Page 61 of Trading Paint

Another difference was that a Silver crown car has a two-speed gearbox and an Indy style handheld starter. In order to fire it up, one of your crew members would start the car after you’re buckled in and then you’re on your way. If you stall in the race, you have to be pushed off.

Along with being heavier, they have smaller engines, a larger wheelbase and never run on a track smaller than a half mile.

They took some getting used to. Not only did you struggle to push around a heavier car, you usually had to do this for a hundred laps. I was used to racing forty-lap features so I had some conditioning to do.

As soon as I pulled onto the track, everything felt right and that was a good feeling to have after the last few weeks. I was prepared both mentally and physically. I was unstoppable.

During hot laps, I was smooth, my lines were perfect and I knew I made fast time without even hearing it. When I slowed to a dawdling pace and made my way in the pits, I overheard the announcer.

“Ladies and gentleman, with a lap of 11.918, your new track record was just set by a kid who has never seen this place before, Jameson Riley driving the 9R Bowman Oil car.”

I grinned as did Sway and Spencer who met me at the trailer.

That was about the only good thing that happened that night. In the heat, I blew a tire. Fixed that but in the main, a driver from California, Alex Reed, kept pushing against me and eventually just drove me straight into the wall with eight laps remaining.

I had nowhere to go and ended up getting tangled with Ryder Christiansen and Cody Bowman (his uncle Walter owned Bowman Oil, my sponsor, but wouldn’t sponsor him), two guys who were also competing in all three USAC divisions for a chance at the Triple Crown, the champion in all three divisions.

After ninety-two laps of leading, I was beyond irritated with this guy.

I was pissed by the time I made it back to the pits, my thoughts raging and uncontrollable. I had a wicked temper and this wasn’t helping.

I didn’t even want to look at the car when I got out, knowing damn well there was a lot of shit broken. I had no idea what I was going to tell Bucky or Bowman Oil. First car they provide for us and it was junk now.

Having dreamt about this for years and now that I was starting out, I go and destroy my car on the first night. Well I didn’t, this Reed fucker did.

Pushing a USAC official out of my way and throwing my helmet at him was not the brightest move of the evening but neither was shoving Alex when I found him standing next to his car.

Next thing I knew, we were in an all-out pit brawl and I still didn’t feel any better.

Alex wasn’t much bigger than me but I got a couple good hits in before the officials separated us.

Sway and Spencer were in my face immediately.

“Jameson, calm down!” Spencer shouted pushing me back away from Reed and to our hauler.

“You’ll never be the driver Jimi is you little shit!” was Reed’s attempt at defusing the situation.

This only pissed me off because I was tired of hearing that goddamn it.

“I seem to remember being in front of you asshole before you took me out!” I knew I would have won that goddamn race if it wasn’t for him.

More race officials and his crew surrounded us now and I knew my chance at doing any more damage to him was over if I didn’t want to be suspended.

It took Sway a while but she eventually got me to calm down enough to get inside the truck and head back to the hotel.

I was still irate when we walked inside. The others stayed in the parking lot while I stormed inside, Sway following close behind.

“Jameson, don’t sellyourselfshort. You won’t always be referred to as Jimi Riley’s son.” I tried to interrupt her but she spoke over me. “Stop acting like a fucking child about this!” she threw the magazine she’d been holding on the bed and stormed off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

I stood there, confused, severely pissed off, and strangelyguilty.

Yelling at a closed door made me feel slightly better.

“I don’t need your goddamn guilt trip on top of this shit right now!”

I glanced down at the blinking message on my new phone from Bucky. USAC had suspended me for two races for shoving an official.

I left after that and slept in the back of the truck. Missing two races would put a huge hit in the points for the national title and I’d miss the start of Indianapolis Speed Week.

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