other teams to win. He was also still dealing with the loss of his
brother, Gentry, who had been on my team plane that crashed.
“Ready for
another year” I ran my left hand through my hair. My eyes focused on the book
and the worn corners.
“Same shit
different year.” He said chewing on his lip and flipping the pages of the book
as if he was hunting for something specific in it.
“Are you
thinking of going to another team?” I asked eventually. We had worked together
my entire stock car career since 2002. The thought of not having him around had
never crossed my mind until tonight.
Finally finding
the page he was looking for, he scratched a few notes in his books, shifted to
rest his elbows on the table and then looked up at me. “Sure, I’ve thought
about going to another team at times. Most crew chiefs don’t stay with the same
team as long as I have. But,” he paused and focused on me, “you are my family.”
“How’s Kiera doing these days?”
“Oh, well,
she left me.” Kyle wasn’t the first guy on the team to get a divorce nor would
he be the last. In fact, most of the boys had either split up from girlfriends
or divorced over the years. It’s just the way it was. “It was to be expected. I
couldn’t expect her to live a life without me there.”
I couldn’t
deny that he was right. I was his only family these days. Through a string of
broken relationships, Kyle had yet to find a wife that was willing to give up
having her husband home two days a week. It seemed that after Gentry was
killed, 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 of
dealing with the loss of those fourteen guys on my plane and they all came down
to distractions.
Hearing
the news of Kyle splitting from his wife, I missed my own wife by the time
Saturday 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 the
morning of the race.
Each year
our team builds cars to the specifications provided by NASCAR. We had a
specialized team of guys, known as fabrication specialists, back at the shop in
Mooresville that did this and each year, we pushed into the gray areas for a
little more room. Every team does it too. Sometimes you get caught, others you
don’t.
Once a car
is built, NASCAR puts their stamp of approval on it back at the NASCAR Research
and Development Center in Concord North Carolina. They do this by putting a
radio frequency chip in a discrete area and a sticker of approval that is
similar to a VIN number on the chassis for future scanning purposes.
Once at
the track, the cars we now use (COT, Car of Tomorrow) is inspected with one
template that is actually about nineteen templates in one. The claw, as we
called it, is placed over the car during the morning inspection. From there
NASCAR officials check for clearance at various locations.
That
morning, of the Daytona 500, we didn’t pass inspection. The thing was why it
had passed earlier and not now. What changed? What changed was that before they
never put the claw on it, just rolled through the inspection trying to get
everyone through.
Dave
Jenkins, the official closest to me, leaned into my shoulder, “Looks like
this’ll be a pretty penny Riley.”
He was
right. When NASCAR found a problem, we paid for it.
Turns out
our fenders weren’t lining up correctly and neither were the c-posts. Bobby and
Paul had the same problem.
We fixed
it that morning with the understanding we’d all be starting from the back. This
wasn’t bad for me because I had messed up and scrapped the wall during
qualifying and only managed to snag a twenty-fifth starting position. Yeah
forty-third wasn’t going in the right direction but neither was getting caught
cheating.
So, we
fixed it. Problem solved, right?
Not quite
NASCAR, as
the sanctioning body of our sport, has, and always
brother, Gentry, who had been on my team plane that crashed.
“Ready for
another year” I ran my left hand through my hair. My eyes focused on the book
and the worn corners.
“Same shit
different year.” He said chewing on his lip and flipping the pages of the book
as if he was hunting for something specific in it.
“Are you
thinking of going to another team?” I asked eventually. We had worked together
my entire stock car career since 2002. The thought of not having him around had
never crossed my mind until tonight.
Finally finding
the page he was looking for, he scratched a few notes in his books, shifted to
rest his elbows on the table and then looked up at me. “Sure, I’ve thought
about going to another team at times. Most crew chiefs don’t stay with the same
team as long as I have. But,” he paused and focused on me, “you are my family.”
“How’s Kiera doing these days?”
“Oh, well,
she left me.” Kyle wasn’t the first guy on the team to get a divorce nor would
he be the last. In fact, most of the boys had either split up from girlfriends
or divorced over the years. It’s just the way it was. “It was to be expected. I
couldn’t expect her to live a life without me there.”
I couldn’t
deny that he was right. I was his only family these days. Through a string of
broken relationships, Kyle had yet to find a wife that was willing to give up
having her husband home two days a week. It seemed that after Gentry was
killed, 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 of
dealing with the loss of those fourteen guys on my plane and they all came down
to distractions.
Hearing
the news of Kyle splitting from his wife, I missed my own wife by the time
Saturday 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 the
morning of the race.
Each year
our team builds cars to the specifications provided by NASCAR. We had a
specialized team of guys, known as fabrication specialists, back at the shop in
Mooresville that did this and each year, we pushed into the gray areas for a
little more room. Every team does it too. Sometimes you get caught, others you
don’t.
Once a car
is built, NASCAR puts their stamp of approval on it back at the NASCAR Research
and Development Center in Concord North Carolina. They do this by putting a
radio frequency chip in a discrete area and a sticker of approval that is
similar to a VIN number on the chassis for future scanning purposes.
Once at
the track, the cars we now use (COT, Car of Tomorrow) is inspected with one
template that is actually about nineteen templates in one. The claw, as we
called it, is placed over the car during the morning inspection. From there
NASCAR officials check for clearance at various locations.
That
morning, of the Daytona 500, we didn’t pass inspection. The thing was why it
had passed earlier and not now. What changed? What changed was that before they
never put the claw on it, just rolled through the inspection trying to get
everyone through.
Dave
Jenkins, the official closest to me, leaned into my shoulder, “Looks like
this’ll be a pretty penny Riley.”
He was
right. When NASCAR found a problem, we paid for it.
Turns out
our fenders weren’t lining up correctly and neither were the c-posts. Bobby and
Paul had the same problem.
We fixed
it that morning with the understanding we’d all be starting from the back. This
wasn’t bad for me because I had messed up and scrapped the wall during
qualifying and only managed to snag a twenty-fifth starting position. Yeah
forty-third wasn’t going in the right direction but neither was getting caught
cheating.
So, we
fixed it. Problem solved, right?
Not quite
NASCAR, as
the sanctioning body of our sport, has, and always
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