Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge) (39 page)

NASCAR drivers made more than any other form of racing in America but I also knew that if you chose to race for money, you were doing it for the wrong reason in the first place. Besides, I never did this to make money; I did it for me.

So I looked at what made me happy. Sure, I could continue racing sprint cars and probably end up competing against my dad for the title but there was something drawing me toward stock cars.

I could make my own name for myself.

When you’re touted as the next legendary sprint car driver to someone who’s mystique alone was intimidating, you tend to get lost and wonder who you are.

This had me thinking those stock cars could be pretty cool.

At the end of the 2001 season, I once again made it to the Turkey Night, broke a driveline and ended up not finishing the race, which sucked. Sway was taking winter courses that year so I decided to head to Australia for a month and check out their season with my dad.

That’s when he hit me with his plans one night at dinner with my uncle Randy.

My uncle Randy was only remotely approachable when he was drinking, but otherwise he’s a cold-hearted prick that’s been divorced eight times. You’d think he’d get the point by now that he wasn’t meant to be married but no, still doesn’t understand. If this gives you any idea about why his marriages fail, it might have to do with the fact that his newest girl friend is only a month older than me
...
I hear she’s mature for her age.

Like any other senseless jackass, he drives around in a Jaguar. That has asshole written all over it, if you ask me.

His son, my cousin I guess you’d classify him, Rex, was a dirty fucking liar and I couldn’t stand the son of a bitch. The few times I’d been in the same room with him usually resulted in a fistfight. If you think that’s bad, you should see when he mingles with Spencer
...

So there we were having dinner in Sydney one evening when in walks my Uncle, his new girlfriend and his asshole son.

I groaned when I saw them approaching the table, to which my dad slammed his foot into my shin rather hard.

“Why is he here?”

“Don’t be a jerk
...
its business.”

They approached the table, Rex and I glared at each other. I gave him nine stitches above his left eyebrow the last time we saw each other, judging by his glare, he hadn’t forget that.

I stood and shook hands with my uncle, thought I’d be polite since I hadn’t seen him in a few years. His girlfriend smiled at me. I offered a small smile but she had
whore
written all over her so I steered clear. My thoughts of her being a whore were confirmed when she leaned in to hug me and slipped her number in my jeans.

Conversations soon got underway and I ordered beer after beer to keep for punching my cousin when he said, “How’s that girl
...
what’s her name?” he drummed his index finger against his forehead for a second before winking. “Sway
...
how’s Sway these days?”

This was the exact reason he received nine stitches above his goddamn eye in the first place. He knew how to set me off. My jaw clenched as my grip on my beer did as well. “She’s fine.”

Rex thought for sure Sway had a thing for him but I knew better. Sway couldn’t stand him.

“Jameson,” Randy interrupted our glaring. “So, Jimi and I were thinking of starting a race team, as you know. A NASCAR Busch team to be exact and then we’ll look at the cup side.” He shifted in his seat to lean forward, looking directly at me. “Would you drive the car?”

I didn’t say anything at first, just stared back at him before darting my eyes to my dad, who smiled. I didn’t particularly want to go into business with my uncle Randy, given his cold hearted prick tendencies, but I also knew dad couldn’t do this on his own and fund an Outlaw team at the same time.

Currently I was driving his car on the Outlaw series with him driving for his team
...
he had a lot on his plate and now being a team owner of a Busch team, he’d need help.

“That depends,” I smiled wickedly at Rex and then mm uncle. “When would we move to cup?”

I had no problem racing the Busch series but I also knew for myself, I wouldn’t be happy unless I was behind the wheel of a cup car. Looking at a Winston Cup car and a Busch car side by side, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two but there were differences.

For one, the wheelbase is shorter by five inches on a Busch car. This changes things like down force, aerodynamics,
handling
, gearing and even driving style. They also run a smaller carburetor. Busch ran a 4-barrel 390 cubic feet per minute whereas Cup ran a 4-barrell 750-830 cubic feet per minute. This would essentially provide less fuel per minute resulting in less horsepower in the Busch cars.

Now knowing me, what do you think I would want to drive?

“Probably the following season,” Dad said.

This would mean being under the reins of my dad and my uncle but this also meant a chance at my own name. No matter how hard I tried, open wheel guys knew me as Jimi Riley’s son.

NASCAR, they knew me all right, but they knew me as Jameson Riley.

“Yeah,” I finally said. “Who’s sponsoring us?”

I knew dad had been in contact with Simplex, as was I, but I wasn’t sure exactly what they had planned.

“Simplex offered full sponsorship for next season.”

I think there comes a point in your life when you realize that everything is falling into place, that dream you’ve dreamed about, you know the dream you thought was so far-fetched, isn’t anymore, it’s looking at you in the face.

What did I say in that moment?
Stupidity.

“Are you sure you want me driving the car?”

Rex laughed. “That’s what I said.”

“Shut up asshole!” I snapped glaring at him. “You’re still racing super stocks.”

“At least I race on asphalt. You can’t race on anything but dirt.”

“Really?
Half the fucking USAC races are on asphalt smartass.” I chuckled sarcastically. “But you wouldn’t know that because you’ve never raced anywhere but Havasu.”

“Boys!” dad barked. “Jameson we want you in the car because you have the most diversity. You’re the only driver I know that can jump into any open seat and be competitive. That’s not something you learn. And to be competitive in NASCAR, we need that. We need a driver that can just get in and drive so that’s you.”

I always knew my dad had confidence in me but I’d never heard him say something like that before. I haven’t met a parent who didn’t believe in their kids and tell them but with Jimi, he didn’t just say things to make you feel better. When he spoke, he spoke the truth and meant every word of it.

Later that night—after a confrontation with Rex in the parking lot—I was back in my hotel wishing I could call Sway. With the time difference in the states, it was near four am and I doubted she’d be real happy if I woke her up so I just simply sent her a quick text telling her I missed her. I know, pretty pathetic but I did. I hadn’t seen her in three months now and well, I did miss her.

No matter how much time you spend avoiding something, eventually it will rear its ugly face and forces you to make a decision.

I still hadn’t.

I knew something had changed in regards to my feelings for her—there was no denying it any more. No one made me feel the way she did. I think I started to understand the difference when she was no longer around every day.

For so long it was just there, taunting me. It’s like trying to find the remote to the television. You know it’s there, your searching everywhere for it, overturning everything just to find that goddamn remote you know is there somewhere but can’t quite find. Then you find it in the same spot you looked for it ten minutes ago but didn’t see the first time. You see it because you got the point you were so frustrated that you gave up. You throw yourself down on the couch, refusing to get up to turn on the television without the remote to find that you’re now sitting on it. It was there all along but because you were looking so hard for it, you looked right over it. You found it because you were no longer looking.

Just like the remote, I stopped looking at what she meant to me and just ignored it all together. Then, when I least expected it, I felt it. I couldn’t tell you if I loved her because I don’t think I knew the meaning of love. I’ve seen it in my parents and my brother but did I feel for Sway that way?

So while I found the remote, the batteries were still missing.

18.
      
Turn
In
– Jameson

Turn In – As a car reaches a corner, this is the moment at which a driver begins to turn the wheel. The timing of the action and the car’s response to it are crucial for setting fast lap times.

“What is this?” I asked examining the documents set in front of me.

I was sitting in a large conference room in downtown Charlotte with my dad, my uncle Randy and Alley going over the sponsorship for our new team, Riley Simplex Racing.

“It’s your prohibited activities.” Melissa Childers, Simplex’s representative stated.

I was silent. They can’t be serious
...
no sprint cars? I must be reading this wrong.

Melissa continued. “You can’t do thinks like skiing, motorcycles, or
...
any other form of racing outside of the car we sponsor.”

“I can’t drive sprint cars?”

Marcus Harding, the President of Simplex Springs and Shocks, and Melissa, exchanged a glance.

“It’s the only way for us to protect you and us.” Melissa added. I understood but I wasn’t about to agree to something like that. Sprint cars are where I came from.

I went to stand when my dad glared and cleared his throat. “Can we have a few days to think about it
...
racing sprint cars is
...
not something I’m willing to give
up.
” I gritted moving my leg away from him. I had a feeling his was about to kick me any minute.

Marcus seemed to contemplate what I just said but before I made it to the door, he spoke again. “I think we can work with you on that one.” I turned around to look at him. “You have to understand where we are coming from Jameson.” He paused, his eyes focusing on me alone. “We are offering up a large amount of money here for you to race. If by chance you are injured, well, we don’t get the exposure we are paying for. We expect you to take that into consideration.”

I went to speak but was silenced by my uncle Randy. “I think Jameson would just like the opportunity to still race sprint cars on occasion and I assure you,” he shot me a warning glance. “He
will
be careful.”

“Careful?” I thought to myself. Was I carful in a sprint car?

Not really.

I signed my life away that morning as a puppet for Simplex and my dad. It felt different from the times with Bowman Oil and Bucky. For one, this was bigger, millions of dollars to be exact and they weren’t just paying for me to run a limited USAC schedule. I’d be running a full season in the Busch Grand National series next year. It was different. I still felt like a puppet but I’d like to think I grew up a little in the last four years and realized that this dream of mine wasn’t possible without playing by their rules to an extent.

I had only been back from Australia for about three weeks now. It was mid-January and I had missed the Chili Bowl. I wasn’t thrilled by that by the way but I had more important things to deal with now, like the testing of our Busch Grand National car.

I walked inside my dad’s race shop in Mooresville. It was freezing that morning, I felt like my eyes were even frozen. An involuntary shiver ran through me when I stepped out of my truck and walked toward the shop. My eyes focused on the sign above the door that said:
Staff Only
.

Chuckling to myself that I was an employee of my dad’s now, I opened the door to the shop.

I’d been in this shop countless times but there were new additions. Amongst the sprint cars, chassis were lined up in rows, engines lined up in front of them. Racks of metal tubing hung on the walls beside axles, front clips, shocks, springs
...
basically, anything to build a car from ground up.

Harry met me at the door with Tony Eldon, the tire specialist that I met last night.

Tony smiled, “You’ve met Harry, right?”

“Yeah,” I reached out and shook Harry’s hand again. “We met a while back and then again this morning at the meeting.” Dad had put together a breakfast this morning to get the team together. Right now, we were all just pieced together and in the development stages but slowly the Riley Racing team
was
being formed.

“Great, you guys will be working together today. We need to get everything setup for these engines and what feels right for you.” Tony smiled at Harry, patting his back. “Harry here can’t drive in a straight line to save his life but he could build an engine in the dark with a screw driver and a pair of pliers.”