The Legend

by Shey Stahl

  “You better.” She said leaning into my side watching the cars passed by. “Your daughter told me to fuck off tonight.”

  “Is that why you were late getting to the track?”

  “Yeah, I had to put her in her place.”

  As they passed by the start finish line, they shot down the front stretch for four hot laps before filling back in to two wide for the start.

  I looked over at Sway again. “He’s nervous.”

  “He’ll be fine. I can feel it. This will be his night.”

  It felt somewhat strange to me standing in the stands at Knoxville when every other year I was on the track.

  Axel started mid pack in eighth position and had some heavy hitters in front of him like Tyler and Justin (two of my guys racing for JAR Racing). Cody Bowman, my other driver, missed the feature when he got tangled with another driver out of Australia during the heat races.

  That night, Axel did exactly what I told him to do. He stopped caring about the win and had fun. I watched as he messed with Justin, bumping his right rear just enough to cause him to slip on entry and then would pull back to let him take his position back. I knew at any given moment Axel’s car was faster but he was relaxing and getting comfortable again. This meant fucking with Justin and it was something they both enjoyed doing.

  The Knoxville Nationals was a four-day show with the final event on Saturday night being a fifty-lap feature. With twenty to go in the fifty-lap main, Axel was sitting in third with Justin and Tyler in front of him. It looked like Tyler was going to pull off his fifth Knoxville Nationals win when Axel took three and four high and shot pass both of them. There was no way his car was that much faster then there’s so immediately I thought something was wrong and ran down to Tommy and Willie standing near the wall watching. Tommy pulled his headset aside when he noticed me.

  “What’s going on?” I threw my hands up. “Did something break?”

  There were times just before an engine blew that you got the most power out of the engine before disaster struck. It’s exactly what I thought had happened.

  Tommy smiled, his orange curls stood on end as the cars roared back. The sound was almost deafening this close to the track. When they got in to turn one and two, Axel was spreading his lead to a five-car cushion. Smooth, not jerky, lines indicated the car seemed fine.

  “You know what the problem has been all along?” Tommy’s eyes shifted from mine to the lap times on his watch. “It was never the car or the set-up.”

  “What?” Willie started bouncing beside us with the rest of the crew knowing this could be the kids’ first win. His hands clasped in front of his face, his head bobbing as he continued to bounce with excitement. Casten leaned forward over the wall watching closely.

  “You,” Tommy replied.

  “Me?” I balked. “What the fuck did I do?”

  “You weren’t here with him.” His eyes glanced at the track momentarily, and then back to me. “He needed you to calm him down. That kid depends on your advice. I tried in Lincoln. Jimi tried in Williams Grove when he nearly won but it’s you for some reason that puts him at ease out there.”

  Was it me?

  It was true. I had yet to see a feature race with the way our schedules collided constantly. Looking back over the years, you never realize the impact you have on your children until someone else points it out. I only told him to relax. How would that be the advice he needed?

  “He needed to hear it from you.” Tommy answered though I hadn’t said the words out-loud.

  I stood there dumbfounded when Tommy leaned into my shoulder as the white flag waved. “You might want to pay attention. History is being made.”

  History was being made again. Two years ago, I won Knoxville Nationals when I came out here for fun. Last year, in his final season, my dad won. This year, coming into three and four, was my son flying out of two with a ten-car lead. He threw the car hard into three, clay roosted up spraying the wall we stood next to as the powerful rumble of his car popped as he lifted. He blipped the throttle to slide into the slick corner nearly bumping the wall before dipping down on the inside to take the checkered flag.

  History had been made.

  Axel Riley was the third generation driver, and third consecutive win for our family here, won Knoxville Nationals.

  I’m not sure who was louder, the screams from the fans or the screams from our family, my wife in particular. I’d never heard her cheer so loud but then again, I was always racing. Maybe she was always this loud.

  With the thick crowd I couldn’t get down to the infield where Axel had pulled himself from the car to celebrate his win. I could see him though, on the screen, smiling, standing on the rear tires to do the wing dance.

  When he climbed down, the announcer shoved the microphone in his face after he hugged Casten who managed to make it to him along with Lily and Sway. How they got down there was beyond me because I literally couldn’t move with all the people swarming the track.

  With that same contagious smile I saw when he won the Chili Bowl Midget Nationals, Axel looked up at the tower seeing the double zero number in the number one spot. The same number Jimi had throughout his entire career in the outlaw series, Axel was now driving. The number hadn’t seen that position in fifty-one races; flickering in the night, it was finally there.

  He must have starred at that number for close to a minute before he smiled and looked back at the announcer. “I wasn’t sure I could get it there again.”

  “You did though.” Jeff, the ESPN announcer, said to him with an encouraging smile. “How’d you do it?”

  “Honestly, it had nothing to do with me.” He ran his shaking hands over his face wiping away sweat and confetti. “I just drove. It was my brother Casten, Tommy, Willie, my grandpa and my mom but most of all...my dad. He told me what I needed to hear.”

  “What was that, win?” Jeff teased.

  Axel threw his head back with laughter.

  “Yeah,” he nodded, “basically.”

  “The champ knows what to say?”

  “That he does.” Axel held the trophy over his head with one hand. “This one’s for you dad!”

  I kept it together, for now, but it was yet another time in my life when breaking down and balling like a baby was threatening. Later, alone, I couldn’t guarantee my stability.

  An hour later, the guys were all parked outside the haulers and throwing back beers in celebration of the kids first win. These were the celebrations I enjoyed the most. In the highly publicized world of NASCAR, a win is never a win anymore that it is a way to promote your sponsors. Sure you get to celebrate but everything about it is commercialized. You have to get out of your car at the exact moment they say, flash your sponsors name to the camera and present yourself in a manner they approve. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I’m saying that for me, how I like to celebrate, is here at the dirt track throwing back beers with my friends.

  Sway and I stood side-by-side watching them celebrate. Soon she said she was tired and we collected Arie and Casten to take them back to the hotel. Of course, Arie threw a fit.

  “You’re coming with us whether you want to or not. I’ll drag you kicking and screaming.”

  Arie, true to her nature, rolled her eyes, “Whatever dad.”

  “Whatever?” I mouthed to Sway.

  Sway laughed hugging my waist. “I should have taken notice back when her pediatrician was trying to sell me books on spirited children.”

  “What’s her problem these days? She acts like we’re not cool. We’re cool people.”

  Sway shrugged. “She’s sixteen.”

  Even with her fit throwing, she was asleep right along with Sway before we even reached the freeway.

  Casten sat up front with me and provided the entertainment but soon, he too started to yawn.

  “You ever think of racing again?” I asked making conversation.

  “I don’t want to race anymore.” Casten replied as though I shouldn’t question
him. “It’s not the same for me.”

  “I can understand that.”

  I could understand. A lot wasn’t the same after the plane crash but it was even stranger being at a place like Knoxville Nationals and not seeing Ryder. Casten had taken to the USAC series when he raced, which was the series Ryder had always raced. I wasn’t around enough to teach Casten what he needed to know but Ryder was. In turn, they were very close.

  “Do you ever think about racing sprint cars again?”

  “Yeah, I do all the time.”

  It was quiet for about ten minutes as Casten’s phone held most of his attention before he asked. “Do you ever get scared racing?”

  “No, well, there are times when I think, shit, this is gonna hurt but I’m not scared of wrecking. The safety is much more advanced these days. I guess I think if it’s your time to go then it was meant to be.”

  Casten tucked his phone inside his jacket. “Do you think Ryder was scared?”

  “No, Ryder wouldn’t have been scared. He knew the dangers very well. In fact, much like you and him, his mentor, Ron Walker was killed racing too.”

  Casten seemed to think about that for a moment and then looked down at his phone that beeped.

  Nothing would take the place of Ryder being gone no more than it would having guys like Andy and Colin gone or a more dedicated crew member than Gentry. I missed Cal’s cooking and Wes, I missed his crazy war stories. My point was, any time you lose someone, it hurts and nothing takes that pain away.

  Casten yawned with a chuckle adjusting his sweatshirt against the window. “I miss that crazy asshole Ryder.”

  “We all do buddy.”

  5. In/Out Box - Jameson

  In/Out Box – This box contains the direct drive slider gears on a sprint car. Since sprint cars do not have a clutch, the car has to be put into gear before racing. The slider gear has to be engaged before the car is off and then the engine will start by compression. It’s similar to a running start in a street car.

  Paul Leighty, one of my current teammates driving the No. 19 car for Riley Racing, was the type of racer that would talk himself up so high he’d need a space shuttle to return to earth.

  It’d been my experience that people who made themselves out to be some sort of god on the track really had no clue how to handle the goddamn car if it became ill handling.

  My theory was right after Bristol.

  The more time I spent around Paul, the more he annoyed me. We’d had our run-in’s in the past but this year we had more and it seemed to be coming to a head.

  Unfortunately, for me, he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d just signed a five-year contract with us.

  And as it turns out, there was someone out there even more mentally unstable than me.

  Who would have ever imagined that?

  Throughout the Cup season that year, Paul and I had been getting into it on the track. At the shop, it was worse and in team meetings, we actually got into a shoving match.

  It seemed Paul had a problem showing that “respect”. The thing I talked about so often. He somehow felt it was okay to cut down on me with only inches or to bump draft in the corners at Daytona.

  Being my teammate now, I sat him down and told him this would stop happening. Did I mention I was part owner of Riley-Simplex Racing now? So yeah, this would stop happening if Paul wanted to keep his spot on the team. Screw his five-year contract. I would find a way out of it.

  “You know that I own part of this team, right?” I said to him after a team meeting at the shop in Mooresville when he told me I had an attitude.

  He smiled reaching for the door but kept his eyes on me.

  “I don’t say that to be cocky, but, well, if you want to continue with this team shit needs to change.”

  Again, he smiled. Here’s something most fans don’t know. When another racer spouts off after a race that he will be getting another driver back for his on track aggression, this is usually false representation. If he says nothing, expect the payback when you least expect it.

  Paul being as hungry as the next driver, and on a 56-race losing streak, didn’t feel too threatened by my response and tried his “cutting down” trick again in Bristol.

  One thing I had learned about Bristol over the years that most hadn’t figured out was the track. It was as if Bristol was my own personal playground so to speak. I knew every corner and every crack on that surface. I could set the fastest lap without trying and could win on any given night with a fifth place car if needed. So, when Paul came down on me entering turn two at the night race there, he had a rude awakening.

  I checked up, let him come down and then passed him on the high side, roosting the marbles as I drifted into turn three to take the win.

  He smashed so hard into the inside concrete wall he had to be taken to a nearby hospital because they thought he did some damage to his head.

  Did he ever pull that move on me again? No.

  Would he be searching for another job next season?

  Without a doubt.

  In my mind, if you couldn’t respect your own teammates, you had no reason to be out there. Even back in my rookie season, I also respected, and still do, my teammates. Hell, I respected every driver out there until they gave me a reason not to. Paul gave me a reason. I like to think that most understood where I was coming from with Paul but most didn’t. My dad did, for the most part. It was a constant question debated with the media and one interview with my dad had a lot of impact on the situation.

  “That’s Jameson,” he told the media after Bristol. He spoke slowly and with a passion we understood. “No one can take this from him and not expect a fight. Like it or not, he’s ruled by his heart whether you guys wanna believe that or not. While my son is practical to a point, he’s impulsive but that’s Jameson. Deal with or don’t. I don’t really care.”

  I loved that my dad stuck up for me and more importantly that he spoke the truth. Something the media knew nothing about. My family, the people I surrounded myself with, when the bell rang, they were ready and willing to stick up for me and fight for what they believed was true.

  Much of this debate between Paul and me resulted in a few meetings with me and my dad, mostly because he was searching for another driver for next season.

  After the team meeting Tuesday morning, following that Bristol race, Dad, much like my grandpa Casten, kept his praising to a minimum. When they did offer it, you had better take it to heart.

  I can’t say he was thrilled about it but these days, he wasn’t making a lot of sense to me when he replied with: “Don’t waste it Jameson. You’ve got more talent than I ever had. I mean that.”

  I tend to think he was still on pain meds from the hip surgery. There was no way he’d say that lucidly.

  I was annoyed when dad left for his bingo game, I’m sure he wasn’t playing bingo these days but what else would he do if he wasn’t racing? All the boys at the shop joked that he played bingo.

  After Bristol we also did another inventory. Mulling over the latest results, I noticed things weren’t adding up. Between Paul, my crazy dad and now this inventory, it did nothing for my mood.

  Sway came walking in right after that, upset with Emma about something I couldn’t exactly pinpoint what had her angry only that she was mad. I was already riled up from the penalties handed down from NASCAR yesterday that I only heard half of what she had told me.

  Sway stood there looking to me for a response when I asked, “What?” to a question I hadn’t heard.

  “Jameson...you, oh never mind.”

  Here came my temper. My fist slammed down on the desk I was sitting at knocking over my cup and a handful of picture frames. “No!” I shouted furiously, “Don’t fucking do that.”

  “Do what?” she asked just as angry that I had yelled at her.

  “Act like this and not tell me. Don’t do that to me. Tell me what’s wrong. I can’t fix it unless I know.”

  “It’s nothing you need to fix.” Her ton
e grew angry. “Besides, you weren’t listening in the first place.”

  “Apparently it is if you felt the need to mention it and I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

  She smiled. The smile that made it all better but I could tell she was just as worn out as I was these days. Sway was helping with Axel’s fan club and trying to get Casten through school. Arie had decided school wasn’t for her so Sway was trying to make her decide what she wanted to do with her life. Right now that meant nothing but sleeping until noon every day, tattoos and speeding tickets. I wasn’t okay with her not going to school. She was sixteen and she needed to graduate high school. To prove her point and to piss me off, she got her GED.

  I’m not sure why my little girl had turned into such a little rebel but I was sure her new boyfriend, Brian Tyler, had something to do with it.

  All this was stressing us out to the point we were now yelling at each other. Sighing, I gazed at the inventory again and then back to Sway.

  “You wanna get away?” Before I even finished the sentence, Sway was nodding in agreement.

  The NASCAR schedule freed up and allowed for yet another week break that summer in between races, I decided it was time to spend it with my wife and not at a track.

  We decided to make a quick trip to Costa Rico, Sway loved it there. After all the arrangements were made, we told Casten and Arie, who at fourteen and sixteen were fully capable of staying alone in the house.

  “Where are you two going?” Casten asked looking at the bags in the foyer.

  “Costa Rico,” I told him. “Stay out of trouble or I’ll ship you off to boarding school.”

  “Sweet,” he nodded ruffling his thick rusty waves that fell in his eyes. “I was thinking of having a party.”

  “No you weren’t.”

  “Actually, I was. It’s time I had a house warming party.”

  “Nice job, you ruined it for yourself. I’m staying here.” I sat down on the bags crossing my arms over my chest. “No party for you.”

  Casten shrugged carelessly, “Your loss really.”

  Oh goddamn him.

  In the end, we ended up going and had Spencer keep an eye on the kids. That was our first mistake. Our second was allowing Emma and Aiden to come with us.