Inside Line – The shortest line around the track around the apron.
Becoming a dad was strange. Becoming a husband and having someone rely on me was strange too but then add another human being depending on you and it was nerve wracking.
I found myself calling and texting Lily multiple times a day just to make sure they were all right and didn’t need anything. Thankfully, Lexi and Arie were doting aunts and spent as much time with her as they could. I also tend to believe it had something to do with Jack. He was the sweetest little boy.
I never imagined I would love him so much but when I heard his first cry and then he looked up at me, I was hooked. I was now one of those dads who carried pictures in his wallet, bragged and had tons of videos on my phone of him just breathing.
Casten called me a pussy and asked if I still had balls, but I think deep down he showed tact. I noticed him frequently holding Jack as well whenever he had the chance. And, yes, there were the occasions when he used my newborn son for the purpose of getting a woman’s attention.
My Grandma seemed to be the most affected by Jack’s presence. She spent hours holding him, making blankets and watching his every movement. It was nice to see her so happy again. I worried that after Grandpa’s passing she would just give up like my great grandmother had but she didn’t. She still traveled around with us, helped with fan clubs, made sure all of her kids were taking care of themselves and just being the mother she always was to everyone.
She really was the racer’s tape that held our families together.
The months went by and soon Lily and Jack were traveling with me just as I did with my parents.
Willie and Tommy worked together as the crew chief and the combination was exactly what we needed that year. I questioned their sanity more times than not but somehow the combination of their brains worked wonders on the setups and adjustments. By the time the World Finals rolled around in November, I had no doubts I’d won the championship.
I would like to say I never second-guessed myself but I did. I wasn’t Jameson Riley.
I was Axel Charles Riley. The kid who occasionally questioned his skills but I knew I had them. That championship proved that. I may not drive like he did or push the car to the limits the way he could and hang on to it but I did it.
I set out to win the championship and I did. That was all that mattered to me.
Like Grandma tells me, “It doesn’t matter how you get there, just that you do.”
She was talking to Spencer at the time but, still, the words could be applied to anything.
All that mattered was that I did it and I did it my way.
Now it was time to head to Homestead with the rest of our family to watch my dad’s last race. Deep down it bothered me that he was hanging it up because, for so long, we shared this one thing together. Racing. Now what would that mean?
The days leading up to my last race in Homestead were nerve wracking. It was hard to believe that in a few days, the life that we had lived for so long would be changing again.
I wasn’t a contender for the championship since the first half of our season we used a back-up driver. Not that Easton didn’t do well, he did. But it wasn’t enough to put us in championship contention.
Remember when I said I’d give it everything I had, well I most definitely did that last race.
I really enjoyed Homestead, always had. But, then again, that was before my accident and whether I wanted to face it or not, I had some setbacks physically from it that caused me to feel uncomfortable at times. Homestead wasn’t any different.
Once the physical therapy was done, it took some time for me to really feel comfortable in the car again without the occasional cramping or aching midway through the race. The problem was my shoulder.
Dave, my personal trainer/physician who traveled along with our team not only helped me but helped the crew members on the weekends if they needed it. So he made this device that I wore inside the car for the longer races that helped take the pressure I felt off my left shoulder.
Thankfully, this wasn’t a shifting speedway. I was in an untold amount of pain after Watkins Glen this year where we shifted constantly.
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 had their own way of saving fuel and hardly ever shared those secrets. Most, me included, would 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, on straight shots I would only go half-throttle. Going wide-open, I burned more fuel. So if I shut the engine off and then fired it back up in the front stretch, I could save fuel. That of course was only in instances when I knew I was going to run out or I’d really be taking a gamble.
Most skilled drivers could actually save ten percent more fuel on race days than others. Calculating it could be the biggest problem for teams. Believe me, it was a fucking nightmare at times. Kyle and Spencer definitely earned their keep on these days.
Sure enough, halfway through that 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 wasn’t 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 was nothing worse than wondering if you’re gonna spend the entire race saving fuel only to run out with a lap to go, or worse, on the last turn, I’d had that happen a time or two.
“Will we make it now?” I asked eagerly.
“Yep, we’re good.”
“What changes are we doing?” At the time, I was running third at the time behind Bobby and Shelby who both had 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 was only a handful. It was a time when a race could be won or lost.
“Still even... all clear,” Aiden told me 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 on 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. It was just me.
“Oh man, guys, we forgot to get Kyle off that box to perform the last pit stop,” I joked with 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 chuckles 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 listening to Kyle sweat like this.
“Stop joking around and go for it, bud,” Kyle told me with three laps to go. “You got this one. You wanna go out in style, right?”
Knowing this might be my first win since I’d 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, “Twenty-six eight with a twenty-seven 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 wanted to cry and not just any crying. 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 describe in the emotion of 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 congratulate me on the win. That was a community right there. I actually felt bad for Shelby who had won the championship that night because, really, his first championship was overshadowed 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,” he voice was shaking with emotion, “just turn left.”
Most drivers would tell racing was racing for them began just for fun, or maybe it was they just wanted to have fun and get an adrenaline rush.
Remember one thing though, drivers are a different breed. They say it’s just for fun and they don’t care if they win or lose. Not true at all. And honestly, any driver who races competitively would never say that.
There was so much more on the line like bragging rights, trophies, money, and, once again, bragging rights. It was 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.
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 had 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 wasn’t sure what she couldn’t believe, but knowing myself, it was this season. 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 cameras, just that. I didn’t go over my strategy or how I saved fuel or what pit call led to the win. It was simple. It was for him, the legend who had made this all possible for me.
My life was hundreds of races, laps of action. Those laps, some lead me places, others didn’t. But when I least expected it, a race came together and swung my way.
Those were the moments that made those laps 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.
To those fans, crowded tightly into the metal bleachers, all cheering their favorite driver on, it meant something different to them. And maybe I was their favorite driver, but either way, the experience was different for them than from let’s say the NASCAR official watching out for lapped traffic, debris, and even track conditions at times. He called the start of the race, waved the yellow, and restarted the race. And then, after five hundred miles, he waved the checkered flag. More than likely, he remained 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.
Then there were the wives, crossing their fingers and 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.
For the fan maybe it was bragging rights with their friends that their driver won.
Or the spotter, whose driver had put complete faith in him as he got him through five hundred miles to pull off a win which isn’t easy to do.
And the crew chief who made the right calls along with the crew members who handled their pit stops perfectly and got their driver the jump he needed on forty-two other drivers.
Then there was the wife who took pride in knowing that her prayers and nail biting got him through it and safely in her arms again.
Lastly, the owner who had the satisfaction of knowing that he had built a winning team.
But to that driver, the one who watched the race unfold behind the wheel, and was the first to see the checkered flag after five hundred miles battling inches from other cars at nearly two hundred miles per hour scraping for every position, fighting for every inch and putting his trust in his team, he had the comfort of knowing that he had done what forty-two other guys had not.
He had won.
A win may be just a win in the record books but it meant so many different things to everyone who had witnessed it whether it be from the fence line to behind the wheel.
To me and my family, words couldn’t begin to describe what this win meant to us.
A turn, a yellow line, a banking, and a straightaway, they all move together creating laps that becomes a race and 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 as long as I was with her.
It was times like this all wrapped together that her words, her touch and 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 wished that it had played out a little differently. I wished my dad was here. I wished that he had seen it as well as the dedication I put into coming back. I wished that he had seen the way the track surface had held up.
It was times like this that it felt good for people to say that I was the best. I wouldn’t sit here and say it didn’t feel good to have been accepted into a sport that was so tight because it did. It felt damn good.
The shirts, trading cards and those kids who wanted to race my number. Being respected, the smiles of adulation and the unending autographs was all I had known. That has a huge impact on your life whether you 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.
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 entire family was going with us to Vegas for the ceremony.
Spencer looked at me as we rode down in the elevator the night of the banquet. “Remember when we got stuck in the elevator?”
“I try not to,” I replied sourly applying some lip 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 see 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 as the surprised laughter echoed. Turning, he looked back at me briefly and then regarded the crowd again.
The thing was that the majority of these people here tonight, aside from the championship contenders and their team, were here to pay their respect to Jimi and to 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.
As the ceremonies began, I watched the video clips of Jameson over the years. My boy was there, a goofy and 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 had 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?”
I laughed looking at my son dressed in a tuxedo. He noticed immediately and nodded a little too arrogantly. “That’s right, mama, I look good.” Looking around the room, his eyes locked with a young blonde two tables away. “Damn, looks like Paul’s daughter is growing up.”
Casten left after that.
Jameson approached the table only to be asked by a host to come onstage again.
Watching him now, I always knew just how great Jameson was. But that weekend, and the night of the awards banquet that year, it became real as I listened to some of the greatest icons in auto racing talk about my husband as though he was God.
I felt Jameson’s hand squeeze mine when a photograph of him winning his first NASCAR race in Rockingham came on the screen. It wasn’t just of him though. Jimi was right next to him smiling at his son.
That was when Russ Campbell walked on stage under the solitary light. “As many know, we lost a part of our family this year at the Frost Nationals and nearly lost one of the greatest drivers this sport has ever seen. But first, I think we should talk a little about the man who made this possible for him, Jimi Riley.”
It was weird to me that they were talking about him like he wasn’t here and then it really dawned on me, Jimi wasn’t here any longer. I reached for Jameson’s hand again. It was clammy and trembling as they spoke of his father.
This had to be hard.
“Jimi Riley was born in 1956 in Bloomington, Indiana, to Casten Sr. and Elle Riley and that’s where he made his name. Casten Riley, Sr., built sprint cars from the ground up and then raced them down at Bloomington Speedway. After a while, Jimi took interest and in that small town in the Midwest is where his love was formed with dirt racing. Jimi won his first World of Outlaws championship the very first season it started in 1978. From there he went on to thirty more championships and raked up three-thousand-and-forty feature wins in his forty-five season career.
“You see it all the time, NHRA, NFL coaches, actors, various people in sports broadcasting all taking an interest in NASCAR. Some just simply watch where others try their hand at team ownership. Jimi wasn’t any different. He just decided one day, ‘Hey, I think I’ll start a NASCAR team.’ And he did. But his greatest decision was pairing a rookie driver and Bobby Cole together.”
The crowd chuckled as Larry, the broadcasting announcer for the banquet, took over the speech smiling. “No one touched Jameson’s records he set back in 2003 with his twelve wins, twenty-two top five’s and thirty top ten finishes in the thirty-six race schedule.
“Well he broke that record that record year after year. But no one else has. Tate Harris tried but couldn’t quite reach Jameson’s record number of twenty-three wins in a season he set in 2013. Throughout his twenty seasons in the Cup Series, he started eight hundred and sixteen races, snagged two hundred and twelve poles, one hundred and eighty one top five’s and two hundred and forty seven wins with fifteen championships. No other driver in the history of the sport has ever achieved those numbers. The same one they called Rowdy Riley for his temper on and off the track. The same kid who shoved reporters out of his way and had his name engraved in the Big Red Trailer,” Larry shook his head looking over at Jameson with a smile. “Jameson Riley was undoubtedly a polarizing figure in NASCAR racing. And no one knows this better than the man who took a chance on him back then, ladies and gentleman, fourteen-time NASCAR Cup Champion... Tate Harris.”
When Tate stepped up on the stage, I looked over at Jameson with his head bowed as if he actually looked up, he might cry.
I understood how he felt.
I wasn’t comfortable receiving praise. That wasn’t why I raced. It was never about the attention but it was inescapable on a night like tonight.
As a racer, you know there was a fate there. It was a romance to a sport that drew you in, but the lines, or grooves, between you and the sport were hard to distinguish at times. I felt it, the sweat of the triumph. I understood what people saw, or thought of me, but I felt none of it. I couldn’t get outside of it, get away from my own personal edge enough and see my life for what others witnessed.
Tate smiled at me and winked. Leaning against the podium, he appeared relaxed as though he was talking to a group of friends outside his transporter. And, really, he was.
He tipped his head my direction. “Here’s a kid that given how disposed he could be to rattle other drivers, he was the first to make sure you walked away from a crash. He prompted a chorus of hallelujahs by winning, always has.” Tate said. “That’s what really set him apart from the drivers at the Chili Bowl the year I met him. It wasn’t just that he won. It was how he won.
“And he continued to win that way. I’ve witnessed him at his best and I’ve been there with him when it’s all fallen apart for him. In 2003, he proved just how great he is. That year’s snapshot still stands out because it captured Jameson at his absolute bedeviling best. A driver who just wouldn’t quit and could incite fans to rush the catch fence each time he pulled off another victory. He was a god out there and he knew it. It was riveting to watch, the intersection of greatness emerge just off the loathing he fed from that year. I honestly believe this kid has revolutionized the sport to what it is today. No one could touch him that year and probably never will, I know, I tried,” he smiled with a low chuckle. “I’ve thought about coming back and seeing if I could go after number fifteen, just for the record books.” His smile turned wicked. “But I also know Jameson... he’d come out of retirement too and then we’d constantly be battling it out each week just trying to one up the other.”
It was bizarre to me to have these guys talk about how great I was, I was never one for praise but I also remembered, throughout the twenty years in this series, that these were my friends. Given the chance, I’d say the same things about them.
As Tate finished, he said one thing that really got my attention, his eyes glazed over and he cleared his throat. “He would be proud of you right now, buddy. Always remember that.”
I didn’t know Kyle was going to speak, but he did.
“Only another driver can understand him and I always did. I’d worked with other drivers before but the important thing was the combination between the driver and the crew chief. If you don’t have a sundry of team members, it doesn’t work. ” Kyle glanced over at me. “To spare myself a breakdown up here... I’m just going to keep this simple. I’ve stayed out of the spotlight but I’ve been in the heat. You stood by me no matter what. I remember our first season in Cup together when we were fined for a... fuel additive.” He raised his eyebrows in disgust and snorted, the crowd laughed at his sarcasm toward the bullshit fine. “I remember sitting in the hauler with you getting ready to hear the verdict and you asked me, ‘How’d it get there?’ I gave you my honest answer of, ‘I don’t know.’ And you know what, he never questioned me. Jameson trusted me and that’s what made us the champion team that we became. He’s really what kept Riley-Simplex Racing together all these years, and as the new owner he will continue to keep it a winning team.”
I had to laugh as did the crowd. Kyle had ratted me out.
I hadn’t announced it officially but, yes, I was the new owner of the team and would assume that responsibility next year. Like I said, I was no longer racing with the series but this team was handcrafted by my father. I couldn’t just let it go.
Before Kyle ended his speech he said one thing that pretty much summed up our relationship over the years. “He may have been Rowdy Riley or the same guy who would punch you if you threatened him but” —he looked directly at me— “there’s a reason why I’ve been your crew chief for the last twenty years. You’re my family, that’s why.”
There was a short intermission while drivers talked with others and their families but I stayed seated at our table watching.
Axel was there with Lily and she looked as beautiful as she always did. They were standing next to Justin and Ami who were also there in support of me. Tommy and Willie were there too since there was free food so, of course, they came, but most of all, they were here to support me and be the friends and brothers that they always were to me over the years. I chuckled to myself thinking back to the time when we changed out an engine on the way to Skagit going down the freeway and Tommy dropped that wrench on my face.
Spencer and Alley sat side by side with Cole and Lexi near them, teasing Tommy. Aiden and Emma, lost in their own bubble, sat next to them across from all of the crew guys from back home. Noah and Charlie, behaving for once, had come as well and even congratulated me at one point. I think they were scared now that I had more time on my hands that they wouldn’t have jobs but even though they were still shitheads, no one could build engines like the Gomez boys.
Easton and Arie were here and all smiles. It was a good feeling seeing her smile these days and being with a guy who I was sure wouldn’t break her heart.
And Casten, my crazy kid who found entertainment in everything life had to offer him was here, laughing at me, but he was here.
“What are you laughing at?” I finally asked him when he chuckled beside me.
Sway had gotten up to use the bathroom so he stole her seat next to me.
“Nothing of substance.” Then he laughed again when Tommy stuffed a beer in his suit jacket. Casten nodded toward him. “I don’t know what’s more entertaining to me... Tommy in a suit or him stealing free beer.”
I laughed as Tommy stashed another one. “Definitely the suit, he steals free beer all the time.”
Sway returned and had a good laugh with us until the intermission was over and the stage went dark.
I knew what was coming and I wasn’t prepared for how emotional it would be for me.
It was time for me to speak.
They introduced me to the audience after that and played a short video of my career to which the entire venue went ballistic with cheers when they saw a picture of me at five years old racing quarter midgets. I was sure my mom was behind that one. There were pictures of me and Jimi laughing together sitting on the pit wall prior to races over the years. There were various snap shots of us throughout my career, some of Axel with us and then the last picture of Jimi and me. I remember that day clearly though it was years ago… it was the night I won my tenth championship. In the black and white photo, Jimi had his burly arm wrapped around me but was pulled back, looking directly at me with a wide smile. He was there for every championship I had ever won.
When the picture faded to black, the phrase “Legends of our Time” covered the screen.
“Ladies and gentleman, the fifteen-time NASCAR Cup Series champion... Jameson Riley.”
With a quick kiss on my wife’s cheek, I took the stage, for the last time, as a race car driver in NASCAR.
I didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at the screen that still had the phrase plastered upon it.
“Were we legends?” I asked rhetorically looking out into the crowd, whistles and cheers roused. “Well, he was undoubtedly a legend but me... I don’t know about that.” I shook my head and looked down at the podium before gazing into the crowd at Spencer, Aiden, and Kyle sitting next to my mom. I winked at Mom and she smiled holding Spencer’s hand. “But I’ll tell you something else...” I began slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. “I set out to accomplish one thing in my career and that was to be known as Jameson Riley, not the son of Jimi Riley. Somewhere along the way, I accomplished that. But I also discovered that it was far more rewarding to me that I was his son. He taught me everything I knew about racing, life and love. Now that I know what I do now, I don’t know why I fought so hard to separate myself from him in racing when all along, he molded me to be the driver I became and I am honored now when someone says, ‘Hey there’s Jimi Riley’s son.’” I looked back at the screen one last time. “This one’s for you, Dad.”
I could have said more but that was the speech that came from my heart as it was true.
That night, when we left, one phrase stuck in my head.
“You’ve made a lot of money in your career.” I just couldn’t get past that particular comment being said to me. As if that was why I did all this. Fuck that.
Well, yeah, I was never hurting for money, but it wasn’t what I wanted out of life.
It was never about the money. Looking back to my first midget race, it was about the adrenaline and competition. That was what drove me.
I raced because I loved it, not because of the money.
You rarely find guys like me who walk away when they’re on top of their career like I was but I did. I came back from a near fatal accident because I needed to prove that I could. That right there should tell you how much this sport over the years really meant to me.
As I said, it was never about the money. And to me, that couldn’t have been more evident now.
If you asked me now what my happiest memories were, sure most were racing related. But then there were the years spent with my dad at Lernerville, Terra Haute, Skagit, and Elma... all vivid memories.
When I met Sway, our summer together, those three weeks together after Charlotte, getting married, our kids—all those were some of the best memories I had. The tie to racing was strong. I loved them both. Both made me who I was today. And I took pride in knowing I was still that same person I was back when I started racing... Jameson Riley.
I remembered where I came from, what made me, and I would always consider myself the dirt track kid from Elma, Washington.