Catch Can – A small can with a spout that is used to collect the over-spill or run-off from the fuel overflow port when a race car is fueled up during a pit stop.
Coming off my Chili Bowl Midget National win, I was in pretty good spirits. I had won against 250 of the best midget racers in the world. Even better news, I was introduced to one of the leading shock manufacturing sponsors in racing, Simplex Shocks and Springs. They sponsored guys like Tate Harris, Adam Parson, and Langley O’Neil. The list was endless, and now I had a chance at landing them as a sponsor.
If this was a relationship, we were in the friend stage. There was a possibility of more, but it wasn’t for sure. I still had to prove myself worthy of a prestigious sponsorship.
Well into my ‘01 season, I was running like a mule. Half way through the new agreement with Bowman Oil and Bucky, I began to feel the pressure. It was a different track, different city, every day. I’d been on the road for the last seven weeks straight and looking at the schedule in front of me, I was sure I wouldn’t see home any time soon. I didn’t do anything besides race, in anything I could. I was running another full season of USAC sprints and midgets along with the World of Outlaws in one of my dad’s cars.
Usually when I got any free time, I’d sneak up to Bellingham and see Sway but these days that was just a far-fetched dream. I hadn’t seen free time in months.
AFTER INDIANAPOLIS, I was on my way to Lernerville for an Outlaw race and then it was off to Milwaukee. Judging by my schedule, it was going to be a while before I saw Sway again.
That night I stopped off at a diner outside of Sarver to grab some dinner before my flight to Milwaukee. Sitting in the back of the restaurant in an open booth, I began looking over the menu, my phone ringing non-stop. The waitress noticed and said, “Your phone is ringing.”
“It’s always ringing,” I mumbled checking the number to make sure it wasn’t Sway.
It wasn’t, it was Bucky. He was probably calling to ask why I’d missed the flight to Knoxville last week. These days I was traveling alone. Spencer and Alley came to the majority of the races, as did Emma, but with the new contract I had for USAC, everything was funded. All I did was show up, drive and collect my sixty percent.
With the World of Outlaw team with my dad, Spencer helped work on the car, Alley did all my scheduling and public relations that I wasn’t allowed to do, and Emma was there to annoy me, at least that was my theory. I’m sure she had an actual title but you couldn’t prove that by me.
I checked my message from Bucky, sure enough, he wasn’t pleased about the flight.
I was constantly missing the flights he booked for me. If I was being honest with you, I really did think ten minutes was plenty of time to navigate my way through the airport. I failed to realize there would be other people slowing down the process.
“Say,” the waitress began leaning against the table. She was attractive and I’d be in denial if I didn’t say so but I was trying to get away from the meaningless sexual encounters. For the last three months, I’d managed to stay away from all women. “You’re Jimi Riley’s son... Jameson, aren’t you?”
I didn’t look up but answered. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Wow, I saw your dad in here a couple months ago.” I glanced up at her to see her smiling as if she’d won the lottery. “He’s really nice.”
I only nodded and handed the menu back to her. “I’ll take the bacon and eggs, scrambled,” was my response.
She smiled again and went about her job. While texting Sway, I noticed the waitress watching me carefully.
Eventually she made her way back to my table as I was leaving, wearing her street clothes.
“So Jameson, you got plans for the rest of the evening?”
I drew in a deep breath, glancing down at my phone to check the time. “I was just leaving. I have to catch a flight in a few hours.”
“Well, you could crash at my place for a little while, it’s late and I know you’d probably like to relax.”
I had a feeling she did this sort of thing a lot and I could tell by the twinkle in her eyes what type of relaxing she had in mind and yet I didn’t stop her or myself.
I knew these women I’d been with recently wanted nothing from me and as I was letting myself out of her apartment a few hours later, she summed things up when I overheard her on her cell phone.
“You wouldn’t believe who was in my bed!” she said to her friend I assumed.
“No... Jameson Riley as in the USAC Sprint Car driver... yeah, the one who won the Triple Crown a couple years ago... I know... I can’t believe it either.”
The door slammed behind me.
I managed to catch my plane to Milwaukee on time. Spencer met me at the airport and told me about his time at home. Sway had been there for the weekend visiting Charlie so he and Alley had lunch with her. This put me in a bad mood the remainder of the flight.
The pain of not having Sway here was becoming unbearable. If I knew anything, it was that the pain wouldn’t go away unless you healed the wound causing the pain. Start from the source right, but what was the source? I knew the source but refused to look for it, just like the blow engine. I seemed to be mastering avoidance and the ability to patch the hole. Sooner or later, just like the engine, I would run out of patches.
A FEW DAYS after my twenty-first birthday that year, my dad asked me to meet him in Charlotte, so I did. I showed up at Lowe’s International Speedway not exactly sure what I should be expecting.
For a few years now, Jimi had been contemplating starting a race team. Having already owned an Outlaw team for about four years now, he looked into a USAC team like Bucky had but the big teams were in NASCAR these days.
Why?
NASCAR had the ultimate exposure. How many people outside of the Midwest know what USAC is or even the World of Outlaws?
Not many. But nearly every red-blooded American citizen knew what NASCAR was, and sponsors wanted exposure so where do you think they dumped most of their money?
NASCAR.
When arrived, probably around seven in the morning, I wasn’t sure if I was tired or hallucinating when I saw a stock car parked beside him on pit lane.
What the hell?
Harry Sampson, a mechanic/engine specialist I’d heard a lot about these days, was leaning against the side of the car.
You have to keep in mind at that point, I had no idea why I was asked to come to Charlotte. Other than the dirt late models I’d driven in the past, I’d never been in a stock car on asphalt and now I was staring at one with Harry Sampson beside it.
“What’s all this?” I motioned to the car and then toward Harry, who was still staring at me.
“Well,” Jimi took a drink of his coffee. I highly doubted it was straight coffee by the way. “I need to know if you can even drive this thing first,” he gestured with a tip of his head at the car.
Believe it or not, five minutes later, I was strapping myself into a stock car.
I would like to say I wasn’t nervous, but I was. What if I couldn’t drive it?
Sure, I could drive it but could I push these cars like I did with sprints. I felt at ease muscling around sprints but stock cars, I wasn’t so sure.
“You know how to operate this, right?” Harry asked tugging on my belts.
I didn’t answer and gave him a blank expression.
“Great,” Harry muttered to himself. “Listen up, then. These beasts are much simpler than those sprint cars you’re used to. Aside from the direct drive transmission in sprints these are just like any other car with a manual transmission.”
I smiled, firing up the engine and easily shifting into first gear.
“Kidding,” I told him, laughing.
You could literally see the anxiety drain from his face. “Jesus, I nearly had a fucking heart attack, kid.”
Sprint cars were different in the sense that sprint cars were simple to me. These stock cars had switches, knobs, tacks, roll bars—they had shit everywhere. When you looked inside of a sprint car, all you saw was a bar to engage the coupler, steering box, fuel pump, power steering pump, and inside of the torch tube was the driveline. Then you had the steering wheel and a seat. That was it.
Getting them running is similar. Cup cars, you flick a switch.
Being direct drive, sprint cars have no clutch, transmission or starter. There’s a coupler that connects the drive shaft to the rear end but the engine has to be shut off before you can engage it. Once you engage the coupler, the car is pushed with a truck to get it started. Then to shut the sprint car off, you have to disengage the coupler, turn off the fuel valve and run it out of fuel.
Sprint cars are complicated to some, but there’s no other car like them with the unique design and setups. They were half the weight and size of the car I was in, but the same amount of horsepower. It would take some getting used to.
I took it for a spin, made something like twenty-five laps and then brought it back in.
Harry smiled. “Looks like you knew what you were doing.”
Dad laughed beside him but didn’t say anything.
We left after that and my dad indicated he was thinking of starting a NASCAR Busch team first and then he’d look at the Winston Cup series. We never talked about me being the driver but I had a feeling that was what he was hinting at when he had me testing out that stock car.
I wasn’t sure what to make out of all of it, so before heading to Terre Haute that night I called the one person I always called when I needed advice, Sway.
As luck would have it these days, she wasn’t home.
That night in Terre Haute was horrible when a lifter broke in my sprint car and, to make matters worse, I left with the first woman who asked.
That wasn’t the worst part though, the next night was. Terre Haute was running a double feature and I should have known better than to take a girl back to the hotel with me.
She caught up with me the next night and I had some explaining to do, which is why I preferred to never see these women again. I didn’t like explaining myself.
I tried not to on all accounts because really, what would I say?
“I’m an asshole with extreme commitment issues, oh, and by the way, I’m falling for my best friend and refuse to admit it so that’s why I was with you last night.”
That wasn’t exactly what women want to hear, could be wrong, but I was almost certain that wouldn’t go over well.
“Hey, you,” she smiled while I loaded my bag to catch my flight to Tri-State Speedway where I was meeting up with Spencer and Tommy. “Where did you go last night?” I gave her a blank stare so she continued. “I thought you would have stayed last night.”
“Oh, uh,” I mumbled, I looked down at my cell phone that was ringing, again. I silently wondered if it ever stopped. “I don’t do that sort of thing,” I finally said.
“Sleep?”
“No, stay with women,” I slipped my phone inside my jeans and adjusted my bag on my shoulder.
“Oh... I see... wow... okay.” Her eyes focused on mine before darting to her feet, ashamed.
Damn it.
This was one more reason why I preferred never to see these women again. I couldn’t stand to see the hurt in their eyes. I knew I was being a jackass. I didn’t need to see it to know, so I avoided it as though it wasn’t happening.
“Listen, it wasn’t you. I just... well, I’m not in town more than a day and, to be fair.” I shrugged. “I left.”
“I get it,” she was quiet for a while before I saw a tear slip down her cheek. “You don’t even know my name.”
Great. Now I was giving innocent women a complex and making them cry. This was not a list I wanted to be on.
I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You were wonderful. I... I can’t stay, Lindsey.”
“I understand,” she choked with a smile that I knew her name and started crying all over again. Because of me.
I hated this. Trying to be an asshole wasn’t working out for me.
For a while, pretending as though I didn’t care but that I was a cold-hearted prick worked, but I never wanted to hurt anyone.
I don’t think I ever felt like a bigger piece of shit as I did right then.
FINALLY, IN AUGUST, I was able to see Sway again. We were heading to Knoxville Nationals in Iowa and my excitement was almost unbearable for even me. To tell you how much excitement I showed for this, I was friendly to my sister and offered to buy her lunch on the way to the airport.
And don’t think she didn’t notice this change in behavior, because she did and questioned me endlessly on why I was nice today as opposed to my usual.
I hadn’t seen Sway since right after the Chili Bowl and that was seven months ago. Of course, I’d show excitement.
I made Emma stay in the car while I picked her up. I was in a hurry and had no intention of dealing with airport parking garages. Also, if you hadn’t picked this up by now, I didn’t like Emma for obvious reasons and had no desire to stroll around an airport with her. I’d buy her lunch but strolling the airport, nope, not a chance.
I found Sway about fifteen minutes later at the baggage claim. She had the paper in her hands with a picture of me covering the front page holding a trophy from Indiana Speed Week.
“I hear he’s an asshole,” I whispered with my lips next to her ear.
She jerked forward as if this stunned her, spun around and jumped into my arms.
My heart was pounding as was hers. I could feel it thumping against my chest. She smelled like I always remembered, coconut and vanilla. I closed my eyes and buried my face in her hair.
She clung to me, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, her legs around my waist. It probably looked rather inappropriate but I wasn’t at a point that I gave a shit. All I wanted to do was hold her.
“Jesus Christ, I’ve missed you,” she whispered and hugged me tighter.
A chuckle escaped me but I didn’t say anything, just held her.
“Could you two move? I need to get to my bag,” a male voice asked politely.
Without saying a word, I stepped back against the glass windows facing the parking garages in between the baggage claim and the ticket booths. After another few seconds, Sway came back to reality and let go of me.
I don’t know why I did what I did next, probably just to fucking torture myself but I leaned in and kissed her lips, slowly, and then pulled away to run my fingers over where I kissed. “You’re just as beautiful as I remembered.”
Sway smiled and then let out that giggle I’d missed so much.
“Well, you’re just as handsome as I remember.” Her eyes raked down my body. “Christ almighty, why hasn’t someone snatched you up by now?”
My eyes narrowed, she usually didn’t say things like that unless she had been drinking. “Have you been drinking?”
She smirked and clicked her tongue. “I may have convinced a flight attendant that I was twenty-one.”
“She believed you?”
“I’m very persuasive.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I laughed pulling her against my side to get back to the car. “Now come on, Emma is waiting for us.”
That week with Sway was unreal. It was as though we’d never been apart. I honestly believed that was why I enjoyed being around her so often and missed her so much when she was gone. I never had to explain myself. If I didn’t call, she understood. If I was tired and didn’t want to do anything, she understood. I was relieved to hear she was taking the summer off from school this year and would be traveling around with us for the next few weeks.
But like anything these days, I never had any time to spend with her. It’s not like I needed to entertain her, but I wanted to spend time with her and, surprisingly, not at a racetrack.
I did take her to dinner once, and though this could be considered a date by some, she never questioned it and neither did I. It was us, like we’ve always been, no questions.
Right before she left to go home for school, we celebrated her twenty-first birthday. I gave her a little something to remember me by, my lips on her ass. I might add, I had a matching pair on mine.
AFTER SWAY LEFT, I once again looked at filling the void I refused to admit was there. And where do you think I turned?
The more I won, the more the pit lizards slithered their way toward my pit after the races. It didn’t matter if I raced Outlaws or USAC, they were always there. Not that I didn’t already know this, but they only wanted one thing, the thrill of sleeping with the driver.
I meant nothing to them but if I was being honest with you, they didn’t mean anything to me either and never would. I never knew their names and once I was finished, they left. I never held them, barely kissed them and usually never attempted to get them off. If they did when I did, well then more power to them, but I never focused on it. I was an asshole through and through. I was appalled at myself during that time in my life. My mother certainly didn’t raise me to treat women that way, but that was exactly how I was treating them. Something had to give.
Alley and Emma were not happy. Every time I left with a girl, I got a lecture the next day about God knows what. I never listened.
Near the end of the 2001 season, I started to look at where I wanted to be. Not just with Sway but with racing. I felt a strong sense of attachment to dirt track racing and always would. My heart may have been leaning toward sprint cars but my head led to NASCAR.
On the East Coast, the Carolina area in particular, believed that all the best raced in NASCAR but I raced enough in various divisions to know that there are great drivers in all forms of racing. Just look at Jimi or those grassroots drivers banging it out at the weekly races in Grays Harbor.
I don’t think all the best are in NASCAR. But it did catch my attention. I wanted to be the best and most thought the best were there. For me, it wasn’t about that. It was more of about the uncharted territory.
When I began weighing my options after my conversations with my dad, Bucky and Tate, I looked at all aspects of the sport.
NASCAR drivers made the most money but I wasn’t in it for money. In my eyes, if you choose to race for money, you were doing it for the wrong reason in the first place.
So I looked at what made me happy. Sure, I could continue racing sprint cars and probably end up competing against my dad for the title but there was something drawing me toward stock cars.
I could make my own name for myself.
When you’re touted as the next legendary sprint car driver to someone whose mystique alone was intimidating, you tend to get lost and wonder who you are.
This had me thinking those stock cars could be pretty cool.
At the end of the 2001 season, I once again made it to the Turkey Night, broke a driveline and ended up not finishing the race, which sucked. Sway was taking winter courses that year so I decided to head to Australia for a month and check out their season with my dad.
That was when he hit me with his plans one night at dinner with my uncle Randy.
My uncle Randy was only remotely approachable when he was drinking, but otherwise he’s a cold-hearted prick who’s been divorced eight times. You’d think he’d get the point by now that he wasn’t meant to be married but no, still doesn’t understand. If this gives you any idea about why his marriages fail, it might have to do with the fact that his newest girlfriend is only a month older than me... I hear she’s mature for her age.
Like any other senseless jackass, he drives around in a Jaguar. That has asshole written all over it if you ask me.
His son, my cousin I guess you’d classify him, Rex, was a dirty fucking liar and I couldn’t stand the son of a bitch. The few times I’d been in the same room with him usually resulted in a fistfight. If you think that was bad, you should see when he mingles with Spencer.
So there we were having dinner in Sydney one evening when in walks my uncle, his new girlfriend, and his asshole son.
I groaned when I saw them approaching the table, to which my dad slammed his foot into my shin rather hard.
“Why is he here?”
“Don’t be a jerk... it’s business.”
They approached the table, Rex and I glared at each other. I gave him nine stitches above his left eyebrow the last time we saw each other, judging by his glare, he hadn’t forgotten that.
I stood and shook hands with my uncle, thought I’d be polite since I hadn’t seen him in a few years. His girlfriend smiled at me. I offered a small smile but she had whore written all over her so I steered clear. My thoughts of her being a whore were confirmed when she leaned in to hug me and slipped her number in my jeans.
Conversations soon got underway and I ordered beer after beer to keep from punching my cousin when he said, “How’s that girl... what’s her name?” he drummed his index finger against his forehead for a second before winking. “Sway... how’s Sway these days?”
This was the exact reason he received nine stitches above his goddamn eye in the first place. He knew how to set me off. My jaw clenched as my grip on my beer did as well. “She’s fine.”
Rex thought for sure Sway had a thing for him but I knew better. Sway couldn’t stand him.
“Jameson,” Randy interrupted our glaring. “So, Jimi and I were thinking of starting a race team, as you know. A NASCAR Busch team to be exact and then we’ll look at the cup side.” He shifted in his seat to lean forward, looking directly at me. “Would you drive the car?”
I didn’t say anything at first, just stared back at him before darting my eyes to my dad, who smiled. I didn’t particularly want to go into business with my uncle Randy, given his cold-hearted prick tendencies, but I also knew dad couldn’t do this on his own and fund an Outlaw team at the same time.
Currently, I was driving his car on the Outlaw series with him driving for his team ... he had a lot on his plate and now being a team owner of a Busch team, he’d need help.
“That depends,” I smiled wickedly at Rex and then my uncle. “When would we move to cup?”
I had no problem racing the Busch series but I also knew for myself, I wouldn’t be happy unless I was behind the wheel of a Cup car. Looking at a Winston Cup car and a Busch car side-by-side, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two but there were differences.
For one, the wheelbase is shorter by five inches on a Busch car. That changed things like down force, aerodynamics, handling, gearing, and even driving style. They also ran a smaller carburetor and weren’t as fast.
Now knowing me, what do you think I would want to drive?
“Probably the following season,” Dad said.
This would mean being under the reins of my dad and my uncle but this also meant a chance at my own name. No matter how hard I tried, open wheel guys knew me as Jimi Riley’s son.
NASCAR, they knew me all right, but they knew me as Jameson Riley.
“Yeah,” I finally said. “Who’s sponsoring us?”
I knew dad had been in contact with Simplex, as was I, but I wasn’t sure exactly what they had planned.
“Simplex offered full sponsorship for next season.”
I think there comes a point in your life when you realize that everything is falling into place, that dream you’ve dreamed about, you know the dream you thought was so far-fetched, isn’t anymore, it’s looking at you in the face.
What did I say in that moment?
Stupidity.
“Are you sure you want me driving the car?”
Rex laughed. “That’s what I said.”
“Shut up, asshole!” I snapped glaring at him. “You’re still racing super stocks.”
“At least I race on asphalt. You can’t race on anything but dirt.”
“Really? Half the fucking USAC races are on asphalt smartass,” I chuckled sarcastically. “But you wouldn’t know that because you’ve never raced anywhere but Havasu.”
“Boys!” Dad barked. “Jameson, we want you in the car because you have the most diversity. You’re the only driver I know who can jump into any open seat and be competitive. That’s not something you learn. And to be competitive in NASCAR, we need that. We need a driver who can just get in and drive, so that’s you.”
I always knew my dad had confidence in me but I’d never heard him say something like that before. I haven’t met a parent who didn’t believe in their kids and tell them, but with Jimi, he didn’t just say things to make you feel better. When he spoke, he spoke the truth and meant every word of it.
Later that night—after a confrontation with Rex in the parking lot—I was back in my hotel wishing I could call Sway. With the time difference in the states, it was near four in the morning and I doubted she’d be real happy if I woke her up so I simply sent her a text telling her I missed her. I know, pretty pathetic, but I did. I hadn’t seen her in three months now and, well, I did miss her.
No matter how much time you spend avoiding something, eventually it will rear its ugly face and force you to make a decision.
I still hadn’t.
I knew something had changed in regards to my feelings for her. There was no denying it any more. No one made me feel the way she did. I think I started to understand the difference when she was no longer around every day.
For so long it was just there, taunting me. It’s like trying to find the remote to the television. You know it’s there, you’re searching everywhere for it, overturning everything to find that goddamn remote you know is there somewhere but can’t quite find. Then you find it in the same spot you looked for it ten minutes ago, but didn’t see the first time. You see it because you got to the point you were so frustrated that you gave up. You throw yourself down on the couch, refusing to get up to turn on the television without the remote to find that you’re now sitting on it. It was there all along but because you were looking so hard for it, you looked right over it. You found it because you were no longer looking.
Just like the remote, I stopped looking at what she meant to me and ignored it all together. Then, when I least expected it, I felt it. I couldn’t tell you if I loved her because I don’t think I knew the meaning of love. I’ve seen it in my parents and my brother, but did I feel for Sway that way?
So while I found the remote, the batteries were still missing.