The Champion (Racing on the Edge)

by Stahl, Shey

  “You know you don’t have to do this.” I offered. “I can easily find someone to fill your place for a few weeks. You can stay with your family.”

  He didn’t hesitate before looking up from his phone at me.

  “I know that. But you’re my family too. I don’t do this just because it’s a job, Jameson. I never have. I love what I do and I love that we’re all a family doing it together. Alley understands that because it’s the same reason she does it. It’s more than a job to us. It’s our way of life.”

  Racing can control every aspect of your life if you let it. But the thing was that was my life. There was no controlling it. It owned all of us. Sway understood why I needed to be in Atlanta Saturday night, it marked the end of the regular season and the chance to make it into the chase. The points between the top four were so close. I couldn’t afford to risk a back-up driver. It needed to be me in the car.

  So I went to Atlanta and left my wife, my son, and my infant baby girl back home.

  The sacrifices...they never got easier.

  14. Catch Can – Sway

  Catch Can – A smaller can with a spout held at the overfill port to catch the gas spilled over. This can also allow the air trapped in the tank to vent faster than normal, critical for faster pit stops.

  “I want owc cleam!” The tiny vein in my soon to be four-year old son’s neck was popping out as he said this.

  “You want what?”

  “Owc cleam!”

  Laughing I contemplated what that meant. “I’m guessing you mean ice cream?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Oh geez, now he sounds like Lane.

  “No, you said owc cleam. I don’t even know what that is and it doesn’t sound edible. It sounds like a kitchen cleaner or something.”

  “Mama...I just need it.” Axel told me, his intense vibrant green eyes focused on the bowl I was holding full of his favorite peanut butter ice cream with chocolate syrup.

  Apparently, all the Ben and Jerry ice cream I’d eaten while pregnant with him had rubbed off and he was just as enthusiastic toward the fluffy wonderful creation as me.

  I remembered the first time we gave him ice cream. It was during a rain delay in Atlanta.

  Atlanta Georgia during the summer is miserable regardless if it’s raining or not, so during that particular rain break we fed our 6-month old son ice cream. From that point on, every time someone had ice cream it was as though Axel knew and would do just about anything to get some of it, similar to me.

  Axel was similar to me in many ways but he resembled Jameson. You could look at him and know exactly who his father was. He had the same expressions, same attitude and same quirky skin phobia (he barely let me put soap on him.) But what got most people was how much he looked like him in the face.

  I once took him grocery shopping with me and this older woman, clearly a fan of NASCAR with her Tate Harris memorabilia plastered all over her, stopped us near the checkout counter.

  “Wow,” she gasped staring at a 3-year old Axel. “He looks just like Jameson Riley, the NASCAR driver.”

  I smile politely at her.

  “Yeah well,” I began. “If you see him around the track, tell him his wife said hello.”

  By her reaction to this statement, that was the last time I ever told someone I was married to the Jameson Riley. Her reaction was as though I told her I was married to Brad Pitt for crying out-loud. Took us 45 minutes to get away from her and from that point on, Emma did my shopping for me.

  This had its own drawbacks but it was worth it not to run into fans at the grocery store.

  “Mama?” Axel called out with a mouth full of ice cream. “Re-Re stole Mr. Wiggles.” Ice cream trickled down his chin and onto his gray JAR Racing t-shirt.

  “Well get him back from her.” I replied closing the dishwasher door and starting the final load of dishes from last night’s dinner. I should have done them last night but Jameson got home around nine and well, we got distracted once the kids were in bed.

  “She not giving back. I need back!”

  This was my life these days. My kids fought all the time and if they’re not fighting with each other...they’re fighting us. The bad part of this was—they won. Most of the time, their arguments were worse it public or at the track. I always sensed when Jameson was getting stressed as they fed off him and then everyone was upset. To be fair, Jameson was working most of the time he was at the track and having the kids there shot his anxiety levels through the roof. Now he not only had himself to worry about but what he said and did directly affected a family. A family that was there at the track with him and was subjected to the judging media.

  In turn, there were times when Jameson had the occasional outburst at Axel’s tendency to run away at the least opportune times. Like when cars were driving past in the paddock or garage area. The kids threw fits at the worst possible times and when we were in a hurry, they decided at that moment to slow down.

  “Mama!” Axel screamed throwing himself on the floor. “Give it back!”

  “Arie, give Axel back his Mr. Wiggles.” I told her taking Mr. Wiggles from her chubby little hands.

  Her response: “No!”

  That was her standard answer for everything and was usually followed by a tremendous amount of wailing and tears.

  Arie had just turned two in September and if I thought Axel worked us over at times; Arie put him to shame. She could get absolutely anything from Jameson with just a flutter of her beautiful thick black lashes.

  When she was born, Jameson was in awe at how much she resembled me but I saw Jameson in her features as well her attitude. She had his smirk for one, his lips, and of course his exact color of hair with my emerald eyes. Axel had the lighter, grass green that Jameson had.

  Life was changing as it always did. We were still living in Mooresville but we kept the house on Summit Lake for the weekends we visited Elma. Another baby was on the way, yeah, quick I know. Imagine my surprise. Arie was only 18-months old when I got pregnant with this new little spaz. I cried for nearly a month.

  Jameson was on top of his career. He’d won four back-to-back championships and finished second this year.

  As always, time brought changes to our hectic lifestyles.

  Trying to raise two kids on the road was hell. Arie thought for the first year of her life that home, was the motor coach. When we were home, she cried. When in the motor coach, she was happy.

  Axel wasn’t happy unless he was at the track with his dad. When he was at home, he was asking when he could go back to the track and when daddy would be home—it was sometimes as though I didn’t exist to him.

  Arie loved me though. Or at least she pretended well.

  All this led to one thing, the crazy irrational kids and I traveled with Jameson. There were times when we stayed home, depending on what track he was racing at, but most of the time Thursday through Sunday, we were at the track.

  One bad thing about staying in a motor coach with Jameson, me, Axel and Arie...the kids were always around which left little alone time for the Mama Wizard and her Dirty Heathen. We had to think of new inventive ways of getting alone time.

  We made use of times like going out to dinner and cars worked good for the occasional dyno testing as well. Leaving the kids with Tate and his wife Eva was also an option on race weekends. They loved the kids as though they were their own and Axel thought Tate was pretty cool. Alley and Spencer were also options but this always left the question of where to do it at, along with the harassment from Spencer.

  Once, and I’m ashamed to admit this, we made use of a bathroom in the pits. Embarrassing as hell, because Bobby picked that exact moment to walk into the men’s rest room when I’m screaming like a hyena. It took me a while to realize why he kept smiling the rest of the weekend until Jameson confessed that Bobby felt badly for walking in and told him. I still can’t look at Bobby without my face turning a shade similar to the Devil’s ass.

  After I ruled out b
athrooms, cars always seemed to be where we got it on. This is why I always request a SUV when renting cars. I’m not stupid. All this dyno testing might have something to do with the fact that I was once again, pregnant with another flailing spaz. I also put Mr. Jangles up for adoption. Damn thief.

  Axel was now in school on Monday through Wednesday so this meant most of the time I had to fly out a day later with the kids. That was only if Axel didn’t get into trouble. Parent teacher conferences were my least favorite thing to do. Honestly, I’d rather set myself on fire then attend a parent teacher conference where the teacher goes into detail about the time she met my husband or Axel’s lack of concern for anything that doesn’t relate to racing.

  We were hiring a private teacher for him next year.

  “Sway, are you in here?” Emma called out as I heard her come in the front door. Then I heard a loud crash followed by an “Oh shit.”

  “You’re paying for that!” I yelled out to her making my way into the living room to see her frantically cleaning up the glass from a picture frame she’d knocked over with her suitcase she carried around as a diaper bag for the twins.

  Noah and Charlie began running around the house looking for Arie. They’d be turning three next week and their temperaments showed it. That’s not to say my two didn’t throw fits because, Christ almighty at times it was as though the devil replaced my beautiful rusty haired babies.

  “I’m sorry...I’m running late.” Emma told me.

  “For what?”

  “Swim lessons—remember? We talked about this a few weeks ago.”

  “Right,” I nodded. “I just don’t see why we should put them in swim lessons. I’m mean they’re not salmon. Why do they need to learn to swim anyway?”

  “Sway, what happens if they fall into the water? You live on a lake.”

  “That’s what floaties are for. Besides, they’re too young for swim lessons. Arie wants nothing to do with the water. I have to bribe her to get her to take baths. And Axel, well if it doesn’t involve a race car—good luck getting him into the water.”

  Emma sighed knowing damn well she’d never get my kids to agree to this. Yet another trait they inherited from their father, extreme stubbornness.

  Catch Can – Jameson

  For the first time in almost a year, the family and I were on our way to Elma for Macy’s, Andrea and Van’s little girl, first birthday party.

  Returning to the Northwest always made me laugh. I was offered a key to the City of Elma this last summer. Anyone that knew me found this entertaining. The Sheriff was constantly sending me to traffic court for various speeding or reckless driving infractions when I lived here. I was hardly a model citizen.

  Not long after this while I was driving home to Elma as I entered the city I saw a sign on the side of the Highway 8 that read: Home of NASCAR Champion Jameson Riley.

  Laughing at the irony of it all, I snapped a picture and sent it to Sway with a text that read: We used to steal this sign back in high school.

  Her response: You better bring that shit home so we can hang it on the wall!

  Every time we stole the sign, they replaced it with another and added the last date I stole it. Eventually we lost interest in stealing the sign but it was still entertaining that my home town cared enough about me to have a sign made.

  When we entered the city today, the sign was still there. Sway chuckled beside me when she saw it had been replaced yet again.

  “Pretty soon they’ll have to add Axel’s name to it.”

  I laughed. “Probably,”

  I had just started Axel in the USAC quarter midget Division. He turned four last week and was granted his USAC license so naturally he got a brand new quarter midget all ready to go for his birthday. Justin and Tyler helped me get everything set up in time for him to race in the “Duel in the Desert” in Phoenix this coming March.

  To say he was excited was an understatement. Axel had been showing interest in racing since birth but now it was something similar to the way I acted around racing. We started him out with a go-kart at one and now he’d out grown it. I should rephrase that—the yard outgrew him.

  Just like me when I was younger, he had a track in our back yard at the Mooresville house; quarter mile clay oval track. And just like me, he threw a fit when it was time to come in at night. I made a point that every Tuesday morning, I went out there with him and we raced. It became hard once winter came around so what did I do? I installed a covered roof over the track. I couldn’t have a crying little boy, could I?

  Once we arrived at the house on Summit Lake, I snuck over to the track to test out the car we got for him. Sway knew it was only a matter of time before I took him to the track. I had to make sure everything turned out, right?

  So Axel, Van, Tommy and I made our way over to the track before heading out to the birthday party. Van and Tommy wouldn’t have missed this either. Over the past few years, Axel had become like a son to him and for good reason. He spent more time around my kids than I got to these days. I also knew they were protected.

  I would never regret the decisions and sacrifices I’ve made now because financially it has secured our future but those decisions and sacrifices has had drawbacks. I had missed Arie’s birth, which was extremely hard on me, and I’d missed Sway’s birthday twice now.

  It’s strange but something happens when you become a NASCAR Champion and people stop seeing you for you and instead some sort of a rock star who isn’t bothered by fame. That’s not entirely true. I hated fame and more importantly, I hated that fame for my family. Growing up, Axel would constantly be considered Jameson Riley’s son just as I was always Jimi Riley’s son. It’s an endless cycle in the racing community. Knowing all this, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see fans waiting outside the gates at Grays Harbor raceway when we pulled in.

  I have no problem with fans. They’re the reason my career has really taken off but when I’m with my family, I want to be with them and give them the attention they deserve. Yeah that one fan only wants a few seconds of my time but what happens when I give just that one fan a few seconds? Well then the next fan wants a few seconds and then the next, before you know it, you’ve spent the last 30-minutes giving each fan just a few seconds while my 4-year old son patiently waits inside his race car for his dad to show him how to drive it.

  “I’m sorry, but my son is waiting for me.” I told the last fan that wanted an autograph.

  “Just one second of your time.” He pleaded handing me the die cast car.

  “I really am sorry but I need to get going.” I began to walk away when I heard the guy lean over to his friend and mutter, “What a jerk.”

  That type of snide comment irritated me to no end. I wanted to turn around and say, “Fuck you!” but didn’t. I had just stood there signing autograph after autograph for these fans and when I finally need to draw a line to the madness they act as though I blew them off. You can’t win with it and I began to realize I shouldn’t care.

  These fans blow us up to be these heroes. We’re people, we’re racers where nothing else matters but the noise and I think at times, they forget we’re actual people with lives outside of the tracks too. Some fall victim to the fame and become the image created for them, no longer knowing themselves because god forbid they should be disappointingly normal. We’re people though and the fans and media forget that from time to time.

  “Daddy, what I do?” Axel asked me putting his helmet over his untidy mess of rusty curls.

  I smiled watching his excited eyes.

  I still remember the first time I sat in one of those cars and my first race, which was at this very track. I was so amped up I hardly listened to my dad’s advice but thought I should give Axel the same.

  “All right this is similar to what you see Grandpa and daddy do in sprint cars. Tommy is going to push start you, okay?”

  Axel nodded with enthusiasm, his helmet visor flipping shut. He knew race talk.

  I had to chuckle. “Ge
t comfortable with the speed before you go throwing it into the corners okay?” he nodded again. It wasn’t that these cars exceeded twenty but still, he was four. “This weighs slightly more than the go-kart you had so get use to that first. Once you’re in that spinning drift, that’s not the time to second-guess the speed. You drive it in too hard and you’ll end up in the wall. What happens then?”

  “Momma yells at you.” He grinned.

  “Exactly,” I patted his helmet and pulled on his belts before Tommy pushed him off. As I expected, he knew exactly what do to and the little red Honda fired to life.

  “It’s hard to believe he’s big enough to be doing this.” Van said linking his fingers in the chain link fence we leaned against.

  “I know. It’s seems like just yesterday Sway gave birth to him.”

  Van laughed when Axel, who’d been pushing up the track with each lap, bounced the right rear off the outside cushions like I always did, as did my dad. It’s a feeling every dirt-tracker knows and is comfortable with but once that right rear hits the outside cushions, it jolts your car forward giving you that added boost needed to pass when slower cars get bunched down on the rails.

  Axel made another five laps before I walked back down onto the front stretch where he stopped when he saw me. Like I told him, he pulled it out of gear before flipping his visor up. I watched him rub his eyes just as I always did. I’m still amazed at how much he picks up from me just by watching.

  “I do good?” his eyes held hesitation.

  “You did great little man.” I told him. “That last lap was faster than mine when I was your age.

  The hesitation vanished. “Mama will be proud of me.”

  He tried so hard to make everyone proud of him, when really, just having him around was enough for us. I don’t know where he ever got that he needed to make us proud of him but it didn’t stop him from trying.

  “Can I go again?”

  “Sure buddy. This is for you. Let me know when you’re done.” I leaned in closer. “Do you want me to track your lap times?”