Page 113 of Trading Paint
“I can’t drive sprint cars?”
Marcus Harding, the President of Simplex Springs and Shocks, and Melissa, exchanged a glance.
“It’s the only way for us to protect you and us.” Melissa added. I understood but I wasn’t about to agree to something like that. Sprint cars are where I came from.
I went to stand when my dad glared and cleared his throat. “Can we have a few days to think about it...racing sprint cars is...not something I’m willing to giveup.” I gritted moving my leg away from him. I had a feeling his was about to kick me any minute.
Marcus seemed to contemplate what I just said but before I made it to the door, he spoke again. “I think we can work with you on that one.” I turned around to look at him. “You have to understand where we are coming from Jameson.” He paused, his eyes focusing on me alone. “We are offering up a large amount of money here for you to race. If by chance you are injured, well, we don’t get the exposure we are paying for. We expect you to take that into consideration.”
I went to speak but was silenced by my uncle Randy. “I think Jameson would just like the opportunity to still race sprint cars on occasion and I assure you,” he shot me a warning glance. “Hewillbe careful.”
“Careful?” I thought to myself. Was I carful in a sprint car?
Not really.
I signed my life away that morning as a puppet for Simplex and my dad. It felt different from the times with Bowman Oil and Bucky. For one, this was bigger, millions of dollars to be exact and they weren’t just paying for me to run a limited USAC schedule. I’d be running a full season in the Busch Grand National series next year. It was different. I still felt like a puppet but I’d like to think I grew up a little in the last four years and realized that this dream of mine wasn’t possible without playing by their rules to an extent.
I had only been back from Australia for about three weeks now. It was mid-January and I had missed the Chili Bowl. I wasn’t thrilled by that by the way but I had more important things to deal with now, like the testing of our Busch Grand National car.
I walked inside my dad’s race shop in Mooresville. It was freezing that morning, I felt like my eyes were even frozen. An involuntary shiver ran through me when I stepped out of my truck and walked toward the shop. My eyes focused on the sign above the door that said:Staff Only.
Chuckling to myself that I was an employee of my dad’s now, I opened the door to the shop.
I’d been in this shop countless times but there were new additions. Amongst the sprint cars, chassis were lined up in rows, engines lined up in front of them. Racks of metal tubing hung on the walls beside axles, front clips, shocks, springs...basically, anything to build a car from ground up.
Harry met me at the door with Tony Eldon, the tire specialist that I met last night.
Tony smiled, “You’ve met Harry, right?”
“Yeah,” I reached out and shook Harry’s hand again. “We met a while back and then again this morning at the meeting.” Dad had put together a breakfast this morning to get the team together. Right now, we were all just pieced together and in the development stages but slowly the Riley Racing teamwasbeing formed.
“Great, you guys will be working together today. We need to get everything setup for these engines and what feels right for you.” Tony smiled at Harry, patting his back. “Harry here can’t drive in a straight line to save his life but he could build an engine in the dark with a screw driver and a pair of pliers.”
I chuckled and leaned back against the wall. “So, we’re testing tomorrow at Homestead?”
“That’s the plan,” Harry told me with his own smile.
Harry Sampson was the one to show me my way around a stock car, besides Tate. Tate Harris had become a vital part of all this, he got Simplex for us and well, he was there when I had questions.
Harry was similar to a principal or Hitler but he had his own form of punishment for me. He’d send me to the hauler when he felt I was out of line. This had me spending most of my time inside that damn hauler.
I came from open-wheel racing so I knew jack shit about how to handle the cars and Harry, well he had these strict rules he expected me to abide by, like listening to him. Not being one to follow the rules all that often, I tested him.
It took me a while to get the hang of the cars so Harry had me running laps during the week to get seat time. The only problem was, he wanted me to run lap times that were the exact same each lap. I wasn’t real sure why but Harry scared the shit out of me so I never asked why.
At Daytona, my curiosity got the best of me and I tested out the speed despite what Harry wanted me to do.
After I got my adrenaline rush, Harry signaled to come in.
And when I say signaled, he held up a sign written in black Sharpie on a piece of cardboard that said: “What the fuck was that?”
I pulled onto pit lane to have him standing there looking down at me with his trusty red stopwatch in his hand.
He leaned into the cockpit, motioning toward the time. “What was that boy?”
“I...just wanted to test it out.” I cringed internally thinking he was going to castrate me for doing this.
His eyes narrowed looking over the car and then me again.
