by Shey Stahl
Poor dirty heathen. It was evident he wasn’t lasting long.
We tried to take our time but the need was too strong. My legs wrapped around his hips, moving with him. I couldn’t get close enough and he seemed to be feeling the same way. He leaned away, pushing his upper body away and reached to balance himself on the headboard. I watched the muscles in his biceps and forearms flex as he held himself up right, the veins in his arms puffed up.
One hand slipped off to grasp my thigh, holding me against him. His head fell forward and I tried to memorize every inch of his face that was strained with pleasure.
“Jesus Christ, Sway.” He moaned, kissing and biting my neck. His whiskers brushed against me, fortifying my rapture.
Leaning up on my elbows, I gently kissed his chin and then his lips. “Don’t stop. For the love of god, do not stop,” I whispered, “Please.”
He didn’t. He leaned in pressing his lips hard against mine. His forceful movements pushed me against the headboard. Every nerve ending began to fray but Jameson’s voice brought me back.
“Look at me.” He commanded huskily his movement slowing to draw my attention to him.
I did and fell entirely. His breath fell against mine, hard and heavy his grip tightened around my leg. It never failed to amaze me how entranced I could become watching Jameson in the midst of an orgasm I was bringing him to. His features tensed, his body vacillating between still and shuddering. It was captivating and fascinating all at the same time.
When his body collapsed against mine and then rolled to the side, his hand fell against my stomach, tracing circles around my belly button. “I don’t think I can wait that long again.” He gasped trying to catch his breath.
“Me either.” I laughed. “But we say that every time.”
No matter how long the separation between us was, we had no problem cleaning off the tires and getting up to speed again.
Compound – Jameson
If you would have told me at the beginning of this season I would be emerged in the closest point battle in the NASCAR Cup Series history ever, I would have laughed in your face. Not only that, after Richmond, would I have told you that you were smoking crack because that wasn’t happening. Not this year, I was sure of that.
By the time the series rolled around to Pocono in August that year and I managed to destroy our tenth car in the last nine races, I got the message: This was not my year. Things seemed to turn around in Loudon and I started winning...a lot actually. So when I made it into the chase, I figured you know, let’s just stay out of trouble and finish out the season the best we can. Winning the Monster Million helped me, and my teams confidence but we struggled those last few races. With heavy hitters like Tate, Paul and Bobby all in contention, I honestly thought I had no chance. Thankfully, once in the chase, Brody had no consistency and proved to be an average rookie. He needed more experience.
I won at Loudon, Dover and Texas putting me within one point of Tate going into Homestead. Turns out, I had a chance again at another championship. But there was only ten points separating the top four drivers. It was anyone’s championship.
The problem was that Tate was consistent and pulled through with top ten finishes in every race in the chase. He was going to be tough to beat.
The morning of the final race, I was in a good mood. Mostly because of my wife’s arrival and took care of some much needed pressure release to calm the nerves.
She stood by my side through all the race interviews and media appearances as she always did. My other mood boosting turn, it rained last night leaving the track green.
There was nothing better for me than a green track because any rubber that was tearing up your tires before was now gone leaving a fresh surface. It had its downsides sure, no grip but with my dirt track skills, loose was okay with me. I liked having a softer tire and less grip.
Kyle was a nervous wreck though, having set the car up for a surface that had already been raced on, now we had to start over with wedge, tire pressures and spring adjustments.
I wasn’t worried so much about myself that morning as I was Kyle. He seemed on edge most of the weekend.
Over the years, Kyle hasn’t had much of a personal life and puts everything he has into this team along with Mason. Here are two people who have dedicated their lives to Riley-Simplex Racing and stood by all of us through it all. They didn’t have family outside of us. Kyle got married once but that quickly ended when she realized being married to a crew chief was worse than being married to the hotheaded driver. You never see them. With Kyle being the best crew chief in the business, he had no life outside of racing. But he was okay with that.
The thing with Kyle was he was more than a crew chief to me. When I lost my cool, he anchored me to the tide so to speak. The rocks may have beaten the shit out of me but he kept me from going under. I like to think I provided him with the same but there were times when I wondered about his mental sanity. Let’s be real, I wasn’t exactly the easiest person to work with.
“You okay?” I asked him as we sat around the hauler eating breakfast that morning before introductions. “You don’t look so well.”
He didn’t answer right away, his eyes trained on the clip board in front of him making sure everything was in order. When I kicked his foot under the table, he looked up. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled looking back at his clipboard chewing on the end of his pen.
Mason walked up after that and they got into fuel mileage and what each pit stop would do.
Fuel mileage played a huge role in race day strategy. Whether it was because of better performing tires, the new Ethanol-gasoline blend or smaller fuel cells in the cars, teams had been forced to take gambles to stretch the fuel reserves to the limit. While some may benefit from the chance, others would literally sputter out in the closing laps.
Personally, I think that it was a part of the sport and added to the whole aspect. It wasn’t just about talent anymore. It was about being consistent and making all aspects come together.
Your strategy is simple. Get better fuel mileage than anybody else and make the right pit calls, oh, and drive smart.
Every team has a secret. I personally don’t know ours. Kyle and Mason deal exclusively with that and refuse to share their secrets. I had no problem with that. The less I knew, the more focused I was on the track. I trusted them. After all, they guided me to championship after championship.
We’ve made some bad calls like we did in Michigan in late August when Kyle thought for sure we could make it on one can of fuel and I ran out on the last lap. It wasn’t exact science but we won the gamble more often than not.
When it comes to winning races, it’s the combination of car and driver and what percentage they provide to the mix. When you add fuel mileage into the mix you add yet a third element, the crew chief.
Pit strategy could negate an advantage a faster car may have had on you. Crew chiefs like it or not, received little credit when calls go right and all the blame when they went wrong.
The key was consistency and being a champion was to know when to be aggressive and when to be cautious. Two things me and my team we very good at.
Homestead is a nasty racetrack and I mean that in a good way. It’s hard both on drivers and equipment. At no point during the race can you just ride around and log laps. If you aren’t racing another driver you’re making sure you keep your car out of the wall. For that reason, I loved Homestead just for the challenge.
My ritual before the race was the same, kiss Sway and then Spencer raised the window net after telling me good luck. Tate even came by to wish me luck and let me know I was in for a battle; he wasn’t just laying it down. I knew that already and that was the last thing I wanted him to do. You never want to win a championship where the other guy just gave up without a fight. Tate should have retired by now but with thirteen championships under his belt, I had a feeling he was trying to match my fifteen before he retired.
I wasn’t having that but I also was
n’t worried about it either. Of course I wanted to win but worrying about it wouldn’t help. I race my own races and that’s all I could do.
Once the car rolled onto the track, it was all about finding my points on the track, getting familiar with the lines they were using and where my pit stall was. With being the last race to decide the championship, I needed to be focused and on my game one hundred percent.
“You got me Aiden?” I adjusted the ear buds when the radio cracked.
“10-4,” he confirmed. “You’re coming up on pit entrance now. The white line is the break point where the speed starts.”
“That thin one or the thick one? There are two.”
“Oh...uh...they look the same from up here. Can you see them Kyle?”
“Thick.” Kyle told us. “The thick white line is where you should be slowed. What’s your rpm’s?”
“4300.”
“All right, that’s your pit road speed. Remember to get some heat in those brakes on these pace laps.”
“10-4,”
“One to go at the line. They’re calling a green yellow start.” Aiden told me. “Watch your shifts and keep distance between you and third.
“What’s a green yellow?”
“They’re gonna start logging laps here on the next time by but you’ll stay at speed.” Kyle said.
“They’re doing what?” I was confused about the format. Since the rain, they changed it again.
“They are trying to dry the track so they will waive the green but stay at pit road speed, single file with no passing. When the pace car picks up speed, you do. Eventually it will pull off and they will waive the green again letting you know when to go full speed.”
“10-4.”
I took a deep breath and hoped my car held out for me as I pulled on my belts one last time before taking the green flag. I was worried about being too tight but once the race started, I had no grip.
Some cars stayed on the high line whereas I was down low on the line. I knew if I ventured up there I’d be kissing the wall. There was no way the car could hang on up there with the green surface we had.
“When I’m not loose, I’m tight.” I told Kyle once I could have a minute to relax.
“We’ll get it bud. You’re doing great. Do you need lap times?”
“No, not right now. It’s all I can do to keep it out of the wall.”
I was all over the place, brushed the wall every fifty laps or so and was running sixth with Tate running twelve. If the race ended now, I’d win by one point.
That made me happy but my car wasn’t happy.
“What’s your temps bud?”
“210-240,”
“Keep an eye on that.” Kyle said concerned, “how’s it feel?”
“It doesn’t feel like I have the power I did in the beginning.” I shifted into third. “It’s vibrating in every gear. When I come out of four, it lags bad.”
With fifty laps to go, that’s when I felt the vibration shaking the car down the backstretch. I closed my eyes knowing it was the end.
“Goddamn it!” I shouted slamming my fists down on the wheel. “Of all the fucking luck!”
You want so badly for each win that the letdown can be just as fretting as the buildup.
By the time I entered three, it let go completely. I didn’t say anything knowing Aiden would call it out when he saw the smoke and fluid being sprayed from the tower.
“Engine let go, turn three.” He said moments later.
There was really no point with fifty laps to go to try to fix it at this point with it being the last race of the season, it didn’t matter anymore.
“Take it to the truck.” Kyle said. I could hear the disappointment in his voice even through the radio.
“Sorry guys,” I said. “Great season. Way to battle back and pull off a good season.”
It turned out later; we had a few rockers that weren’t torched back at the shop back home. That bent the push rod, held open the valve and allowed the piston to hit it. Everything came apart after that.
Disappointed and frustrated, I took the car to the truck. Sway met me at the hauler and we snuck over to Tate’s pit box to watch with his crew chief, Jeb.
On the way there, she leaned into my shoulder. “Sorry.”
Leaning into her side, I whispered into her ear pulling her into my side. “You can’t win them all honey.”
She giggled tucking nicely under my arm. “Where’s my husband?”
By now, we were at Tate’s pit so I just laughed at her.
“What’s the points look like?” I asked Jeb pulling Sway on my lap.
He smiled. “He needs to get third or higher or you will win by one point.”
“Really?” I thought for sure that I was mathematically out of it now but I also scored five points for leading a few laps so that apparently gave me a small advantage.
If anyone was going to beat me for the championship, I wanted it to be Tate.
I thought back to when Tyler won Turkey Night back in 98’ and I how I felt then. Like I said then, you want to win so badly but then you think about the other guy who wanted it just as badly. Over time, you gain an appreciation for every racer out there knowing their drive and variation is just as strong as yours or else they wouldn’t be here. It has to be because why else would they risk everything to do this?
I’ll admit, when he took over third with one lap to go, I was disappointed but it was a bittersweet moment.
And when he won, I was the first to congratulate him on pit road. I told him exactly what he told me back when I won my fifth championship over him. “It feels just as gratifying watching you win as it does winning.”
I wasn’t lying either. I was proud of Tate. Over the years he had become more than a mentor on the track, he was one of my best friends.
When you’re constantly pulled in different directions it’s the relationships inside of that tire variation you value the most. Over those years, I valued that the most.
10. Pinched – Jameson
Pinched – When a race car on the inside squeezes an outside car by the outside wall. This will cause the outside car to slow down and follow.
It seems my schedule had become a revolving door. Home, away from home, the track, the shop, home and away again, and eventually you’re never anywhere but on the way. It seems you’re saying, “I’ll see you next week.” And then that turns into. “See you next month.” It’s an argument with your wife. “We’ll talk about it later.” But you never do. It’s a conversation with your kids and asking them to take it easy on their mom but they never do. After a while you almost feel like the “on the way” is never really an end. There’s no commitment to the life at home, no responsibility but you’re letting your absence become the tie that binds.
When you’re present there are so many things that require your presence none of them get the attention they deserve.
During the offseason I thought I would get a break since I didn’t win the championship but Alley had my schedule full. First was a photo shoot the week after the banquet. I didn’t like doing these things for the simple fact that wasn’t me. I wasn’t the image they were creating of me in the photograph. It seemed easy, do a photo shoot and get paid right, have some fun. But there’s so much more to it than that. I do this photo shoot. They put the pictures in an ad or a billboard with a product and suddenly I’m standing behind that product. Well maybe I do believe in that particular product or their business, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s a game their playing and I didn’t want any part of it. I wanted to race. I understood fans wanted an image to look up to but maybe I wasn’t that image?
Again, we are allowed one image, one angle.
People think because I’m standing behind that particular product suddenly I’m something to them, standing up for something they believe. Suddenly they believe I’m more compassionate than what I am or friendlier, easy going, capable of more things, but I’m not. Off the track I am the same as everyone
else. I struggle just as easily as they would. But the public, the child looking up to me wanting to do what I’ve done doesn’t believe that. Hyped by distance and imagination, we become more heroic when we’re not that at all. We’re simply doing something we love.
Alley went with me and I tried to get out of it numerous times. Her answer every time was, “Suck it up asshole.”
“Why do you always schedule this shit for me. I don’t like getting my picture taken.”
Alley glared as we opened the door to the studio. “It’s part of the job. You should know that by now.”
When they, as in the flamboyant guy behind the lens and the Jersey snob beside him, told me what I’d be doing, I said. “No. I’m not doing that.”
“You don’t really have a choice, Jameson,” Alley said barely making eye contact with me. I had a feeling she was holding back on what they really wanted to do.
“Oh yes I do. I can leave.” She caught me by my hooded sweatshirt before I even made it two feet.
“You will get your ass back in there.” I couldn’t argue with that. These photo shoots were what sponsors paid for. Like it or not this was part of the game.
I did not enjoy that photo shoot at all. To me it was as invasive as that damn vasectomy. To add fuel to that particular fire, they put oil on me. Fucking baby oil. You can only imagine what that did to my mood after that.
I gathered that this was why Alley avoided my eyes this entire time. She knew what they had planned for me. It was a planned execution as Casten would say.
When Alley finally looked at me, as they lathered me up again, I mouthed, “I hate you.”
She fucking winked.
My wife’s reaction to the photographs was good. I threw them on the coffee table and flopped down next to her on the couch. “I hate doing these.”
She took one glance at them and gasped. “Holy shit Jameson! Those are fucking hot!”
My mood came around and I nodded with arrogance. “Naturally, now,” I pulled her onto my lap. “…show me some love. It was a horrible experience.”