Page 111 of Trading Paint
Near the end of the 2001 season, I started to look at where Iwantedto 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.
To say that NASCAR is where the best are isn’t necessarily true but it caught my interest. I wanted to be the best and if someone said, “that’s where the best are” that’s where I wanted to be. It wasn’t only a chance at becoming the best for me, it was also uncharted territory.
I’d never thought real hard about what series I wanted to make my career in, all I knew was that I wanted to race and I was doing that.
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 more than any other form of racing in America but I also knew that if you chose to race for money, you were doing it for the wrong reason in the first place. Besides, I never did this to make money; I did it for me.
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 who’s 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’s 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 that’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 girl friend 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’s 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...its 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 forget 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 hadwhorewritten 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 for 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 mm 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. This changes things like down force, aerodynamics,handling, gearing and even driving style. They also run a smaller carburetor. Busch ran a 4-barrel 390 cubic feet per minute whereas Cup ran a 4-barrell 750-830 cubic feet per minute. This would essentially provide less fuel per minute resulting in less horsepower in the Busch cars.
