Page 16 of The Legend
Then ithit me, what if he wasn’t happy working with me anymore?
Throughthis last year, and the years prior, Kyle’s job had gotten increasingly harderwith the way NASCAR controlled so many aspects of the cars. It was hard to getthe jump on other teams to win. He was also still dealing with the loss of hisbrother, Gentry, who had been on my team plane that crashed.
“Ready foranother year” I ran my left hand through my hair. My eyes focused on the bookand the worn corners.
“Same shitdifferent year.” He said chewing on his lip and flipping the pages of the bookas if he was hunting for something specific in it.
“Are youthinking of going to another team?” I asked eventually. We had worked togethermy entire stock car career since 2002. The thought of not having him around hadnever crossed my mind until tonight.
Finally findingthe page he was looking for, he scratched a few notes in his books, shifted torest his elbows on the table and then looked up at me. “Sure, I’ve thoughtabout going to another team at times. Most crew chiefs don’t stay with the sameteam as long as I have. But,” he paused and focused on me, “you are my family.”
“How’sKieradoing these days?”
“Oh, well,she left me.” Kyle wasn’t the first guy on the team to get a divorce nor wouldhe be the last. In fact, most of the boys had either split up from girlfriendsor divorced over the years. It’s just the way it was. “It was to be expected. Icouldn’t expect her to live a life without me there.”
I couldn’tdeny that he was right. I was his only family these days. Through a string ofbroken relationships, Kyle had yet to find a wife that was willing to give uphaving her husband home two days a week. It seemed that after Gentry waskilled, Kyle put everything he had into our team. I could understand that too.It was a way of him coping with the loss. Everyone had different ways ofdealing with the loss of those fourteen guys on my plane and they all came downto distractions.
Hearingthe news of Kyle splitting from his wife, I missed my own wife by the timeSaturday rolled around and final practice sessions were beginning. Come Sunday,the only thing that kept my mind off her was the shit going down around me themorning of the race.
Each yearour team builds cars to the specifications provided by NASCAR. We had aspecialized team of guys, known as fabrication specialists, back at the shop inMooresville that did this and each year, we pushed into the gray areas for alittle more room. Every team does it too. Sometimes you get caught, others youdon’t.
Once a caris built, NASCAR puts their stamp of approval on it back at the NASCAR Researchand Development Center in Concord North Carolina. They do this by putting aradio frequency chip in a discrete area and a sticker of approval that issimilar to a VIN number on the chassis for future scanning purposes.
Once atthe track, the cars we now use (COT, Car of Tomorrow) is inspected with onetemplate that is actually about nineteen templates in one. The claw, as wecalled it, is placed over the car during the morning inspection. From thereNASCAR officials check for clearance at various locations.
Thatmorning, of the Daytona 500, we didn’t pass inspection. The thing was why ithad passed earlier and not now. What changed? What changed was that before theynever put the claw on it, just rolled through the inspection trying to geteveryone through.
DaveJenkins, the official closest to me, leaned into my shoulder, “Looks likethis’ll be a pretty penny Riley.”
He wasright. When NASCAR found a problem, we paid for it.
Turns outour fenders weren’t lining up correctly and neither were the c-posts. Bobby andPaul had the same problem.
We fixedit that morning with the understanding we’d all be starting from the back. Thiswasn’t bad for me because I had messed up and scrapped the wall duringqualifying and only managed to snag a twenty-fifth starting position. Yeahforty-third wasn’t going in the right direction but neither was getting caughtcheating.
So, wefixed it. Problem solved, right?
Not quite
NASCAR, asthe sanctioning body of our sport, has, and always will, hold the right topunish at their discretion.
Thatmorning after the drivers meeting, we were told for one, we’d start from theback, Jimi was being fined $50,000 and our team in particular was fined$25,000. Then they added that Kyle would be suspended for two races.
We filedan appeal right away.
Would wewin the appeal?
More thanlikely the answer was no, but we had to file one to keep Kyle on the box forDaytona.
Kyle,Mason and I huddled around the car as Jimi wheeled himself up the grid. “These finesare getting as steep as Kyle’s hair line,” he spouted off with a carefullycomposed expression.
Mason andI chuckled. Kyle did not. He was suppressing his irritation the best he couldbut not well enough. He sighed and looked over the car. “We fucked up.” Hefrowned, “I can’t offer much more than this.”
Kyle’seyes drifted from mine to the tram working diligently to fix the car as hefocused on the difficult position this put all of us in. The muscles in his jawpulsed as his free hand scrubbed at his face, his frustration flamed.
I couldn’thave Kyle taking the blame for it all so when the media question me, my answerwas simple and I spoke the truth as I always did.
“This ison me just as much is it’s on our team. I’m not going to give you any excusesand I take full responsibility for what happened.” I searched their faces tosee if they believed me but all I got was blank stares.
