Poppet – Valve mechanism that continually opens and closes in response to variation in pressure.
Not long after the season began that year, my sponsor, Simplex, was promoting a driver challenge at Eldora with a few Cup, Outlaw and Truck series drivers.
Simplex had been promoting the event for months, and we’d finally strung up twenty-three of us to race in the event the weekend after the All-Star Race during the bye week before the Coca-Cola 600.
After doing press on Charlotte Motor Speedway, Casten and I were on our way to Eldora for the two-day event with Spencer, Bobby, and Tate. Axel and most of my sprint car team was already there waiting for us with our cars. Now we just had to get there.
About twenty minutes outside of Eldora, my phone started ringing.
Most of the calls were from Alley. When I didn’t answer, she called Tate and then Bobby.
Casten, who was sitting next to me in the front seat, turned down the stereo and looked back at Tate who shrugged. “What’s up?”
“I’m not sure. Here.” I handed him my cell phone and tried to keep the truck on the road. “Check the messages for me.”
He did and immediately turned rigid. His face lost all color, and his eyes widened, the alarm shining back at me.
“Dad, you should pull over,” he spoke softly, handing me his cell phone.
I looked at the screen to see that Sway was calling. “Honey, what’s up? I thought you were on a plane to Elma?”
“I was... I, uh, we landed, and then I saw on the news....” My wife’s hysterical response broke through. “Oh, God, Jameson, I thought you were on that plane!”
I was drawing a complete blank for a second. “What plane?”
“The one heading to Eldora.”
“Well, no, Casten and I decided to drive with Tate, Spencer, and Bobby. We are meeting the team there. What’s going on?”
Sway was silent for a moment as I watched Casten dig out his iPad to look at the news. The guys observed over his shoulder.
Sway fumbled through a string of words that took me a moment to decipher, and then it hit me what she said... plane crash.
Plane crash?
“Honey, please slow down, what are you talking about?”
My mind raced to comprehend. Adrenaline jolted through me, sending a sharp pain through my bones.
Pausing to control herself, her voiced evened out. “Jameson... your team plane crashed outside Lancaster, Ohio, on its way to Eldora.”
My stomach dropped. I had just watched half the team load onto that plane in Charlotte.
Gentry. Ethan. Jeb. Wes. Cal. Andy. Trace. Oh, God.
Half my team and Tate’s team was on that plane, and I was supposed to be along with Spencer, Casten, Tate, and Bobby, but we drove because we got caught up in press after the race.
My wife’s voice drew me from my thoughts. “Jimi just called and said Eldora cancelled the races this weekend. He asked that you guys just come home.”
I couldn’t form a reply. Sitting there staring off at the highway. I couldn’t reply.
My fingers clamped over the wheel, knuckles paling, and I dropped the phone. Casten quickly scrambled beside me to retrieve it.
I couldn’t focus, much less drive, so Spencer took over.
I called Alley, who was already doing damage control to see what she knew. Sway stayed in Elma until I told her where I was going. I knew one thing. I needed to get to Charlotte as that would be where most teams would be gathering.
“Jameson,” Alley answered right away. “I need you guys to head back to NC and stay in Charlotte tonight. There will be a press conference held in the morning, and they will announce the plans from there.”
“What plans?” I motioned for Spencer to pull over so we could turn around and head to Charlotte.
“You do realize who was on that plane, don’t you?”
“Well, mostly my team and Tate’s, but Andy, too.”
Alley was silent.
“Alley?”
“Jameson, at least three of the Truck series drivers were on that plane, along with Andy, Colin, and two Nationwide series drivers.”
“Oh.”
It was my plane, and I knew most of the guys boarding it when it left, but I had no idea all those people were on it. Wes frequently gave guys rides when they needed it, and he knew I would never object to it. But the fact they were on a plane I owned, and it crashed, felt as though it was my fault.
Our community—my racing family—had lost members of their family today, and though I knew deep down it wasn’t my fault, it didn’t stop it from taking a piece of me.
Just as a reciprocating engine was made up of systems that kept it running, so was the racing community. There was one that kept the pistons moving, one that kept the belts moving, and one that kept oil flowing and one that created spark. They were all connected. Take one out of the equation and guess what, that engine that kept you going was no longer there and everything fell apart.
Take drivers from the series and you felt it.
That checkered flag you saw in the distance became a yellow flag. Until they failed, or one was taken from the equation, you didn’t realize how much you depended on those pistons, cylinders, belts, and oil.
Death was such a surreal thing to me. It waited under the surface—waited to consume. It was noticeable, but hovering and ready to take victim at any moment.
I didn’t waste time in Elma after I heard about the accident. Arie and I flew back to Mooresville that night and helped with the devastation. I knew I couldn’t offer much, but I’d help in any way I could. Those drivers, those crew members, and pilots all had family, and I could be there for them.
Tate’s teammate, Andy Crockett, one of the drivers on the plane, was married and had kids the same age as Arie and Casten. My heart ached for his wife, Erica, and I wondered how in the world she was managing right now. I couldn’t comprehend the feeling I had when I thought that Jameson was on that plane, and the relief, though incredibly reassuring, was immediately forgotten when I realized that just because Jameson, my world, wasn’t on that plane didn’t mean there wasn’t a handful of others on it who had family.
When I got to the shop where Alley told me Jameson was, I heard the sounds of screaming and destruction coming from inside his shop. I could hear things being smashed and destroyed over his pain.
Opening the door, it pushed open, but with resistance from the parts that had been hurled against it.
He stood in the middle of the shop, bent forward with his hands resting on the wing of a sprint car.
He turned slightly, his body remained in line with the car, and just his head moved at the sound of the door. His brow furrowed, lines forming in the outer corners, his expression bordering painful, his eyes dark to match his lashes.
When he noticed it was me, he turned to meet me walking toward him. He was scared, and he was angry. He also had every right to feel both.
“Honey, you really shouldn’t be in here.” His voice was firm but breakable as he stared down into my eyes, his face an unreadable contrast to my own. He scratched the back of his neck slowly, his head hung in defeat. Regret and sadness were easy. Moving forward wasn’t. I knew that, just as Jameson did. But I’d be here for him.
Just the same as I’d heard those very words back in California all those years back, I ignored them because he was a man, my husband, needing me again.
When I looked at him, I could see the same fire I’d always seen, but it was trying to go out with the winds created.
I felt him lower his face to mine, his breath hitting my lips.
Jameson’s lips trailed across my jaw stopping in their path to kiss my lips and forehead, his nose delicately nudging against mine.
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 was 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.
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 for 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 and 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.
It was times like this when the truth behind what you knew and what you felt gave way, and you were left with what you needed. What you needed to say. What you needed to feel. And, more importantly, what you needed to believe.
There was also a point when you’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 plane. More importantly, I knew each one personally. I wasn’t 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 looked at yourself, your life, your family and wondered why.
Why them, why us, why you, why not him?
You looked at everyone and anything for an answer that would never come.
I wasn’t 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.
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 were used to deciding their own fate on a track. That wasn’t to say outside factors didn’t play a role, but usually, your destiny, which is dependent on the outcome of a race, was held in your hands.
As a racer, your home was the track. It was where your love for racing was formed and where you cultivated it into something great. It was where nothing else mattered but the dedication, passion, confidence, and ambition. These were the only traits 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 Airjet of NASCAR Cup driver, Jameson Riley, took off from Charlotte, North Carolina, at nine 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, crewmember 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 en 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 was when Patrick looked to me, and every eye shifted from him, to me.
Racers were not born racers.
Sure, you may have had some innate ability within you that drove you down this career path, but it wasn’t a gift. It was 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 nurtured these to become a champion in the sport that had consumed your entire life. Success and respect in the industry wasn’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 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 had to look between the gaps in their statements and decipher what you could, and now I understood 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 them 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 on something you don’t know.”
And with that, I walked away from 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 anyone else.
Kyle had lost his younger brother, Gentry, and wasn’t here 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 didn’t just go away. You remembered 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. Walked inside my motor coach and thought of Cal. 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.
I learned, and though it was taking me some time, things like this happened. I never wanted them to, but they did, and that was when I began to understand what it meant to be a champion, on and off the track.