.

I told my dad that mom had said it was okay. He wasn’t convinced and had an hour-long talk with her about it.

In the end, I was allowed with a few stipulations.

I was only allowed to race two races a month and I worked in the shop when I wasn’t in school. I didn’t care. I probably would have agreed to just about anything to get them to say yes. I wouldn’t be allowed to race sprint cars at other tracks until I turned sixteen but only being allowed to race at Elma would be sufficient.

Later that night, I found myself at the track.

“All right kid, get in.” I slid easily into the narrow cockpit. His head bent down near mine. “Remember—don’t drive too deep into the corners. It’ll flip
ya
’ in a heartbeat. Find your lift point and feather the throttle accelerating through the turn. You’ll have more control that way since the track is tacky.”

Once I was on the track during qualifying and hot laps, I realized how different sprints were from midgets. With being heavier, the wheelspin and changes throughout the race, I was amazed at the differences.

Having spent every afternoon on our quarter-mile track practicing, I knew I was ready and I showed them.

I appeared confident on the outside but on the inside I was one scared shitless kid as my dad explained the rules to me after the drivers meeting.

“Pay attention Jameson. This is different from racing midgets.” He told me after time trials were finished.

I only nodded. I was overwhelmed but I wasn’t letting on.

I didn’t want to hear the words I told you so, which by the smirk on his hard face, he was ready to say at the first sign of weakness.

Here we stood in the pits getting ready for the heat races. Pulling my racing suit over my shoulders, I looked up at him.

“All right,” he began. “The top eighteen qualifiers will be split into heat one and heat two. You made fast time so you’re in heat two. The top two in heat one, will move to the rear of heat two.” He nudged my shoulder. “You following me, kid?”

Again, I only nodded. Dad had made it clear early on when I began racing that in order to race, I needed to understand everything; not just how to race. At times, it was overwhelming for a kid.

I had to know set-ups—the handling, engines,
and
how to drive the car. He wouldn’t let me slide with climbing in the car and driving. I had to know what to do if I broke it and how to fix it myself.

“The top eight cars from heat two will run the feature.” He told me as I fastened my arm straps. I then pulled my helmet on and engaged the coupler.

It was show time.

When it came time for the feature event, the nervousness hit me like a ton of bricks.

Remaining moderately calm throughout the heat races, I presumed the rest of the night would be the same but when twenty other cars pulled onto the track with me, I briefly contemplated backing out. That being said, there’s also nothing like merging onto the track with the rumbling parade of twenty sprint cars and my anxiety instantly vanished.

I did the only thing I knew when I got on the track with the other cars; I raced. There was a calm that washed over me and I blocked out everything like I always did inside the car and raced. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to run the top with the fast guys but when it came time to make a pass, I had no choice but to run the top.

With my heart pounding rapidly, I pulled a “Jimi move” as I called it and slid past three or four cars in each turn using the high side where the grip was.

Much to my surprise and probably everyone else at the track, I won. If you’re surprised that an eleven-year-old kid could beat men who’d been racing for years and had ten and twenty years on me, imagine my amazement.

After the feature race and the trophies had been awarded, my dad caught up with me.

“Nice job kid,”

Hearing words of commendation from a World of Outlaw Champion was something any kid would want to hear despite him being my father.

“Thanks dad.” I replied with a huge grin once we were back inside his car hauler loading. “Does this mean I can continue racing?”

“Yeah
...
but school comes first.” I started to walk away when he reached for the back of my suit. “When you’re not in school, you’re helping out in the shop,
understood
?”

“Sure, whatever,” I tried to play it cool.

“Go help Spencer load the cars. I’m going to go see Charlie.” He said heading off to meet Charlie who was standing outside the hauler.

I always thought Spencer would show some interest and want to race, but outside of messing around on the track at home, he never wanted to race competitively. He’d rather work on the cars than race them, which was fine by me and good luck getting the football out of his hands.

Spencer and I spent more time checking out Charlie’s daughter than loading cars, which was no surprise these days. I may only be eleven, but girls were
definitely
something I was responsive to. I was beginning to understand why Spencer liked the opposite sex so much.

Being eleven, almost twelve, I was launching into the teenage hormones and with that came strange
...
urges or feelings, I guess you could say.

Girls, well they spurred these urges or feelings which in turn resulted in some fairly embarrassing reactions to my body, much like right now.

This was not something I enjoyed. Even at eleven, I wanted to be in control of everything and times like this I wasn’t.

“Check her out,” Spencer swooned. “She’s growing up,”

“Dude, how have I not seen her before?” I asked peeking at her once again. I was never shy. I’m not sure that I even knew the meaning of the word but for once, I was starting to understand the emotion that could be classified as shy, I think.

“You’ve gone to school with her since like the second grade.” he smacked my chest. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before.” If it didn’t involve an engine, I hardly paid attention. I couldn’t tell you half the kids that went to my school.

“I think she likes older men anyway.” Spencer replied cockily with a nod.

I was about to respond when dad called for us, “Jameson, Spencer—get over here!”

“Coming,” we yelled as we jumped from the back of the car hauler. He reached for me by my race suit before I made it too far.

“Sway, this is my son, Jameson. I think you two are the same age.” He shook my shoulders. “And this is my other son, Spencer. He’s fourteen.” He ruffled Spencer’s hair. “I’ve got a daughter Emma who’s almost ten but who knows where she disappeared to.”

“She’s selling t-shirts.” Spencer told him smiling at Sway.

I rolled my eyes at him.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Sway shook hands with us to which I smiled at her and for good measure—I added a wink.

I couldn’t have her thinking that Spencer was the better pick. Clearly, I was.

She was beautiful with her full lips, staggering emerald green eyes and lustrous flowing dark mahogany hair with hints of auburn that shone under the lights of the pits. I’d never seen such an innocent looking, but memorable girl before but I’d also never paid any attention to any girls until now.

“You did
good
out there tonight.” She said making eye contact with me, her cheeks flushed.

“Looks like you follow in your dad’s footsteps.” Charlie hedged slinging his arm around Sway’s shoulder.

I laughed. “Yes, but I’m better.”

Most everyone in the racing communities compared my talent to Jimi’s. In the beginning, I welcomed it, as he was a legend in sprint car racing, but it soon became something I felt I needed to live up to and eventually surpass.

Charlie and my dad both started laughing at my 11-year old confidence. I hardly thought it was funny. It was the truth.

After that night, Sway Reins and I were inseparable.

I had friends. Well, that was a lie. I
knew
other kids but to call them friends, I wouldn’t go that far because we never talked outside of school or outside of the track. School friends were separate from track friends—it was just the way it was.

There was one kid, Justin West. We had started together in the USAC quarter midget and midgets. We hung out but outside of the track, we didn’t see each other. He lived in Hillsboro, Indiana so it was rare that we saw each other but being the same age, we shared the same interests, racing.

With Sway, it was easy to be around her. She didn’t care if I wasn’t at school, had a bad day or didn’t want to see anyone.

I was incredibly moody.

Sway was there on Saturday nights when I raced and helped me scrap mud from the car and made sure that I had tear-offs on my helmet. She was there on Sundays if I had a bad night racing the night before but the best thing was, with Sway, we didn’t have to maintain the relationship we had or even try—we were friends.

I thought for a while that it would be cool if I could call her my girlfriend but I saw what happened to all the girls my brother had been friends with and then dated. It ended horribly and worst of all he lost the friend.