Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge) (40 page)

I chuckled and leaned back against the wall. “So, we’re testing tomorrow at Homestead?”

“That’s the plan,” Harry told me with his own smile.

Harry Sampson was the one to show me my way around a stock car, besides Tate. Tate Harris had become a vital part of all this, he got Simplex for us and well, he was there when I had questions.

Harry was similar to a principal or Hitler but he had his own form of punishment for me. He’d send me to the hauler when he felt I was out of line. This had me spending most of my time inside that damn hauler.

I came from open-wheel racing so I knew jack shit about how to handle the cars and Harry, well he had these strict rules he expected me to abide by, like listening to him. Not being one to follow the rules all that often, I tested him.

It took me a while to get the hang of the cars so Harry had me running laps during the week to get seat time. The only problem was, he wanted me to run lap times that were the exact same each lap. I wasn’t real sure why but Harry scared the shit out of me so I never asked why.

At Daytona, my curiosity got the best of me and I tested out the speed despite what Harry wanted me to do.

After I got my adrenaline rush, Harry signaled to come in.

And when I say signaled, he held up a sign written in black Sharpie on a piece of cardboard that said: “What the fuck was that?”

I pulled onto pit lane to have him standing there looking down at me with his trusty red stopwatch in his hand.

He leaned into the cockpit, motioning toward the time. “What was that boy?”

“I
...
just wanted to test it out.” I cringed internally thinking he was going to castrate me for doing this.

His eyes narrowed looking over the car and then me again.

“Go sit in the hauler.”

I spent the remainder of the test session in detention as I called it.

Harry may have been a hard tough cranky old bastard but he was the perfect bastard for me to learn from. He came from dirt track racing so we understood each other. We spoke the same language when it came to how the car was handling or how the engine felt.

Once Kyle Wade, my crew chief, came on board, it was easier and the team dynamics were built from there. I liked Kyle and respected him. He was honest and you never wondered where you stood with him. If he didn’t like you, you knew it. Kind of like me.

Kyle also let me out of the reins a little more than Harry. We ran testing at Texas, Loudon and Phoenix wide open. They let me get as comfortable with the car as I wanted. I don’t know if they ever told Harry and I’m sure they didn’t.

As the new team formed that winter, my spotter, Aiden Gomez, came on-board. I liked Aiden from the moment I met him and the more we worked together, the more I realized he was just as insane as the rest of us and that worked out well for everyone.

We traveled around pretty much all of January testing and then it was off to Daytona for my first race.

I wanted Sway there badly but she was wrapped up in her classes with finals nearing and I was far too busy to sneak off to Bellingham to see her. I even went as far as having her text me a picture of her. It just depressed me even more.

So there I was testing stock cars, making sponsor appearances, press releases, commercials, meet and greets, oh, and occasionally I had time to sleep, but not much.

My dad was just as busy and for being the owner of this new team, you’d think we would get to see each other but nope, the only people I saw on a regular basis these days were Kyle and Alley, my publicist. Sounds ironic but these days, a NASCAR driver needs a publicist. She also acted as our team manager and told us where we needed to be and when. Having to boss around Spencer and Lane, she had the right amount of training for the job.

Come February, I was at my first Busch Grand National race in Daytona.

The first fifty laps were good, not much activity but I was cruising around toward the rear of the field just getting a feel for everything.

Aiden came on the radio a few laps later, “Cautions out, car slowing down low in turn four.”

“How’s it feel, bud?” Kyle asked.

“Um
...
I can’t
...
turn in as well into two and three but I can go high when I want in three and four.”

“All right so we can make air pressure adjustment and take a round out of the right rear. That could help.”

I nodded. Then I realized that he couldn’t see me and I needed to vocalize this, “Copy?” this was meant to be a statement but came out more of a question.

The only series I ran in prior to this that permitted the use of radios was the Silver Crown series but we only talked about cautions, not about setups or how my car was handling. NASCAR seemed to have its own language and I evidently did not know it.

For instance, loose in a sprint car was where you were comfortable. Loose in a stock car was not an experience you enjoy, particularly when you’re going two-hundred miles an hour next to a concrete wall.

So we agreed on what was going to take place during the caution, it was time for the pit stop.

Until now, I’d never had to make a real pit stop. Sure, I’d limped my car back to the pits with damaged midgets and sprints but to pull smoothly down pit road and squeeze into a pit stall surrounded by other cars, was nerve racking. Not to mention, this shit was time sensitive!

“So I’m supposed to fit in there with forty-two other cars speeding past me?” I asked. I’ll admit my voice was slightly alarmed.

“That’s the idea.” Kyle chuckled. He was eating this shit up.

I ended up spinning myself leaving pit road and the race didn’t go any better when I inadvertently caused a fifteen-car pileup.

I tried to make light of my mishaps by rattling off responses like, “Did you see that guy? He came out of nowhere.”

Kyle laughed. “Yeah, that black number nine is out of control.”

After my first disastrous race where I ended up spinning myself on pit road, we did practice runs at the shop where I’d roll in, the crew did their jobs, and I’d roll out. Sooner or later,
much
later
, we had it down, or I should say I had it down because clearly I was the one with the issues.

Now I just had to figure out how to do this with actual cars instead of orange cones.

When I raced sprints and midgets, I didn’t have to worry about much other than finding my line. I adjusted everything with either throttle control or the wing. Now I had a pit crew to do this. Only problem was I needed to explain what I needed them to do and nodding and shaking my head at them wasn’t working well.

In sprint cars, if you told me the car was pushing, you’re driving it in too hard. In stock cars, that’s entirely different. It can mean a number of different things from tire pressure, wedge, camber
...
the list goes on-and-on.

I got schooled my first few races on how little I actually knew about stock cars. It was embarrassing.

But like any division I raced in, it was all about experience: logging laps. So that’s what I did. My experience was critical in all this. Every point counted, every turn, every pit stop. The difference between winning and losing is so small and it was easy to take for granted.

19.
      
Carbon Fiber – Jameson

Carbon Fiber – Carbon fiber is lighter than aluminum, stronger than steel and expensive material. It’s used to construct chassis or modern open wheeled cars. Sheets of carbon fiber cloth are “laid up” like fiberglass by an expert fabricator using a mold, and then heated and reheated for days in an autoclave, a large, high-tech oven.

Come April, I had won my second career Busch Grand National win at
Chicagoland
Speedway. So far, I’d won two races. My family wasn’t at any of them besides Spencer who was working on my pit crew as the jack man.

It felt different from winning in sprint cars or even the USAC divisions. I wasn’t sure what the change was but it just felt different. It might have something to do with the fact that this was different. Sway wasn’t around and well, this was bigger. Even though I wasn’t racing in the Cup series yet, this was a NASCAR division and had all the same impediments.

I was still lying in bed around ten that morning, contemplating whether or not I would roll over and go back to sleep. My phone vibrating assured me that wasn’t going to happen but I was pleasantly surprised to see Tommy’s name appear on the screen.

We made small talk to a little while before he finally asked. “How have you been?” I knew he was asking more on a personal level. I never flaunted the fact that I slept around and kept it as discreet as I could but still, Tommy knew and he knew why I did it without even telling him.

“Can’t complain,” I paused and I think he knew right then what I wanted to ask. Tommy had been giving me updates on Sway for a while now. I had to know she was okay and she would only tell me so much.

“She’s fine, Jameson.” I could sense he wanted to say something but he didn’t. So I did.

“Has she
...
” I could feel the unnerving tension burning in my gut. I hated to even think about it, imagine it. I had no right to even know or say in where she went or who she chose to hang out with but I still felt the pain.

“Abby and I took her to Skagit the other night. They had the I-5 Dirt Late Models there.”

“And how did that go?”

“Good, she got drunk with Abby and well
...
you know.” He didn’t want to say it any more than I wanted to hear it. Tommy knew me well.

“So she
...
” I had to sit down. “Did she go home with someone?”

“Jameson,” he paused again and then let out a whoosh of air. “Are you sure you want to torture yourself like this? I know you feel something for her or you wouldn’t be asking.”

“I don’t know what I feel
...
” I paused. “Did she?”

“Not that I should tell you
...
but yes.” He finally said and the pain once again shook me to my core. My hands were shaking, my stomach was in knots and my breathing was ragged.

Fucking embarrassing one girl, the only girl, could make me feel like this.

“Why don’t you just tell her?”

“I can’t, Tommy.” I sighed deeply. “I just can’t.”

Tommy knew me well enough to know that if he pushed, he’d regret it, so we went on to talk about his plans after graduation. While Sway had another year, Tommy was graduating in a few weeks.

“So what are your plans?”

“Well I was thinking I’d see if Jimi needs any help
...
or you.”

“I was thinking of starting my own sprint car team and well, I’d like you as the mechanic.”

“Really?”
I don’t know why, but he honestly sounded shocked by this. Tommy was an excellent mechanic and knew sprint car setups better than most in the business.

“I want the best.”

“You barely have time to sleep.” He laughed. “How are you going to run a sprint car team as well?”

“I have no clue but I can’t stop what made me all together, you know? I just can’t walk away from it.” I wasn’t sure if I was making any sense but he seemed to understand.

“No, I get it.” And he did.

Tommy, Sway, my family
...
they understood why I did this. They understood why I risked everything, including my sanity, to follow this dream. I honestly believed they understood this better than I did at times. I didn’t have time to run a sprint car team but every time I was back at the local dirt tracks, I missed it. It was if running the sprint car kept me in check with reality.

Later that morning, after looking over my schedule for the next week, I sat down on the bed in my hotel room to call Sway. It was the middle of June and I saw an opening this week for three days before I had to be in Vegas for the Busch race and then it was off to Rockingham.

She answered on the second ring. “Well hey there superstar!”

“How’s my girl doing?”

My girl?
You fucking idiot!

I didn’t give her time to catch on before I asked another question. “How’s school?”

“Boring
...
it’s not the same as being at the races.” Sway said. “I made it out to Skagit the other night with Tommy.”

“Really
...
anyone good out there?”
I knew she went, I heard from Tommy but I didn’t feel the need to tell her I knew she had been with someone.

“No one like you,” She assured me.

Silently, I was hoping that had a much deeper meaning than implied and by the tone of her voice, it wasn’t a total off the wall assessment.