Page 76 of The Champion
I think that goes back to my days racing sprint cars whenyou made the changes to your car based on your driving. If you were tight, itwas something you were doing and could adjust. Now, I relied on my crew.
Kyle came over the radio again as the race neared the end.
“Twenty laps to go this time by.”
This was about the time in the race where it got intense.It was a part of the race where you laid it all on the line. If you saw anopening, you took it and hoped to hell it was the right move.
So many things went through my head when I was in thecar. It’s hard to tell you what I focus more on. I think of pretty mucheverything you’d think one would think of when racing and then some.
“That was 30.75 last time by...clear by three on the twenty nine.”
I focus on anything from how the car is handling to whatmy next move might be and how that particular shift of just an inch couldchange everything about the way my car was handling. You had to always belooking ahead. If not, you’d get boxed in and could forget about your nextmove.
“Inside on the line...stillinside...clear,” Aiden said. “Fourteenis looking inside. Clear by two.”
“Where are we at in the points?” I asked Kyle once I madeit through the string of lapped cars.
“If the race ended now you’d finish with a thirty-sevenpoint lead.”
That calmed me down a little but the vibration in theengine flared up again.
Aside from the many thoughts about my car during therace—I also heard voices, strange I know, but I do.
“Fifteen to go,” Kyle told me. “Watch your marks. Take iteasy on that engine.”
I heard the voice of my mother telling me it’s all in myactions and make the best of them.
I heard the voice of my grandpa Casten telling meeverything in life is only worth what you make it.
I heard the voice of my dad telling me his any man worthhis salt speech, which I’d yet to figure out.
“What are your temps now?”
The last few laps, my engine and oil temperatures hadbeen slowly climbing along with the vibration.
“218—240,” I read off the water and oil pressure to him.
“How’s the splitter working?”
On the last stop, Shane, our front tire changer hadchanged out the splitter for a new one. The splitter was an aerodynamic devicefitted to the front of the car that generated down force, creating grip on thetrack.
“Seems good...I’mstill vibrating on the exit.”
“Ten to go...lastlap was a 30 flat, clear by ten.” Kyle said. The radio frequency we were onkept breaking up garbling his words. “There’s a car slowing—” “on the—” “three—”
We ended up changing channels so I could hear him withoutthe interruption.
“I can’t run the top anymore. My right rear is sliding onentry.” I told him as I passed another lapped car.
“Just do what you can bud. Five to go this time by.You’re running tenth.”
The more I thought about those voices again, my parentsweren’t the only voices I heard. I heard the voice of my wife telling me tofollow my dreams and stand my ground when pushed. I heard her telling me thatchampions aren’t made they’re born. And finally, I heard the voice of my son,saying “Go daddy!” to me on the phone this morning.
“White flag next time by.Greatjob this season,way to stay focused!”
I drew in a deep breath...thankfulthe season was finally over.
I loved racing but I also loved that time with my family.
