Page 9 of Trading Paint

Sway usually went on family vacations with us because she was part of the Riley family. Her mother, Rachel, died of breast cancer when she was only six and she had no brothers or sisters. Her dad was raising her and managing a track on his own so she needed us.

Between ganging up on Spencer and Emma, my parents had basically told us to get out of the room. That landed us at the hotel.

Wading around, Sway asked, “Do you ever think about what it will be like?”

“What?” My eyes caught a glimpse of girls walking in before I turned to Sway.

“Racing...for a living...do you ever think about it? I mean, you’re good enough. You know that, right?”

“I know and I think about it all the time,” I sighed leaning my chin against the concrete edge of the pool we were swimming in; my fingers traced the cracks watching the water seep into them. “I know I can do it...that’s not a problem but getting everyone, sponsors included, looking at me as Jameson Riley and not Jimi Riley’s son is what’s hard. Every track they constantly compare me to him. You saw how hard it was for me at the Dirt Cup this year.”

Once a year, Skagit Speedway held The Dirt Cup. It wasn’t a point race but a play date but a chance to prove what you had.

I did.

I won the 360-sprint divisionandthe midget main events. After the race, another racer that was on the same circuit as my dad approached me.

It wasn’t unusual for the Outlaw or NASCAR drivers to hang around these events. This year they had dad, Bucky Miers, Skip Miller, Shey Evans and Langley O’Neil from the Outlaw division. NASCAR rookie Tate Harris showed up along with Doug Dunham and Austin Yale; all great drivers.

I’d met Skip Miller once, with my dad, before at a race in Eldora, but I had yet to speak to him. I wasn’t impressed once I did.

The conversation started fairly well with him congratulating me and like always, I appreciated the praise from the drivers I looked up to but Skip had a different approach when he said, “I don’t know that you’ll ever live up to Jimi but you did good.”

I wanted to say, “Hey, thanks asshole,” but I wasn’t raised that way and dad would beat my ass if I disrespected a veteran driver. And one thing was certain; you don’t piss off Jimi Riley.

The entire night was filled with comments like,“Hey there’s Jimi’s son,”or“Did you see Jimi Riley’s kid in the last heat?”I wanted to say, “I have a name you know.”

I moved from my place against the side of the pool, kicking my legs out when I kicked Sway by accident, and like I expected, she smacked me.

“Is that such a bad thing?” she asked pushing her hair out of her face. She swam closer resting against the same ledge where I was.

“No...dadis an amazing racer...but I don’t want to try to live up to him. He’s a legend in sprint car racing. He’s won more races than any other driver has on the circuit and won more championships than most people can ever dream about. It’s not about being better than him—it’s about making my own name.”

“That’s understandable.”

I glanced over at her. “It doesn’t sound dumb?”

“No,” she ran her fingers along the dark grouted line in the tile. “I don’t think it sounds dumb. Jimi is good but so are you. It’s natural to want to be your own person.”

I knew how good my dad was.

I came from a long line of racing blood so it was believed that Spencer and I would want to race. It was never expected.

When I took to it, I saw the excitement in their eyes, especially since grandpa’s career had ended so suddenly.

As I said, it was never expected that I would race so when I decided that’s what I wanted, they were pleased. In turn, I wanted to please them and be the best I could but I also wanted to have my own name in racing history. I didn’t want to be another Riley in racing. I wanted to be Jameson Riley.

Riding the Wheel – Sway

I’ve been on a number of vacations with the Riley family and they all include the same series of events: Emma packs way too much; Spencer fucks with everyone; and Jameson pouts because he’s not racing and tries to find a racetrack. I end up sneaking alcohol to keep from going crazy.

At some point, Jameson and I would stay up eating Oreo cookies, our drug of choice, until three in the morning.

I’ve always welcomed the time spent with the Riley family if not for the entertainment value but for the chance to drink. I was only fifteen and drinking was unacceptable but it was something I enjoyed.

Who wouldn’t?

I never went for the hard stuff, just beer. This somehow made me feel better about the choice.

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