The Legend: The Love of Ryan Sumpter

by Samuelson, Philip

  We ran out to the main intersection of the orchard where the old worker's dormitory and the main roads met. I stopped at the edge of the open space. She rushed to the middle of it as the rain poured down harder. It was still very bright though. This wasn't a mean thunderstorm. She held her arms to the sky and spun around. This girl was something else. A beautiful, true woman and an alluring, sweet girl.

  “Don't you love it? The Alabama spring rain! There's nothing like it. I love it, I love feeling it, I love dancing in it,” she said as she stopped spinning. She wasn't facing me, she was facing the dormitory. She was breathing heavily, taking the entire scene in.

  “I love you.” I couldn't help it. I loved her. I absolutely loved her. If she wanted to marry me right there, right at that moment, I would have done it. Call me stupid youth, call me a poor judge of decision making, call me hopelessly romantic and tell me my life will be a train wreck. It didn't matter, I wanted everything with this girl. This wasn't the first moment I thought that my future wife could be standing in front of me. It was just the first time I really realized and embraced it.

  She stopped breathing so heavily, her reaction kind of scared me. She turned to look at me. She gave me an utterly confused look. “Excuse me?”

  I slowly approached her. She still didn't move. She watched me the whole way in. “I love you. I am in love with you. At this moment of my life, I can't imagine feeling anything but love for you,” I continued.

  She didn't immediately respond. She just kept staring at me. She was reading me. I don't think she actually believed it, believed me. “You love me?”

  “Absolutely.” I could barely get the word out of my mouth and she threw her arms around me. She hung on my neck as she kissed me. She let go, stared directly into my eyes. She gently took my hand and placed it on her chest. She wanted me to feel her heartbeat. Her heart was beating so fast, I was afraid she was going to pass out, but she just smiled. She quickly turned and we ran to the dormitory. We entered and she pulled me onto a bed right next to a window.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked her.

  “I love you. I love you so much, sometimes I can't even remember what I'm doing. I love you, only you, all of you. I've never wanted anything more,” she said as she attacked me with her lips. The experience was so erotic, so gentle. We laid there afterward, Mary-Margaret fell asleep with her head on my bare chest. The sun shone through beads of water on the window leaving a prism of colors all over the dormitory. I was starting to realize how much I loved the Alabama spring rain.

  I was once told by a stranger that there are three shades of true experience. Loss, gain, and love. I always knew that this could be argued, but the way this stranger came at me with her knowledge, it just seemed to make sense. In the previous 20 months, I experienced loss when Natalie left me. I experienced gain when I met Mary-Margaret. Lastly, I experienced the truest of true love when Mary-Margaret and I fell hopelessly in love with each other and the Alabama spring rain.

  That love we had lasted for just over 14 months to that point. Our relationship took huge steps forward. We were more emotionally involved, far more in love than we were before. We were happy, too. We were always smiling, always enjoying every second. We didn't argue or fight at all in those 14 months. That all began to change on October 31st, 2000.

  - 4 -

  The Pendulum of Life

  One series that always fascinated me was the KART World Championships, better known as those guys who split from the Indy Series in the great American open wheel split. KART was putting on a race at California Motor Speedway during our weekend off from the stock car circuit, so for giggles the whole team went and made a party of it. Mary-Margaret was with Ayrton and Seratti in the suite waiting for the race to start. Apparently Seratti and Ayrton were able to work out their issues (read: Ayrton’s issues) and forge a bond again. I was down on the grid meeting the drivers.

  One younger driver really stood out to me. Gabe Moore. Gabe, man he had some spunk. A real personality. More than that, though, he knew a lot about the cars and how they should run. He was also so kind and colloquial. Some of the other drivers really iced me. Gabe was genuine. I wished him the very best and headed up to our box.

  The year 2000 had been rough on Mary-Margaret. She kept track of auto racing deaths. She knew it bothered me and she did it anyway, but it was one of those fights I just never cared to have. I wasn't going to win that argument anyway. Four stock car drivers had died in wrecks so far in 2000. Alex Petty, Kenny Irvin, who was a close peer to me as he and I were both rookies in 1998, Troy Roper just a couple weeks earlier, and Shawn Baker of a stock car support series. Driver deaths always affected the entire community. Would it ever make us stop? No, and no driver would want their mates to stop on their account.

  On this, the 31st of October in the year 2000, we witnessed a nightmare in live action.

  “OH!! An enormous crash! Oh my, a terrible crash. Yellow comes out again,” Phil Page said as he was calling the race. It was only lap 9.

  Ayrton and I immediately stood up at the sight of the wreck. It was a Forsight Racing car, I saw Patrice Carpenter drive by in front of our box in the sister car. That meant just one thing.

  That was Gabe Moore.

  I knew what happened. We had just seen a driver die on the track. Whether his heart was still beating or not was merely an unnecessary detail. Gabe spun to the inside of the track, his car went across an access road and it caught air. The top of the car went flush into the inside wall, which meant in essence, Gabe Moore took a concrete wall to the crown of his head at about 200 miles per hour.

  Mary-Margaret looked worried, as I'm sure I did as well. Ayrton pulled me aside, we exited the box to the hallway.

  “Maybe you should get Mary-Margaret out of here,” he told me.

  “I don't want to frighten her,” I responded.

  “Dude, do you realize what we just watched? There's zero chance of him living through that. You know --”

  “Yeah, I know. I don't want to tip her off. I don't really know what to do,” I said with my mind racing.

  “How are you doing? You feeling all right?” Ayrton knew how hard I took driver deaths, especially when I was around to witness them.

  “Been better, honestly. I've never seen anything quite like that.”

  “Yeah, me either.” Ayrton and I stood there in silence for a couple moments before we entered again. About an hour later, I saw Patrice Carpenter bring his car down and retire it on pit road. Ayrton and I looked at each other again – We knew what it meant. The team retired the sister car as a sign of unity and respect to their fallen driver. Word had reached the team that Gabe Moore had officially passed away.

  I drove Mary-Margaret home in silence. Ayrton and Seratti left long before the end of the race. Mary-Margaret and I got home and I walked straight to the bedroom.

  Mary-Margaret entered after a couple minutes. “I was thinking about making some dinner.”

  “Not hungry, but thank you,” I responded.

  She laid down behind me and wrapped one arm around my waist. “I'm so sorry, Ryan. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you.”

  I never answered her. I had a feeling, an awful feeling that bad things were going to happen soon. That this wasn't the end. That more great people were going to die in the racing world. I was never able to shake that feeling.

  The rest of that year, Mary-Margaret and I were pretty disconnected. Ayrton went into a pretty rough life slump as well. He started drinking. He never drank at all before that. Not even when the rest of the guys shared a toast of single malt. I remember Yusuf once telling me that life is a pendulum. Just as easily as it swings one direction, it will swing the other. Life is all about relationships. Those relationships make your life average or extraordinary. And what makes those relationships strongest is the ability to survive when the pendulum swings the other way. The truest test of strength is holding those relationships together when everything is count
ing against you.

  Then came 2001. For many people, this year would carry the weight of a thousand suns until the end of time. We all know why that would be the case. In the racing community, multiply that single tragedy by a million and that's what 2001 meant to our lives. But in the Vector Motorsports camp, one of our own started the year off with a serious loss. Yusuf's mother died very early on the 1st. I made sure I had the time to go back to Ohio and attend the services with Yusuf on the 5th.

  It was a disheartening scene. Nobody was at the service. Yusuf came from a very poor family, and most of his mother's friends had died years before. Yusuf and I sat there staring at the casket. I had said a few prayers while kneeling at his mother's side. There was nothing more I could do. Yusuf was deep in concentration as he stared at his deceased mother.

  “You know, Ry, one thing we've got going for us is we're rich. My mother, she was a saint, man. She was a perfect saint. But ain't nobody knew it. In this world, money gets you attention. You get some money in your pocket, people gonna be knocking at your door trying to get some from you. Money ain't just power, man it's popularity, it's attention, it's everything. My mother died a saint, and ain't nobody even knew.” Yusuf seemed almost disgusted at the idea. I knew exactly what he was getting at though, and he made perfect sense.

  “I knew. I knew she was a saint, and I knew what she meant to you. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but here right now, bud,” I said. As soon as I finished, we heard a crowd of people entering the funeral parlor. It was the whole team. Ayrton, Chaz, Bryan, Brad, Chase, Ed, Randy, Kieren, Jimmy, and more. Mary-Margaret showed up, all the girlfriends and wives. Everyone that had meant everything to the successes of my life was there. Dale Evanhart, stock car legend and a close mentor of mine, even showed up with Tessa and Junior. Dale had been the best friend and mentor I could have ever asked for at the race track. My racing career wouldn't have been where it was without him. That parlor was filled so quickly and abundantly that it brought Yusuf to tears. Yusuf asked me if Ben was going to show up. He was invited but never came. Ben later told me he was working on getting the cars ready for Speedweeks.

  At the end of the night, it was just Yusuf and me. We jumped in my truck and headed for Skyline. When I first arrived back in Ohio, it was snowing like crazy. I needed something with 4 wheel drive to get me around, so I decided to get myself a new F150 Super Crew. I named her Betsy. She was a pretty sweet little truck.

  After finishing our meal, Yusuf sat back and said “Look man, remember what I said earlier? Money gets you attention. You gotta make sure you're safe, man or someone's gonna come after you.”

  “Yusuf, here's the way I look at it. I believe I was always meant to have an open lifestyle. I don't want to live in fear like other wealthy people do. If that ends up getting me killed, so be it.”

  “That's a ballsy way to look at it.”

  “See, I disagree. I believe my purpose on this planet is to remain open, honest to the outside world. So many people close themselves off, especially once they get financial security. I can't do that, man, it's not in my blood. If the ravages of the world end up getting me... Well, maybe that means there's good reason for the rich to lock their lives up in a safe.”

  In February, Speedweeks in Daytona were back. 2001 had a different feeling to it. A lot of things had changed in the paddock. Big rules changes brought about a different style of aggressive pack racing. A lot of people were picking Dale's son, Junior, to win the 500, and it almost turned out that way.

  Last lap of the 500. Things were shaping up for a huge celebration. I could already tell Dale's new driver, Micah Wallace, was going to win this one. Junior was in second pushing Micah as hard as he could and Dale was running interference behind in 3rd. Dale had been more aggressive than normal the entire race, which for him was saying something. He was almost swept up in several incidents. Halfway down the backstretch, I started to wonder why Dale was so stingy with his blocking. There was no way any of us were going to catch Junior or Wallace. But Dale kept blocking. Can't change the stripes on that man, no way.

  I was on the low side holding my ground. Dale swerved high to block another charging driver who was threatening. I poked my nose underneath Dale going into turn 4 and tragedy struck.

  In the blink of an eye, I would be questioning for the rest of my life why I stuck my nose in there. I would be questioning why I didn't hold back a little and give Dale some room. I would be questioning why it all matters, why any of us are on the race track.

  Dale cut across my nose. He spun to the flat and came right back across the front of my car. I hit him hard, as did several other drivers. Dale went hard into the wall, almost head on. Dale and I came to a rest in the infield.

  I jumped out of my car and headed for Dale's window to take his safety net down. I was thinking we'd just have a laugh about it, hey what a hell of a finish, your boy won kinda thing. I got to his window and immediately I saw blood on his face. He wasn't moving. Something was different about this wreck. Something was very wrong.

  I stood back and watched the safety workers cut Dale out and load him on a gurney. I went back to my car. Time was slowing right before my eyes. I took in my surroundings. It was like a really bad dream. I glanced across pit road and saw Mary-Margaret. She was terrified. I leaned up next to my car and slowly slid to the ground. I kept staring at Mary-Margaret. She kept staring at me. We both knew what had just happened.

  The racing world stopped. A legend had died.

  I felt as though I had killed my racing mentor. I killed the man who did everything for me, who took me under his wing with no questions asked and made me into who I was. I killed a legend. Junior told me he didn't blame me, but the death threats I was receiving were persistent. I couldn't blame myself, but I was blaming myself.

  We mustn’t forget that in the wake of every tragedy comes solace.

  The season continued on, but nightmare struck the next week in the Dale's race team camp. Junior was wrecked out in turn 3 of the first lap in Rockingham. But they also got some joy. The driver Dale believed in most, Stan Park, the guy he developed, won his very first Cup Series race. Weeks later, we were having another great season, but it all felt a little insignificant. Then came the Bristol Spring race.

  The day was just starting for us after the huge win. Ayrton loved Bristol. He loved the night race more, but hell any chance he could get to party, he was all over it. The evening had a much different feeling for us though. We all had pretty good runs. Chaz, Bryan, and Greg all posted strong finishes.

  As Ayrton was manning the grille and Mary-Margaret was talking with some of the ladies from her charity that she had invited, I sat alone in my lounge chair with my trophy sitting next to me. This was the normal routine, but something was distinctly off.

  And the news hit.

  Ayrton got a call. I never kept a phone on me, Ayrton was the designated call receiver when we were at the track. He dropped his spatula and instantly, everyone was silent and looking at him. He approached me slowly, I knew it wasn't good news.

  “It's your father... He died this afternoon.” Ayrton didn't have to say anything else. I simply put my hand to my mouth and stared off into the distance in awe. What should have been a week of celebrating became a week of darkness. I helped my mother plan the funeral on Monday, helped pack my father's things on Tuesday, gathered family and friends on Wednesday, and on Thursday, March 29th, I buried my father. It's been documented how poorly I got along with my extended family. On that day, it was a total ceasefire. I was impressed how together they had it for my mother. Me? I had Mary-Margaret, Ayrton, and my true family. Everyone but Ben. My crew chief was again noticeably missing.

  It was a very rough week. I'd never actually imagined what it'd be like to pack up my parent's belongings. Now I knew. And it was a dreadful experience. I knew sometime in the future I would have to bury my mother. Although who knows, the way the year was going, it seemed more likely I'd be buried first. Such a concept would k
ill my poor mother. She was so terrified of car accidents that she’d rarely seen me race.

  It seems tragic to think such a thing as life goes on after the death of a parent, but my life could not stop. So many people were counting on me to succeed. The most insanely ass backwards concept I'd ever ran into in my life... I always thought that success was seen in the fruits of one man's labor and that a man could only count on himself for greatness. I learned very quickly that the higher you go, the more people depend on your success. It was as blissful as it was stressing.

  On April 11th of 2001, tragedy struck closer to home than any of us ever thought it would. I woke up on that morning with my beautiful girlfriend in our hotel room in the Poconos of Pennsylvania. I jumped out of bed, grabbed a shower, and headed for the track. Mary-Margaret was going to drive over later. It was gloomy, much like it normally was during the Pocono races in the middle of each summer.

  Bryan, Greg, and Chaz were scheduled to be testing. I was going to be on the pit box with Ayrton and Ben for this one. I did some quick debriefing with the guys before they got in their cars to make sure they knew what the gameplan was.

  Ninety minutes had passed since we started. I watched Bryan flying down the straightaway in front of us, all the while thinking that Mary-Margaret would arrive soon. Even after several years, I couldn't wait to see her. She had been a pillar of strength for me over the past several months. I stood tall on the pit box so I could get a better look at the action on the rear of the chassis on Bryan's car. I was looking through a pair of binoculars, and as soon as I was able to focus in, something looked off.

  “Guys, it feels like it's rolling over on the left front --” Bryan was cut off in the middle of his statement. I saw the whole thing happen. While turning a speed of almost 200 miles per hour, the bottom left front a-arm became entirely detached from the frame of the car. Bryan couldn't slow it down. He slammed head on into the turn one wall. His car was launched into the air, thrown back onto the track by the catch fence, and it barrel rolled across the pavement.