Trading Paint (Racing on the Edge)

by Stahl, Shey

  I rolled my eyes, not ever wanting to open the whole, “truth about Wikipedia” discussion again. “Don’t believe everything you read Sway.”

  “So they don’t call you Rowdy Riley at the track?”

  “No they do. I just don’t want you believing everything they write about me. Not all of it’s true.” I wanted her to understand how the media had the ability to pad the truth with their own beliefs.

  After meeting with Melissa to go over a few sponsor obligations for the weekend, I was able to relax for a few hours. Bobby stopped by my motor coach and we chatted for a few minutes before he left for dinner with his girlfriend.

  After that I decided to take a shower. Being back in the southeast and humidity, I smelled.

  Once inside the small bathroom, I leaned against the shower wall. The aches and stresses of the day clustered in my shoulders, my tight muscles relaxing as the hot jets of water pounded against my back. I stared as the water flowed off my shoulders and down the silver drain. The black granite glistened.

  My thoughts went back to Sway and how much I missed her. Every time I saw her, she lifted the weight the world was putting upon me and she made spring adjustments at just the right times.

  The shell I put around myself cracked every time I saw her, breaking away piece by piece. Images of her lying under me on her floor flooded my brain as my breathing accelerated; she was so captivatingly beautiful. I meant it when I told her I’d pay money to see her come apart. It had been a fantasy of mine for as long as I could remember.

  I had an interview in less than an hour so when my groin began stirring I turned the water off. I didn’t have time for that right now, even though I wanted to. It’d been at least a week since I had any attention down there and though I needed the relief, I didn’t have time.

  The interview was held in the infield media center with one of the track promoters. The same series of questions usually flowed but tonight, he asked one that caught me off guard.

  “If you could pick one person who has influenced your career both emotionally and for opportunity, who would it be?”

  I hesitated for a moment running my hand through my hair. Looking at Emma and Alley standing alongside reporters, I felt one person missing. Sway.

  I couldn’t say it’s one person because it wasn’t just one person. It can’t be in a sport like this.

  “I can’t say just one person has helped me.” I told him. “My dad has given me so much emotional and financial support. My mom believes I can do nothing wrong.” I chuckled lightly when a few women in the audience cheered. “My brother is there each week helping on the car—he’s the jack man for our team. My sister runs my fan club because heaven knows I wouldn’t be able to. My sister in-law keeps me out of trouble and then I have my best friend, Sway, who without her, you wouldn’t want to know me. We’ve been friends since I was eleven. She keeps me in line.”

  “Fame hasn’t lost that?”

  “No. Never. She’s what keeps me grounded. If there is ever a time when she thinks I need a reality check, she lets me know.” I said with a laugh.

  “Would you say they are a big part of your operation?”

  “Yes. Very much so. Ever since I started racing, family has always been there.”

  I could feel the interview getting more and more personal and my theory was confirmed when he asked his next question.

  “Now I hear you’re single?”

  Shifting uncomfortably, I heard the women screaming from behind me, eager for my response.

  “I uh...I’ve never been one to date. I am single...but I don’t have time for dating. All I do is race. If I’m not here at the track—I’m at a local dirt track.”

  “That’s what I hear. Tell us about your sprint car team you started this year.”

  And just like that, I avoided the personal questions.

  They didn’t need to know that I was madly in love with my best friend and that I compared my life to a sprint car set-up or that Charlie was dying. That was my life and to be fair, these fans didn’t want to hear that shit. They wanted hear about the fights. They wanted to hear I was a bachelor and that I slept around. That’s what they wanted. They wanted a story. The problem with that was, that wasn’t me.

  I would always be a dirt track racer from Washington—that much would never change. I would never settle for less than I knew was possible and would always love Sway. Even if we were never allowed to be together, she showed me who I was, who I wasn’t, and who I wanted to be.

  The race in Talladega Alabama was for one, close to Aiden’s hometown, and two the largest track on the schedule. While I enjoyed Talladega, it didn’t like me.

  Last season while racing the Busch race, I got caught up in the “Big One” and ended up being transported to the hospital with a few broken ribs, a sprained ankle and a minor concussion.

  I wasn’t exactly excited to come back to the track. Sure, I wanted redemption but some even believe the track is cursed.

  One morning prior to the 1974 cup race, drivers came out to find cut brake lines and sand in their gas tanks. Others believed it used to be an old Indian burial ground and claimed the track itself had been cursed. I tended to believe this as well considering my recent luck there. I wasn’t exactly excited.

  Aiden was and he wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

  I managed to qualify fourth but ended up clipping the wall in happy hour. Forced to go to a back-up car, I had no idea how it was going to handle. It was the same car we ran at Daytona so I hoped the set-up would be close enough to at least get a decent finish.

  Turns out, it was. My only problem was all the traffic I had to get through. Bobby and me were in a pack about mid-way through the race when he had an opening and didn’t take it. I nailed him in the bumper when he checked up, causing him to get squirrelly coming out of turn four and damage the front of my car.

  When you’re driving two hundred miles an hour inches next to another car, it’s not the time to second guess your line. Bobby was for whatever reason.

  Throughout the race, I tried to keep myself focused, controlling my breathing and watching ahead.

  Between keeping myself mentally focused, controlling my breathing, watching ahead and watching the lines other drivers ran I was constantly busy.

  It’s important to stay mentally focused at tracks like Daytona and Talladega because of how quickly everything can shift and more so, keeping yourself calm. Silly mistakes because you’re amped can leave you in a wall in just a blink of the eye.

  I ended up with a twelfth place finish which was not too bad considering when I looped back down pit lane after the race, Kyle noticed my right side tires were both riding on cords.

  Sway called as we were leaving the track on our way toward Aiden’s house. I spent more time watching the interactions between Aiden and Emma. Something was different with them.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  Surveying the two of them, I snorted. “Yeah, I’m listening.”

  “Really...what did I just say?”

  “I...uh...um...something...”

  “See—pay attention!”

  “All right, I’m paying attention now.”

  Sway went on to tell me about her class. She finished early and was now heading home to see Charlie. I felt my heart begin to pound and my palms were sweating thinking maybe he was going to tell her tonight. I knew Charlie well enough by now that he wouldn’t, but the notions were still there.

  It took us about three hours but Aiden, Emma, Spencer, Alley, Lane and me all made our way to Aiden’s home outside of Talladega. Aiden was from a small town called Pinckard Alabama, population 667.

  Meeting Aiden’s dad explained a lot about Aiden. I understood why Aiden had an ulcer and wasn’t surprised to see his dad was just as analytical as he was, maybe even more so if that were possible. I was hardly good company the rest of the evening and felt somewhat remorseful when Aiden’s dad was telling me how to cook a raccoon in his thick southern ac
cent and I paid more attention to my phone than him.

  Emma caught me after dinner outside the bathroom and tore my phone out of my hand.

  “Show some respect Jameson. His parents are old-fashioned country folks who don’t even own a cell phone and here you are...Adam praises your skills...checking your cell phone. It’s rude.”

  “I should ask you the same question.” I clipped reproachfully, my eyes watched hers carefully, “What’s with you and Aiden?”

  She smacked my shoulder, pushing me against the wall.

  “Don’t turn your shit on me,” and then walked back inside the kitchen to Aiden’s mom.

  I just hung my head—I knew it was rude. Turning my phone on vibrate, I stuck it inside my jacket and never touched it again that night. Adam, Aiden’s dad, was hilarious.

  We ended up sneaking out back to his garage to find he had a pair of riding lawn mowers he and Aiden used to race when they were younger. With a few adjustments, Spencer, Aiden and I were tearing up their lawn.

  Despite my earlier behavior toward his family, I couldn’t remember the last time I had that much fun without Sway.

  I thought of her and every time I turned around I was thinking of something I couldn’t wait to tell her but I had fun. I learned a lot about Aiden that night. Even though he was crazy, I understood him a little more.

  His dad, Adam Gomez, was a farmer who was born and raised in the small town. His mom, April, was probably the sweetest woman, besides my mother, that ever existed. I liked them all.

  I always wondered how Aiden got involved in racing but I understood after seeing those lawnmowers. He also had a cousin who raced late models out at Montgomery Speedway, a half-mile asphalt track, so that’s where Aiden found his calling. He had a remarkable sense of direction but couldn’t decide where he wanted to go.

  Much like me on the track, he understood racing and the dynamics, and was essentially worry free at the track.

  We stayed the night there with the Gomez family and then went back to Mooresville the next morning. When we arrived home, it was racing life as usual. Team meetings, sponsorship commitments, testing...same thing it was each week.

  You don’t think about it when you’re running yourself raged until something breaks. Mine was that my torsion bars had been twisting in the wrong direction for so long, fractures were occurring.

  For four years now, I’d been denying that I was in love with Sway and now that I saw and felt it. I didn’t know what to do. I tried stagger changes, shocks, weight jacking...I tried it all, terrified to admit I couldn’t change this feeling. This wasn’t black or white, day or night, good or evil, there was no answer. What scared me more than loving her was not knowing what to do with that love and how to tell her. And more importantly, what she would do with my love.

  26. Bear Bond – Jameson

  Bear Bond – A very strong adhesive used to patch a damaged race car.

  “Are you alive?” Ryder asked peering over the side.

  It took me a minute figure out what went wrong and if I was alive. Eventually I caught my breath enough to answer him. My head rested against the dirt as I looked up at the sky. Trying to recall what went wrong when I blipped the throttle before the jump. No, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was when I thought that me, the kid who raced cars, not dirt bikes, could kick his leg off the bike behind him like he was dismounting. Most Supercross stars have problems with this trick. Why I thought I could do it was clearly a prime example of my stubborn pluckiness. The plan was to land smoothly back on the ground but it didn’t shake down that way, nope, my leg got stuck.

  “I think I am.” I huffed throwing my leg over the bike again. “I think we should make the jump bigger.” Ryder’s eyes widened with each word. “That way, you can just jump this part.” I gestured toward the gaping hole in the ground.

  The screaming of a two-stroke engine charged from behind and we both turned to see Tyler and Justin side-by-side heading for the jump I just demolished with my non-existent Nac-Nac skills. The Nac-Nac was a trick where you kicked your leg over to one side in mid-air and then returning your foot to the foot pegs before landing.

  It wasn’t easy and I demonstrated.

  Tyler saw me standing next to my bike while Justin, he did not. So while Tyler slowed his speed and trailed off, Justin pinned it.

  Take a couple sprint car guys and throw them on dirt bikes. Never a good thing.

  Justin misjudged the jump and did the unintentional Nac-Nac I had just done only he stayed on the bike and even as it slid down the twenty-foot embankment he stayed on it.

  Ryder and I stood at the top of the hill watching Justin try and pull his bike back up. Did we offer to help?

  No, hell no. We made fun of him.

  I had just purchased this property a few weeks back and construction of a quarter-mile dirt track and riding trails took place almost immediately. I don’t think it was necessarily the addition of the track or the dirt bikes that was dangerous but more the way we rode them. I was never the type of guy to do anything half-assed, nor were my friends.

  While we all may have had obligations we should have been doing that day instead we made time to be twenty-two year old kids that day.

  As I’ve said before, when we’re stressed, we did what any normal person would do, we did what relaxed us.

  That was dirt bikes today.

  When the world wasn’t scrutinizing our every move, the engines cooled, the unforgiving sun faded and we were left with a spark of time to be ourselves.

  We spent a greater part of the morning tearing those trails up and then the rest of the evening nursing our wounds throwing back a few beers. It was great to see all of them again. I hadn’t realized how much I missed hanging out with my USAC buddies.

  Money was rolling in from the wins and merchandise sales so I decided to buy a few things. Usually sponsors were throwing merchandise my direction so I never had to buy clothes again if I didn’t want to and cars? I had plenty of those. Anything Ford made, I had my choice of.

  Besides my Ford F250 I had been driving since I was sixteen, I hadn’t purchased anything for myself besides race car parts.

  After I poured a large sum of the money into the sprint car team, I bought some toys...a Yamaha YZ250, four of them actually, a 2003 Mastercraft X-30 wakeboarding boat, three Yamaha Raptor quads and then some property to play on.

  Ford was nice enough to provide me a brand new Ford 4-door F350 so I definitely had the power to tow these toys.

  I ended up purchasing a large piece of land not far from my parents but far enough that I could get away when needed. It felt good to have something of my own for once.

  Do you want to know my first thought as I walked around the land after signing the papers?

  Sway.

  I thought of what it would be like to have her here with me, sharing a home. Brief and fleeting, the thoughts didn’t last long knowing she would never be with me like that. Now with Charlie sick, any intentions I may have had, were now gone. It wouldn’t be right to ask for more, so I thought.

  While the boys ran up the road for more beer that night after riding, I wandered around the property, watching the moon slowly rising. The orange and pink shades from the sun blended with the darker hues of the night as the moon appeared.

  I wanted to feel Sway against my side in that moment. I wanted to hear her soft giggle, look into her green eyes and tell her everything I feared, everything I wanted, and everything I couldn’t. The gravel and dirt crunched beneath my feet, the wet, fresh cut grass smell surged throughout the air circling with the night’s cool air and the lasting traces of racing fuel from the dirt bikes imbued everything together.

  I spent the greater part of the night out there just wandering around.

  With fifteen areas, there was a lot of land to see. Changing rapidly from trees to an open clear-cut meadow, the land was versatile and allowed me to make more trails and even a bigger dirt track if I wanted.

  Eventually I
started a fire and waited for the boys to get back. I was sure they’d figure out where I was with the glow.

  The orange flames from fire flickered against the beer bottle in my hand. When a piece of wood dropped it sent a burst light throughout the air, the white ash dusted my black fleece. Though it was summer, the breeze had a chill to it. I shuddered drawing my arms to my chest for warmth.

  The fire reminded me of the night, in high school, when I went up to Dayton Peak with Sway, the same night I gave into Chelsea.

  If I had my way, I’d take that night back. Hell, I would have never started anything with that whore. I heard from Tommy not too long ago that she was hanging around the dirt tracks again, even asking about me. She was out of her mind if she thought I’d ever talk to her again. Trifling, thoughts of Chelsea subsided when my mind, focused steadily on Sway, wondering what she was doing right now.

  I heard Justin before I saw him, cursing as he tripped over a log. “Oh goddamn it.”

  “Careful there,” I chuckled taking a drink of my beer. “I need you in that car next week.”

  “You should have thought of that before you put that track in.” he mused. “I think I broke my finger.”

  The flashlight he was holding swept back and forth watching the ground trying to guide him through the darkness at the fire. He shined it in my eyes when he got within a foot of me, blinding me.

  “Jerk,” it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. “Where’s Tyler?”

  Ryder had already left to catch flight to Ohio.

  “He’s coming. I made him carry the beer.” He glanced down at his hand, rubbing along his palm. “I really do think I broke my finger.” He held his hand up to the fire; his index finger bent the opposite way between his knuckle and joint.

  “Appears that way—can you race?”

  “Hell—I’ve raced with a broken arm, this ain’t gonna stop me.” Justin took a sharp intake of breath before gripping the finger tightly and then jerking it into back into place. He fell over, moaning in pain.