The Legend (11 page)

Axel
nodded but didn’t look up at Casten.

Casten
grinned and spun the ATV around to roost up clay at us.

“You guys
should have stopped with me.” Axel noted brushing a few chucks of clay off his
driver’s suit.

“You
know,” I let out a laugh throwing my arm over his weighted shoulders, “I felt
the same way about my siblings.”

When we
got back to the pits Casten was busy flirting with some girl standing in
Rager’s pit. Before Axel got inside his car, he unscrewed the cap to a quart of
oil sitting on the counter in the hauler and dumped it down the inside of
Casten’s shirt, then climbed inside his car.

Casten,
never wanting to compromise his chances with the girl by freaking out, just
grinned at his brother and continued to nod to whatever the girl was saying to
him.

Logan,
Sway’s half-brother and part of JAR Racing these days, was standing with Willie
on the other side of Axel’s car adjusting the timing for the track conditions.
They both broke into a fit of laughter when Axel pulled one over on his
brother.

Times
never changed. It may be a different set of kids now, but they were still
pulling the same shit we used to in the pits. I can’t tell you how many times I
dumped oil down my brothers back. It made me smile thinking back to the times
when we did this at the local dirt tracks growing up. Thinking of that made me
think of Sway. She was supposedly somewhere but had yet to show.

Part of me
was worried but I also knew if there were a problem, Clint or Van, our
bodyguards, would have called me. The paranoid part of me checked my phone to
make sure nothing was wrong.

Turns out
she was stuck at the merchandise hauler but made it just as the cars were
performing the 4-wide salute to the fans.

Kissing my
shoulder, her tiny arms wrapped around my waist as the announcer said that
famous World of Outlaws saying. The cars lined up four-wide coming out of
three. “Knoxville Speedway, you wanted the best you got ‘
em
four of the best. Often imitated, never duplicated, the greatest show on dirt
...
the World of Outlaws!”

She
screamed and clapped her hands just like every other proud mother of their son
when he waved to the crowd.

Throwing
my arm around her, I pulled her close to my side and whispered in her ear. “I
love you.”

The
rumbling of twenty-four sprint cars shook the stands we were standing in as she
smiled up at me.

“You better.”
She said leaning into my side watching the cars passed by. “Your daughter told
me to fuck off tonight.”

“Is that
why you were late getting to the track?”

“Yeah, I
had to put her in her place.”

As they
passed by the start finish line, they shot down the front stretch for four hot
laps before filling back in to two wide for the start.

I looked
over at Sway again. “He’s nervous.”

“He’ll be
fine. I can feel it. This will be his night.”

It felt
somewhat strange to me standing in the stands at Knoxville when every other
year I was on the track.

Axel
started mid pack in eighth position and had some heavy hitters in front of him
like Tyler and Justin (two of my guys racing for JAR Racing). Cody Bowman, my other
driver, missed the feature when he got tangled with another driver out of
Australia during the heat races.

That
night, Axel did exactly what I told him to do. He stopped caring about the win
and had fun. I watched as he messed with Justin, bumping his right rear just
enough to cause him to slip on entry and then would pull back to let him take
his position back. I knew at any given moment Axel’s car was faster but he was
relaxing and getting comfortable again. This meant fucking with Justin and it
was something they both enjoyed doing.

The
Knoxville Nationals was a four-day show with the final event on Saturday night
being a fifty-lap feature. With twenty to go in the fifty-lap main, Axel was
sitting in third with Justin and Tyler in front of him. It looked like Tyler
was going to pull off his fifth Knoxville Nationals win when Axel took three
and four high and shot pass both of them. There was no way his car was that
much faster then there’s so immediately I thought something was wrong and ran
down to Tommy and Willie standing near the wall watching. Tommy pulled his
headset aside when he noticed me.

“What’s
going on?” I threw my hands up. “Did something break?”

There were
times just before an engine blew that you got the most power out of the engine
before disaster struck. It’s exactly what I thought had happened.

Tommy
smiled, his orange curls stood on end as the cars roared back. The sound was
almost deafening this close to the track.  When they got in to turn one
and two, Axel was spreading his lead to a five-car cushion. Smooth, not jerky,
lines indicated the car seemed fine.

“You know
what the problem has been all along?” Tommy’s eyes shifted from mine to the lap
times on his watch. “It was never the car or the set-up.”

“What?”
Willie started bouncing beside us with the rest of the crew knowing this could
be the kids’ first win. His hands clasped in front of his face, his head
bobbing as he continued to bounce with excitement. Casten leaned forward over
the wall watching closely.

“You,”
Tommy replied.

“Me?” I
balked. “What the fuck did I do?”

“You
weren’t here with him.” His eyes glanced at the track momentarily, and then
back to me. “He needed you to calm him down. That kid depends on your advice. I
tried in Lincoln. Jimi tried in Williams Grove when he nearly won but it’s you
for some reason that puts him at ease out there.”

Was it
me?

It was
true. I had yet to see a feature race with the way our schedules collided
constantly. Looking back over the years, you never realize the impact you have on
your children until someone else points it out. I only told him to relax. How
would that be the advice he needed?

“He needed
to hear it from you.” Tommy answered though I hadn’t said the words out-loud.

I stood
there dumbfounded when Tommy leaned into my shoulder as the white flag waved.
“You might want to pay attention. History is being made.”

History
was being made again. Two years ago, I won Knoxville Nationals when I came out
here for fun. Last year, in his final season, my dad won. This year, coming
into three and four, was my son flying out of two with a ten-car lead. He threw
the car hard into three, clay roosted up spraying the wall we stood next to as
the powerful rumble of his car popped as he lifted. He blipped the throttle to
slide into the slick corner nearly bumping the wall before dipping down on the
inside to take the checkered flag.

History
had been made.

Axel Riley
was the third generation driver, and third consecutive win for our family here,
won Knoxville Nationals.

I’m not
sure who was louder, the screams from the fans or the screams from our family,
my wife in particular. I’d never heard her cheer so loud but then again, I was
always racing. Maybe she was always this loud.

With the
thick crowd I couldn’t get down to the infield where Axel had pulled himself
from the car to celebrate his win. I could see him though, on the screen,
smiling, standing on the rear tires to do the wing dance.

When he
climbed down, the announcer shoved the microphone in his face after he hugged
Casten who managed to make it to him along with Lily and Sway. How they got
down there was beyond me because I literally couldn’t move with all the people
swarming the track.

With that
same contagious smile I saw when he won the Chili Bowl Midget Nationals, Axel
looked up at the tower seeing the double zero number in the number one spot.
The same number Jimi had throughout his entire career in the outlaw series,
Axel was now driving. The number hadn’t seen that position in fifty-one races;
flickering in the night, it was finally there.

He must
have starred at that number for close to a minute before he smiled and looked
back at the announcer. “I wasn’t sure I could get it there again.”

“You did
though.” Jeff, the ESPN announcer, said to him with an encouraging smile. “How’d
you do it?”

“Honestly,
it had nothing to do with me.” He ran his shaking hands over his face wiping
away sweat and confetti. “I just drove. It was my brother Casten, Tommy,
Willie, my grandpa and my mom but most of all
...
my
dad. He told me what I needed to hear.”

“What was
that, win?” Jeff teased.

Axel threw
his head back with laughter.

“Yeah,” he
nodded, “basically.”

“The champ
knows what to say?”

“That he
does.” Axel held the trophy over his head with one hand. “This one’s for you
dad!”

I kept it
together, for now, but it was yet another time in my life when breaking down
and balling like a baby was threatening. Later, alone, I couldn’t guarantee my
stability.

An hour
later, the guys were all parked outside the haulers and throwing back beers in
celebration of the kids first win. These were the celebrations I enjoyed the
most. In the highly publicized world of NASCAR, a win is never a win anymore
that it is a way to promote your sponsors. Sure you get to celebrate but
everything about it is commercialized. You have to get out of your car at the
exact moment they say, flash your sponsors name to the camera and present
yourself in a manner they approve. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I’m
saying that for me, how I like to celebrate, is here at the dirt track throwing
back beers with my friends.

Sway and I
stood side-by-side watching them celebrate. Soon she said she was tired and we
collected Arie and Casten to take them back to the hotel. Of course, Arie threw
a fit.

“You’re
coming with us whether you want to or not. I’ll drag you kicking and
screaming.”

Arie, true
to her nature, rolled her eyes, “Whatever dad.”

“Whatever?”
I mouthed to Sway.

Sway
laughed hugging my waist. “I should have taken notice back when her
pediatrician was trying to sell me books on spirited children.”

“What’s
her problem these days? She acts like we’re not cool. We’re cool people.”

Sway
shrugged. “She’s sixteen.”

Even with
her fit throwing, she was asleep right along with Sway before we even reached
the freeway.

Casten sat
up front with me and provided the entertainment but soon, he too started to
yawn.

“You ever
think of racing again?” I asked making conversation.

“I don’t
want to race anymore.” Casten replied as though I shouldn’t question him. “It’s
not the same for me.”

“I can
understand that.”

I could
understand. A lot wasn’t the same after the plane crash but it was even
stranger being at a place like Knoxville Nationals and not seeing Ryder. Casten
had taken to the USAC series when he raced, which was the series Ryder had
always raced. I wasn’t around enough to teach Casten what he needed to know but
Ryder was. In turn, they were very close.

“Do you
ever think about racing sprint cars again?”

“Yeah, I
do all the time.”

It was
quiet for about ten minutes as Casten’s phone held most of his attention before
he asked. “Do you ever get scared racing?”

“No, well,
there are times when I think, shit, this is gonna hurt but I’m not scared of
wrecking. The safety is much more advanced these days. I guess I think if it’s
your time to go then it was meant to be.”

Casten
tucked his phone inside his jacket. “Do you think Ryder was scared?”

“No, Ryder
wouldn’t have been scared. He knew the dangers very well. In fact, much like
you and him, his mentor, Ron Walker was killed racing too.”

Casten
seemed to think about that for a moment and then looked down at his phone that
beeped.

Nothing
would take the place of Ryder being gone no more than it would having guys like
Andy and Colin gone or a more dedicated crew member than Gentry. I missed Cal’s
cooking and Wes, I missed his crazy war stories. My point was, any time you
lose someone, it hurts and nothing takes that pain away.

Casten
yawned with a chuckle adjusting his sweatshirt against the window. “I miss that
crazy asshole Ryder.”

“We all do
buddy.”

5.
In/Out Box - Jameson

In/Out Box
– This box contains the direct drive slider gears on a sprint car. Since sprint
cars do not have a clutch, the car has to be put into gear before racing. The
slider gear has to be engaged before the car is off and then the engine will
start by compression. It’s similar to a running start in a street car.

Paul
Leighty, one of my current teammates driving the No. 19 car for Riley Racing,
was the type of racer that would talk himself up so high he’d need a space
shuttle to return to earth.