by Shey Stahl
Thankfully, this wasn’t a shifting speedway. I was in an untold amount of pain after Watkins Glen this year where we shifted constantly.
Cup cars have manual transmissions and slowing down and speeding up involves shifting gears—depending on what track you are at. Most of the times you’ll change the gear ratio around so you’ll have either low or high gear and then of course reverse but at Watkins Glen with the hairpin turns, straightaways and sweeping corner you need three or four gears.
Ordinarily you’d let off the gas and push in the clutch coasting through the corner in a street car. In a cup car, you do not want to do that. Why? Because the clutch is engaged, this means you’re simply idling. Getting up to race speed again will make the car buck because the engine goes from idling to thousands of RPM’s. Not only is this bad for the transmission but it makes the car considerably harder to control.
This is where “heel and toe” come into play. Most drivers, the good ones, have this technique down. Others, it takes some getting used to.
As you approach the turn, you begin to break. Your right foot is on the break while you engage the clutch with your left foot.
Then you pivot the heel of your right foot, keeping the ball on the break. Pressing the accelerator to raise the engine RPM’s even though the car is decelerating. Because you still have the clutch engaged you’re not actually increasing your speed, just the RPM’s. Instead, it revs the engine enough to match the RPM’s to the wheel speed.
Now imagine doing all that in less than a second and then ten seconds later, repeating that for four hours. You’re just a little sore by the end of these races.
So by the end of this season, retirement was looking good.
Going into the race I was confident as always but the race wasn’t a sure shot. Fuel mileage was the talk of the weekend and if I was honest with you, it was for us as well.
Fuel mileage over the years had become something else entirely with the harder compound tires we were using. Every driver has their own ways of saving fuel and very seldom shared those secrets. Most, me included, will lay-off the breaks at times going around the corners and then hold in the clutch to let the car roll through the corner. Other times you will only go half-throttle on straight shots. Going wide-open, you burn more fuel. So if you shut the engine off and then fire it back up in the front stretch, you can save fuel. This is only in instances when you know you’re going to run out or you’re really taking a gamble.
Most skilled drivers can actually save 10% more fuel on race days than others. Calculating this can be the biggest conundrums for a team. It’s a fucking nightmare at times. Kyle and Spencer definitely earn their keeps on these days.
Half way through the race, Kyle announced the dreaded words. “Save some fuel bud.”
I did my usual. Laid off the brakes, turned the car off on occasion and coasted when needed.
I’m not sure what lap we were on but the caution came out and I was hoping this was our savior to make it on fuel. There’s nothing worse than wondering if you’ll spend the entire race saving fuel only to run out with a lap to go or worse, on the last turn, I’ve had that happen a time or two.
“Will we make it now?” I asked eagerly.
“Yep, we’re good.”
“What changes are we doing?” I was running third at the time behind Bobby and Shelby who were both strong cars today but I knew I had a car to contend with.
“You know what the car is doing.” Kyle said. “You go ahead and make the call.”
Kyle never had a problem with me making the calls so I thought about it for a moment before saying, “Let’s do a half round down on the right rear. Don’t change anything else.”
“All right you heard him.” He told Spencer who then began relaying the orders to the crew.
“Come this time, come on!” Kyle said suddenly. “Pit road is open.”
“All right...4400 watch your speed.” Aiden reminded me. “The six is pitting in front of you—go around the eleven.”
I managed to squeeze myself in between the two cars and the crew swarmed me, flying around doing what they did best and got us out in a 12.3 second pit stop to take over the lead.
“Go hard, go hard...all clear bud.” Kyle said. “Remember your blend, cross over on the outside. All clear,”
“Fuck yeah! That’s how it’s done.” I shouted to the boys. They needed to hear just how much this meant to us.
“Nice pit stop guys.” Both Kyle and Spencer told the crew. Though most had changed over the years, our team still prided itself in excellent pit stops over the past twenty years. They deserved a win today and that’s what I intended on giving them. So far, I hadn’t won a race since I came back. I got second a few times but no first place yet. Part of me wondered if I could still do it.
After that pit stop, we hit more lapped cars but managed to get clean air after that. Gradually a race shifts, drivers feel it, and time gets shorter. When the last time you looked there were fifty laps, now there’s only a handful. It’s a time when a race can be won or lost.
“Still even...all clear.” Aiden said when I passed the last lapped car.
“Seriously, how many more laps?” I complained when I felt my shoulder aching.
Kyle chuckled. “Sixty seven bud, almost there.”
“There’s still some lapped traffic ahead of you.” Aiden said.
With around ten to go, we hit a good bunch of cars and I felt pressure from behind by Brody who was coming strong.
I made the pass coming off four and then blocked him at the line. It only pissed him off.
“See if the six and ten will help us out.” Kyle asked him fervently. He was getting a little amped up of this.
“Already talked to them, he’s got you.”
As Aiden said, the six and ten moved up so I could get around them with five laps to go.
“It is all clear up there, hang on.”
“Just tell me to shut up.” I finally told them when I kept asking questions. “I know that I can get a little excited here.”
“Don’t worry. I will. The track is changing out there. Just be prepared.”
Now I was getting amped. I could feel my heart pounding with the excitement of the win in sight. I mean really, how cool would a win be on my last race, right?
If I was retiring, I wanted to retire winning. That’s just me.
“Oh man guys, we forgot to get Kyle off that box to perform the last pit stop.” I said to the crew. Since I had announced my retirement, it had been an ongoing joke that Kyle needed to perform that last pit stop with the guys. He thought otherwise.
“I don’t think so,” Kyle replied quickly.
“Oh I think I remember you saying something about Spencer being able to get the job done and that you could do it better.”
Garbled chuckled came through the radio.
“I said nothing like that.” You could actually hear the shaking in his voice. “Stop putting words in my mouth. He’s sitting right next to me and I would like to keep all my limbs today.”
“I think you did.” I teased again.
“Nope, didn’t.”
Needless to say, even in my emotional state, it was ridiculously entertaining listened to Kyle sweat like this.
“Stop joking around and go for it bud,” Kyle said with three laps to go. “You got this one.”
Knowing this might be my first win since I returned to racing, and my last, I got a little worked up and then needed a distraction. “Give me lap times.” With the anxiety rising in my chest, my hands, arms and legs were trembling. I was amazed I could hang onto the car.
Kyle laughed, “26.80 with a 27 flat behind you.”
“Bring it home buddy!” Aiden said as though he was leading troops into battle.
“Got it guys,” I laughed.
Then I saw it, the white flag. Over the radio I heard the words I had been waiting on. “One lap to go.”
I felt like crying, not just any crying. I felt like body
wrenching sobs.
This would be the last white flag I took in a series I spent twenty years racing in. Words couldn’t really describe what I was feeling in that moment.
As I came out of turn four, everything turned to slow motion and I saw the flag in the air. I literally closed my eyes when I crossed the line wanting to keep that vision in my head.
“Whew! Yeah...awesome job boys!” I pumped my fist out the window simultaneously screaming with excitement, “Yeah!”
Every single driver out there on the track pulled up to me to congratulate me on the win. That’s a community right there. I actually felt bad for Shelby who won the championship that night because really, his first championship was outweighed by me winning my very last race.
“Impressive...nice burnout.” Kyle said when I destroyed the car.
There was so much smoke inside the car I couldn’t see any longer.
“And there went the engine.” Aiden teased. “Heck why not, I bet Harry won’t ride your ass on this one.”
I chuckled into the radio waving my hand around to try and see clearly. “I got one last question for you, Aiden.”
He laughed. “What’s that bud?”
“Where’s victory lane?”
“Left man, just turn left.”
Drivers tell you it’s just for fun, or maybe it is they just want to have fun. Remember one thing, drivers are a different breed. They say it’s just for fun but they don’t care if they win or lose. But they’re wrong and most that I’ve ever known never say those words.
There’s bragging rights, trophies, money, and once again, bragging rights. It’s never just for fun. And as much as I said that season would be just for fun, it wasn’t. I had something to prove once again that season. Did I mention I had some bragging rights now?
Once I was in victory lane, I don’t remember much. There were cameras, people screaming, my family was there, it was insane...more so than any race or championship I’d ever won.
Sway lunged into my arms once I freed myself from my team who attacked me after I got out of the car. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her head buried against my neck as she cried.
“I can’t believe it!” she sobbed.
“I know.” I’m not sure what she couldn’t believe but knowing myself, it was probably the unreality of it all. Who has a season like this right before retirement?
Well, I did. Because I gave it everything I had.
When the announcers finally got my attention...you want to know what I said right then?
“This is for you dad,” and held the trophy in the air.
I kept it simple, just like him. I didn’t say anything else to the camera’s, just that. I didn’t go over my strategy or how I saved fuel or what pit call led the win. It was simple. It was for him, the legend who made this all possible for me.
My life was hundreds of races, fragments of action. Some leading nowhere, most leading nowhere. But then when least expected a race comes together and swings your way. Those were the moments that made those fragments worth it.
That very last race would be a memory that I would hold with me forever as a race was never just a race. To some, it was more.
Everyone sees a race in a different light. The outcome is the same, but everyone at the race takes away something different.
The fans, crowded tightly into the metal bleachers all cheering their favorite driver on. And maybe I was their favorite driver, but either way, the experience was different from let’s say the NASCAR official watching out for lapped traffic, debris, and even track conditions at times. He calls the start of the race, waves the yellow and restarts the race. And then, after five hundred miles, he waves the checkered flag. More than likely, he remains indifferent as to who won but that race meant something different to those fans standing behind him or me.
It meant something different to the spotters perched high above the track with drivers putting their faith in them and their judgment. There were the crew chiefs calling the shots on the box or the crew members turning out twelve second pit stops. Also the wives, crossing their fingers, biting their nails and the owners, wanting their drivers to win and give a good showing to the sponsors who provided the opportunity.
Each person took something else away each Sunday and it meant something completely different.
That fan, maybe it was bragging rights with their friends that their driver won.
That spotter, who his driver had put complete faith into him, he got him through five hundred miles to pull off a win and that’s not easy to do.
That crew chief, he made the right calls. The crew members, they performed pit stops to perfection and got the driver the jump he need on forty-two other drivers.
The wife she took pride in knowing that her prayers and nail biting got him through it and safely in her arms again.
That owner, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he built a winning team.
But to that driver, the one that watched the race enfold behind the wheel and was the first to see that checkered flag after five hundred miles battling inches from other cars at nearly two hundred miles per hour and scrapped for every position, fought for every inch and put his trust into others, he had the comfort of knowing that he did what forty-two other guys did not.
He won.
A win may be just a win in the record books but it meant so many different emotions from everyone that witnessed it whether it from the fence line to the wheel.
To me, and my family, words couldn’t describe what this win meant to us.
A turn, a yellow line, a banking, a straightaway, all that moves together creating a shape that becomes a race, a lifestyle, but a race is never just a race. Why risk it all for just a race?
That night, after my last race, I stayed up until the better part of the morning celebrating with my family in Jacksonville. My favorite part was being with my wife.
Her hands traced the tired lines, seeing every imperfection I had. Suddenly growing old didn’t feel so hard. It didn’t with her.
It was times like this, wrapped together that her words, her touch; that her presence hung on the walls of my heart, assuring me this was right.
“I never thought we would be here.” I said referring to me now being retired.
“I think that this played out the way it was meant to.” Her hand touched my heart. “You are capable of more than you know.”
It may not seem like very much, but it was what I needed.
Undeniably, I wish that it had played out a little differently. I wished my dad was here. I wish that he saw it. Saw the dedication I put into coming back, the end to a story he helped scripted.
It was times like this that it felt good for people to say that you’re the best. I won’t sit here and say it didn’t feel good to be accepted into a sport that was so tight because it did. Feeling as though you are a polarizing figure in a sport that’s so highly scrutinized is a numbing sensation.
The shirts, the trading cards, and those kids who wanted to race my number. The being respected, the smiles of adulation, unending autographs was all I knew for the last twenty years. That has a huge impact on your life whether you want it to or not.
What I couldn’t understand was that we were living out an image that wasn’t real. Whether it was a nervous forget-my-own-name smile, feeling encircled and trapped, I played my part to an image that wasn’t me.
Maybe someday I would be me and remembered for who I was and what I did for the sport, not my image or an angle created. Or maybe I’ll be just a common name passing in conversation? Until then, my image, my name reported by countless reporters, gossiped about and carried to overpowering levels, reach me and those around me whether we wanted it to or not.
Either way, I chose a line and stuck with it. Image or not, revolving door or not, it led me here.
Inside Line – Sway
At the last championship banquet, NASCAR invited Jameson even though he wasn’t in the top twelve in points. They had a special
recognition they wanted to do for him. This left our family all going with us to Vegas for the ceremony.
Spencer looked at me as we rode in the elevator the night of the banquet to the hall. “Remember when we got stuck in the elevator?”
“I try not to.” I replied sourly applying some lips gloss. “Not only was I eight months pregnant, but you were trying to get me to take my clothes off.”
“I’ll ask again if—”
I punched his stomach. “Don’t be that guy Spencer.”
When we got downstairs, I found Jameson waiting for me and we walked their red carpet together. Hundreds of people were here tonight just to hear him speak and what they had planned for Jimi.
Laughter broke out beside us when Brody and Bobby started joking with Jameson. I wasn’t sure how he would take Brody joking with him but he surprised me.
Jameson smiled and the mood broke, surprised laughter echoed. Turning, he looked back at me briefly and then regarded the crowd again.
The thing was, the majority of these people were here tonight, aside from the championship contenders and their team, to pay respect to Jimi and show Jameson their support.
They were waiting for him to speak the truth, something he always did. They were waiting for a glimpse into his soul wanting to know the man behind the wheel.
When the ceremonies began, I watched the video, clips of Jameson over the years. My boy was there, goofy, energetic Jameson full of life. They showed clips of his career and highlighted his last season right down to that last win in Homestead.
It didn’t matter who your favorite driver was or what you believed in. That night Jameson won in Homestead, there wasn’t a dry eye in the place when he took that checkered flag for the last time.
Unlike most banquets when we were seated on stage, since Jameson hadn’t won the championship we were seated at a table in the audience to the right of the stage.
Casten sat beside me. “Tommy stuffed a sandwich in his pocket and walked over to the beer. What’s not to love about him?”