Black Flag (Racing on the Edge) (64 page)

“After what they did to
my family—I don’t think it’s steep enough.” I told her continuing to walk
toward the grandstands with as much indifference as I could pass off. I should
have shut the fuck up after that, but I didn’t. “They nearly killed my fiancée
and unborn child. Ten years is not even close to the punishment Mariah deserves
and two years for Gordon,” I snorted. “
that’s
just a
slap in the face.” My eyes narrowed at her, the indifference was gone and she
knew it.

I’m not sure what my
expression was, let’s face it, I’m not looking in the mirror—but the expression
on Ashley’s told me she saw what I was intending her to see.

“S-s-so you’re getting
married in a few weeks, right?” she stammered, her face flushed as our pace
slowed to barely moving.

“Yes I am,” I stated
proudly walking away.

Prior to the race, I
had a meet and greet for the Children’s Hospital. This was always my favorite
part about these meet and greets. I loved seeing all the little smiling faces
that would give anything to meet you.

One particular little
boy was talkative so I encouraged him further by asking questions. I learned through
our in depth conversation that his name was Harlan, and he wanted to be a race
car driver who was also a boxer.

“So you’ve got the
boxing chops, huh kid?”

His bright blue eyes
lit up. “Yes, I do!” and then he proceeded to punch me in the stomach with his
tiny fist.

I didn’t flinch of
course and instantly saw the disappointment on his face.

“Hold on, I wasn’t
ready.” I told him and then rolled my neck from side to side, bouncing on the
balls of my feet like a boxer. “I’m ready now, try again.”

When he hit me again I
fell to the floor and pretended to scream in pain, this just provoked all the
kids to dog pile me, not at all what I planned for.

Thankfully Alley
rescued me from the attack and it was time for the race, and more importantly,
to get into race mode.

She handed me my iPod
as I attempted to drown out the screaming fans, Spencer and Aiden fighting over
the last
RedBull
, and my dad ranting about how
I needed to stay focused while threatening to take away my phone.

“Hey dipshit,” my dad
said with a smirk yanking my headphones out. “You focused?”

“I was until you
interrupted me.” I replied with a smile fumbling with the headphones before
handing my iPod to Alley.

Jimi slung his arm
around my shoulders and squeezed once. “You got this, I have no doubt.” He
whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks dad.”

“Remember, this is what
you’ve dreamed about, this is it. You’ve earned it.” He patted my back. “You’ve
already proven yourself—finish it off.”

I’ve never really
thought about what this would all be like.

What would it be like
to win eleven races in my first Cup Series? How am I supposed to feel about
this? I also never really thought about what it would feel like to have the
chance to win the championship in my first season. I never thought about this because
really, I didn’t think it would happen.

You don’t realize this
kind of dream until
it’s
happening. You don’t
recognize it until you’re right in the middle of it. Surrounded by the
screaming fans and the warm Florida sun, I was right in the middle of it. This
was what I’ve been working for since I was five.

When I pulled out of my
parents
driveway five years ago, that afternoon,
somewhere between Portland and Chico California, I thought about turning
around, but it was Sway who kept me going.

We were sitting outside
a Chevron, filling up on gas, when I freaked out and decided I was insane for
even thinking I could do it. She was there talking me off the ledge and
convinced me that this was what I was meant to do. Without her, I might not be
standing on this grid, here today.

I smiled to myself when
in that exact moment, standing here on pit road when I was having those same
doubts and fears—a text message from her came through.

You can do this! Believe
in yourself and believe in your dream. You were born to be a champion!

She was right and in
that moment, with the sounds of
Linkin
Park blaring
through my headphones, I realized my biggest day was here. This was it, this
was the now or never, the do or die, time to step up and play the game. It was
time to show everyone who had ever doubted me that I was born to do this. There
was no holding back now.

This would be my eye
for an eye.

I quickly sent her one
last text before tucking my phone away.

I will. Wait up for
me tonight.

Watching driver’s wives
and girlfriends wish them luck was hard because Sway wasn’t there to do the
same. But the reason she couldn’t—just fueled the fire inside me to win.

All morning everyone
had been asking me how I felt coming into this race, how
I
was feeling.
Though I’d given them the standard answer of great, was I great? No I wasn’t.

Was I nervous? You have
no fucking idea.

Talk about pressure.

But with everything that’s
happened, I deserved this. My team deserved this—my family deserved this. After
all the shit that’s happened, all the shit I’ve put them through
...
they deserved less shit for once
and
a championship.

Even the biggest races
of your career can play out the same way. You’re stopped a few dozen times for
cautions, debris, wrecks, rain, but for the drivers and their crews who have
worked so hard just to get to that last race, it never stopped. It was a
constant race, one stop to another, a call to a change and a turn to a finish.
For those miles in between the green and checkered are what decided the fate of
one team. Forty-two others were left wondering what might have happened by that
one more second, the slip on pit road, that brush with the wall or maybe just
that 3/10 of an inch separating them from victory. For these racers surrounding
me, the teams, the owners, after the checkered, the race to the next is just
the beginning of their ten-month battle between the flags that never really
ended.

“Turn your rear tire
fans on,” Kyle told me at lap two hundred. “I’m not sure it’s going to help but
we
gotta
try something.”

This was not going as
planned. Just twelve laps into the race, I blew the right rear tire and slammed
into the wall. Amazingly enough I managed to keep it on the lead lap but there
I sat in ninth place with sixty-seven laps to go.

“What do the points
look like?” Frustration and exhaustion were evident in my harried tone.

“If the race was to end
now,” Kyle’s tone was the same. “
you’d
win the
championship by eighty points.”

I was relieved and I
really didn’t think anyone could catch me but I had a shit car today and it’d
be a miracle if it finished in one piece.

My mind kept going back
to the fact that I wouldn’t settle for anything other than the win, I wanted
more. More of anything is better, right? Not exactly, but I wanted more out of
this goddamn car, that’s for sure.

“Kyle, listen
...
” I turned the fans on. “Let’s take four
tires on this stop and go down a half round on the wedge. Maybe that will free
it up enough that we’re not burning up the tires. I’m tight and I think that’s
why.”

“All right boys,” Kyle
announced to the crew. “You heard the man.”

“Pit road is open this
time by.” Aiden told us. “Watch your speed. Keep it at 4300.”

“This is the last stop
of the night guys so make it a good one.” Mason told the crew. “Get both cans
in and get that tape off the grill.”

“Keep coming, three
...
two
...
one
...
wheels straight, foot on the brake bud.”

After ten seconds I was
already pounding on the wheel. “Come on!” I screamed. “Let’s go, let me GO!”

“Go, go,
go
!” Kyle finally said as they removed the jack. “Straight
out, clear one lane,”

I gained a spot on pit
road, which improved my mood slightly. “Thanks guys, nice pit stop.” Though I
sounded irritated, I wasn’t. I was just
...
nervous?
I didn’t get nervous when I raced but today, I think I showed some emotions
dictating that said feeling.

The pit crew was doing
a good job tonight but like I said, I wasn’t settling for anything but the win.
I knew regardless if I won or not, the chances of me winning the championship
were good. But have you ever heard that saying, “
You can’t have you cake and
eat it too
.”

I think that statement
is another crock of shit. Whoever said that, obviously failed at something and
made that up to make them feel better about losing.

“It’s time to step up
to the plate.” I told myself as the green flag dropped.

I wanted to know for
myself that those sacrifices that I couldn’t figure out why I was making were
worth it.

My mind drifted back to
the days when I first started racing to now and how mechanical it seemed in a
sense. When you first start out racing, your mind is constantly scrambling
inside that car about how each move will affect you and the outcome of the
race. And that’s not to say you still don’t think that way years later but it’s
different. With practice, more seat time, your moves and reactions grow surer
and going high when you usually wouldn’t almost becomes second nature. It’s
almost like muscle memory, your body just reacts and anticipates the signal
you’re giving it. All along you’re collecting notes, your mind developing more
memory and responses to the situations until you’re faced with something new.
You respond, and find the answer you didn’t know was there. An answer you
didn’t think you had. A move you didn’t think you would make, you do.

Numerous circumstances
play a part in a race. Pit
stops,
lapped traffic,
caution flags, wrecks, flat tires, as well as strategy. It’s all about how well
you play against the circumstances and
swing
them to
your advantage. There was a moment of disequilibrium when those around you are
vulnerable and a sudden unexpected fate turns to your advantage. It’s what you
do in that moment when you make a difference against the circumstance playing
against you. And the move you didn’t think you’d make turns out to be the move
you needed.

By lap two-fifty six, I
was running second behind Tate. I thought about what he said to me in Dover.

“I shouldn’t say that to
you, because I know damn well if you can pull yourself together and get that
drive, that determination in you back, I don’t stand a chance for a repeat
championship.”

I smiled and nudged him
from behind, waving. I raced him fair, but I wasn’t holding back. He put up a
good fight like I wanted him too. We bumped and banged for a good ten laps
before he finally just went high and let me go with a wave.

“All clear—go get ‘
em
!” Aiden told me.

You couldn’t miss the excitement
in his voice, in everyone’s voice. Our team was in its first year in the cup
series and to come out here and do what we’ve done
...
it’s unheard of.

You honestly never know
when your team will find unity together and it may not even happen the first
year. Unity between the crew and car chief, crew chief and driver, driver and
owner, are all different and unique in their own subtle ways. It’s a rhythm
like any other rhythm and one you need to win a championship. It can happen
over a meal, at the table full of empty beer bottles, on the team plane or
maybe at the track during a race where the right call was made or a quick stop.
Some find it and others never do.

We had found it and
once you have a drink of victory like we had, nothing will stop you from
playing with fire to quench the thirst of desire. I knew that fire very well by
now.

“White flag next time
by.” Kyle said. “Come on bud give me one
more good
lap
like the rest of them! Hit your marks one last time kid, you deserve this.
Goddamn
you deserve this kid!”

Did I deserve this?

Fuck yeah I did.

That last lap was the
longest lap that I’d ever driven in my career. It felt as though I was driving
across country.

It also felt like I had
an incredible amount of time to reflect on what this actually meant to me.

Besides the glaring
obvious and Doug Durran in 1950, I was the youngest driver to win the NASCAR
Winston Cup Series Championship and the first to win it in his rookie season.

The excitement and
emotion I felt was hard to describe. My entire body shook as I came out of turn
three. The roars of my screaming team over the radio, was enough to rupture my
eardrums. Yeah, we had unity all right.