by Shey Stahl
His lips were there next, brushing lightly against mine, soft and feather-like.
When he finally closed the distance, pressing gentle kisses to my lips, a sigh of contentment and relief fell from me.
My hands soon found their place in his shirt, immediately fisting it in my hands.
“I love you.” I told him over and over again. My words felt pathetic, they meant something but nothing of comfort or even an answer for him.
I told him this because that’s what he needed to remember. He needed to remember that I was here for him despite his pain and anguish.
Tears were streaming down my face with an unstoppable force along with choking, bone rattling sobs.
“I love you too. You can be sure of that.” He assured me with steady palms cradling my face.
That’s when we both dropped to our knees and he was offering me anything he could to provide for me. Comfort me in any way he could. But it wasn’t me he needed to comfort. I was crying to him. For his suffering that he wouldn’t show.
He tried to detach himself from it but not feeling anything was the last thing he needed right now.
“It’s going to be okay.” I whispered to him finding a place against the rear tire of the sprint car
“Sway,” his voice cracked, eyes glistened with remorseful tears. “My team, members of my racing family were...” his eyes shut trying to stop the few tears that slipped by. “So you see,” he continued, refusing to look at me. “Nothing is as easy, or as simple, as it should be.”
He lifted me up, setting me on his lap to wrap his arms around me.
“It will be okay Jameson.” It was the only answer I had for him.
“You say that now, but, I can’t say the same.” The sadness swirled with the green and almost took my breath away.
He’d just lost friends of his and I couldn’t blame him for feeling this way.
“Your friends, your team, they would want you to be the champion you’ve always been. They would want you to be strong.”
Jameson didn’t answer right away, just stared, and fear prickled my skin, his silence only scared me.
“I don’t know,” he finally replied slowly, his voice echoed throughout the room.
Later that night, Alley showed up and we went over the press conference that was set for ten the next morning where Jameson, Jimi, Tate and Bobby were requested to speak.
With something so tragic, they wanted answers.
“I don’t know what to say to them.” Jameson said sitting inside the small conference room we had at the sprint car shop. Thankfully Jameson hadn’t touched this room in his earlier rage.
Alley sighed reaching for his hand across the table. “I know it will be hard Jameson but I think out of anyone right now, you will know what to say.”
Alley was absolutely right. She knew that when pressured for words, Jameson knew what to say, he always did. He could respond regardless of the circumstances. He might not always say what others wanted him to say but he spoke the truth and he spoke from his heart.
Poppet - Jameson
It was times like this when the truth behind what you know and what you feel give way and you’re left with what you need. What you need to say. What you need to feel. And more importantly what you need to believe.
There’s also a point when you say I’ve had enough. Enough pain, enough sadness and enough loss.
The morning brought with it grief and regret for what happened, but also answers as to what might have gone wrong.
My private jet that was carrying twelve passengers and two pilots crashed outside Eldora in Lancaster Ohio. Other than that information right there, I didn’t pay much attention to the news report because I knew each and every person on that was on that plane. More importantly, I knew each one personally. I’m not going to say I didn’t feel regret because I did. I felt more regret than I should have.
It was times like this that you look at yourself, your life, your family and wonder why.
Why them, why us, why you, why not him?
You look at everyone and anything for an answer that will never come.
I’m not sure whether I believed in God or whether I didn’t. But at times like this, I wondered who made the decisions for us. Who took lives and left others to face the unknown and life without them. I wondered why.
Everyone on that plane had a family. They had loved ones; wives, kids, aunts, uncles and they had someone who hung on their every word and maybe even someone who hated them. My point was that they had someone grieving their death and asking that very same question I had.
Why?
My wife—my wonderful understanding and supportive wife—stood beside me, watching the crowd gather. Each one of them was asking themselves what I couldn’t answer.
Why?
Racers like me are used to deciding their own fate on a track. That’s not to say outside factors don’t play a role, but usually, your destiny, which is dependent on the outcome of a race, is held in your hands.
As a racer, your home is the track. It’s where your love for racing is formed and where you cultivate it into something great. It’s where nothing else matters but the dedication, passion, confidence, and ambition. These were the only traits that I believed set a racer apart from others. Until today.
Patrick Maddens, CEO of NASCAR, took the podium first and explained the details surrounding the crash. Through it all, Sway held my hand.
“The King Air jet of NASCAR Cup driver Jameson Riley, took off from Charlotte North Carolina at 9 am, eastern time, carrying fourteen passengers. Among those were several NASCAR drivers including Sprint Cup drivers Andy Crockett and Colin Shuman, Nationwide drivers Kevin Millan and Jack Burwell, and Camping World Truck drivers Stacy Ewing, Terry Williams, and Carl Baker. Other members on the plane were Gentry Wade, crew member for Jameson Riley. Ethan Norton, back-up spotter and driver of the number nine transporter for Riley Racing. Jeb Erickson, spotter for Bobby Cole. Cal Porter, team member and driver of Jameson Riley’s personal motor coach, and pilots Wes Turner for Riley Racing and driver of the No. 9 Simplex Ford Jameson Riley and David Cates, pilot for the Leddy Motorsports.
“The plane was in route to Eldora Speedway where Simplex Shocks and Springs was holding a drivers challenge among NASCAR Sprint Cup, Outlaw, and racers in the Nationwide and Camping World Truck series. The plane piloted by Wes Turner and David Cates, was reported missing at 9:36 am. After an extensive search by a ground team, the wreckage of the plane was found. It was reported that no one on board survived.” Patrick looked into the crowd of reporters and closed his eyes for a brief moment. “NASCAR asks that you keep those affected in your thoughts and prayers and respectfully requests that privacy be considered throughout this difficult time.”
That’s when Patrick looked to me and every eye shifted from him, to me.
Racers are not born racers.
Sure, you may have some innate ability within you that drove you down this career path, but it’s not a gift. It’s a natural inclination for speed, competition and tact—for pushing yourself beyond your comfort zone, taking risks, and striving to be the best.
Over time you nurture these to become a champion in the sport that has consumed your entire life. Success and respect in the industry isn’t just handed to you.
I was a champion. The racing community was looking to me for answers. They wanted me to help them through this tragic time.
But could I?
Lisa approached me and the tears in her eyes reflected what the racing community was feeling.
“Jameson, can you speak to the media?”
This was something that countless hours on the track and in the garage never prepared me for. Consequently, I realized that titles, trophies and driving abilities, were not, in fact, what set a champion apart from other racers. The true test was now.
You see, every now and then, a racer comes along and his talent isn’t defined by the trophies or by his ability. What sets him apart is what defines
him in the blaring spotlight.
It was ordinary men doing extraordinary things.
Still, the questions remained.
Could I?
I thought back to what my wife said to me this morning about speaking the truth and realized I should just speak the truth.
My dad stood next to me, his head tipped to the microphone. “It’s all you Jay.”
I smiled when he used the nickname my grandpa used to call me and then I thought about the words of wisdom old Casten used to provide every now and then. In a time like this, he would probably tell me, “It’s not the fiery disposition of the driver that can rattle even the toughest. It’s what he does with that fire that defines even the dullest.”
With grandpa, and my dad, you have to look between the gaps in their statements and decipher what you could and now I could understand what he meant.
“I was hoping that I would never hear this. I feel like half my family was on that plane and in reality, they were. I’ve known Wes my entire life, and those boys on my team, well, they were like my brothers. It’s a very sad day for me.”
I wasn’t lying when I said that. This was and always would be a very sad day for me.
The media, as they always did, wanted every side they could get and if there was a story to be written well they were there to find it.
“Jameson, do you think this could have been pilot error?”
I wanted to scream at them and tell that not to push the blame on something they didn’t know but I went for the subtle but harsh approach.
“The National Transportation Safety Board is investigating the accident. None of us were there. Don’t place the blame for something you don’t know.”
And with that, I walked away for the podium. Was that a championship speech? Probably not but I spoke the truth. Something they knew very little about.
Tate and Bobby stood to the side not wanting any interaction with the press. Tate had lost his teammate, pilot and cousin in that crash. Little words were spoken between us or between anyone.
Kyle had lost his younger brother, Gentry, and wasn’t here to be at the press conference. I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t blame anyone who was with their families today and not here.
For the first time ever in the history of NASCAR aside from September 11, 2001, they cancelled all three divisions that weekend in NASCAR as well as other NASCAR sanctioned tracks around the world to pay respect to those who were lost.
In my mind, that was a championship call by NASCAR. Every single one of those people who were lost that day deserved to be remembered with dignity and in a way that was respectful. They didn’t need to be asking who did what wrong.
As for my team, I lost Wes, my pilot, two members of my crew and fellow drivers.
That doesn’t just go away. You remember in ways you never thought you would. When I looked at a spark plug, I thought of Ethan and him buying lawnmower spark plugs. Every time I made a pit stop, I thought of Gentry. I saw a plane and immediately thought of Wes. Looked at the number four and saw Andy’s face. It was hard. So many lives were lost that it felt wrong to be here.
Was I afraid to fly after that?
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that every time I boarded a plane I didn’t think of it.
Wes had been flying around the world for over thirty years. To me, this was just an accident. There was no sugar coating it or blaming, it was an accident.
26. Panhard Bar – Jameson
Panhard Bar – A lateral bar that keeps the rear tires centered within the body. It connects the car on one side and the rear axle on the other. This can also be called the track bar.
Over the years, I’d like to think I’d grown just as much as this sport. It was time to mend with Paul. It wasn’t fair being teammates now to have that sort of hostility. With everything that had happened in our sport over the last few months in our sport with the plane crash, I couldn’t have a racing relationship like this with Paul.
Turns out, my dad took my recommendations despite my arguments with Paul over the years and hired him as the third driver for Riley-Simplex Racing. Bobby transferred to another team this year while Paul Leighty took his position.
“I don’t say this very often so believe me when I say it...I’m sorry.” I said to Paul one night after the All-Star race in June of our 2020 season.
Paul laughed walking with me to our cars. On races like this, we just drove to Charlotte since it was such a short drive back to Mooresville.
“I wish I recorded that.”
“Fuck you,” I laughed. “you’re never getting another one. Ask Kyle. I think I’ve said it to him one time.”
Paul nodded but remained smiling.
“I’ve never met someone like you before Jameson.” He said conversationally.
“I assume that’s a good thing?”
He snorted. “It can be when I’m on your good side. I will say this...” he paused closing the trunk of his car after tossing his bag in it. Leaning against the bumper he looked past me toward the track. “You’re one of the only drivers I know in any division that knows exactly when to turn on the aggression and when to turn it off.”
I thought about his statement for a minute, decided it was actually true and smiled. “It didn’t come without practice.” I said with a stoic seriousness that even Paul remained focused on.
Every driver who was in the series around 2003 remembers the problems with Darrin and me. They also remember I nearly walked away that season because of him.
If it hadn’t been for Sway, I would have.
When I got home that night, Sway was waiting for me, receptive as always and welcomed me in ways I found extremely satisfying.
The next morning though, she made me do something I’d hoped I would never had to do as a father.
The sex talk.
“Jameson, I’m serious, you need to talk to Axel about it.”
It wasn’t a request either. She had basically told me I was doing this.
“I don’t think so...it can wait. They’re only sixteen. I doubt they’re ready for that.”
Sway slapped me. “Are you a fucking idiot?”
I glared but then looked back to my coffee cup.
“No, I just don’t think they’re doing it.”
That was a lie. I walked in on them on more than one occasion with their hands in places they shouldn’t be and in one instance with of Lily straddling him on his bed. All I could say was that at least their clothes were still on.
“And what would make you think that?” she challenged placing her hands on her hips. “I lost mine at sixteen.”
“I just don’t.” I shrugged. “And if you want me to remain in a good mood the rest of the evening, don’t bring up Dylan Grady again.” I warned.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous.” She laughed.
“I’m dangerous when I’m jealous.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I reached for her ass while she slapped my hands away.
“We have bigger issues at hand here.”
“Doubt that.”
She turned on her heel sharply and went to the laundry room pulling his jeans out of the hamper. “Really?”
“So the boy wears jeans...” I chuckled.
“Jameson!” she yelled and pulled a condom wrapper out of his pocket. It was empty, just the wrapper.
“Well...shit,” was my only intelligent response.
“I don’t think he’s doing anything.” She mocked and stomped away. “Go!” she yelled over her shoulder.
Damn. I should have thought of this sooner. He was young to be sexually active, wasn’t he?
How old was I?
I remember taking interest in masturbation early on, what, around twelve I think. But sex, Christ, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was seventeen. He’s sixteen, I’m sure he’s thought of it by now.
After some convincing of myself, with some Jack Daniels, I made my way outside to the race shop where I knew Axel was.
&nbs
p; Of course, Lily was in there with him and sitting on the counter while he was standing in front of her between her legs, with his hands in places they shouldn’t be.
I chuckled when they jumped away from each other.
“Axel,” I smirked sensing he was uncomfortable. “Can I talk to you for a minute, alone?”
He nodded and Lily scrambled away.
“Sorry.” She mumbled passing by.
“Don’t be sorry,” I told her. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”
She smiled, pink with flushed cheeks and slipped out the side door.
They didn’t do anything wrong. They’re kids and having natural reactions to their bodies. It’s not wrong for them to feel this way. It was completely normal.
Axel fumbled with a spring off his sprint car. “What’s up dad?”
I chuckled nervously. I had no clue what to say to him.
When I was thirteen, my dad had the talk with me sometime after we came home from Mexico and he caught me speed bleeding to a picture of Sway in a bikini.
His advice: “Stop spending all your time bleeding your pressure value and take the girl on a date.”
I never did, well until much later. Jimi thrived on embarrassing the hell out of me in situations like that and told my mom, Sway and Spencer at the fucking dining room table that he caught me. I made it a personal note to wreck the bastard the next time we were on the track together back then and I did.
Anyway back to the nervous teen sitting in front of me. Poor kid, he was sweating profusely.
“So buddy...I uh...wanted to talk to you about something.” I leaned against the side of his sprint car.
“Yeah...I kind of figured that.”
“Do you know why?” I hedged.
“Yeah...I think I do.” He sighed and buried his head in his hands. “About Lily and me and...” he motioned south.
I had to laugh when his cheeks turned pink. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed by buddy.”
“I know, I just...I don’t...urggg...this is so retarded.” He groaned leaning his head back so it was resting against the side of the tire. He reached up and tugged at the ends of his hair.