Figure It Out

I felt the chassis rock from side to side with every rotation of the V8 crank shaft as I stared out of the rock guard of my brand new sprint car. The sound of the engine was no longer screaming at high revs with a high pitch sound, it was now a deep throated growl. It was opening day at Lincoln Speedway in Pennsylvania and heat races were about to start. On this day I had roughly 550 more horse power under my right foot than I had ever had in any of my racing experience. A wiring issue had stolen my only opportunity for some hot laps before my first heat race in the damn thing. I looked over my left shoulder to see Dad running back from the line-up board. He sat down on the left rear tire and shouted over the loud engine “You’re starting on the pole”. I didn’t say anything I just looked at him. I am sure that he could see the fear in my eyes. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “you’ll figure it out.” Then as he was getting up to back me out of the pit stall he said something to the effect of “we can drop back if you want” but based on the delivery of such news, I was aware that, that wasn’t really an option. He may as well have said "If you're chicken shit..you can drop back like a little girl." I took a deep breath and they dropped the green by the time I entered turn three my brain was still back at the flag stand. With each lap I tried to mentally catch up, I was way in over my head but I survived and luckily, so did the car.

For the most part, I’m a problem solver. Somehow I just kinda figure shit out. I’d like to say that this is a talent of mine but its not its simply a result of being thrown into some really ridiculous situations and in an effort to not die, get embarrassed or get arrested I always had to get creative and figure it out. The same sort of scenarios, have played out throughout my life. Jumping out of a plane by myself. Crew-Chiefing an ARCA car for Chad McCumbee. Jumping over pit wall to change tires for the first time. Somewhere along the line there was a memo, jotted down on a napkin, that got sent out to reassure all of these assholes that I was capable of anything. At the time, I hated Dad, my old boss, our crew chief… anyone who put me in a state of panic. Somehow I survived all of those things. 90% of the time I failed miserably but I made it through. What I never knew was that I was slowly learning how to be a playmaker or a problem solver. When you are forced to figure things out you suddenly have a road map to every situation that life can throw at you.

Recently I have been facing some brick walls and without question, Dad’s response was “get creative. You’ll figure it out”. Although I find this as a cop-out.. it is the best answer he can ever give me. Dad has never tried to solve any problem for me, he has simply given me the tools to figure them out on my own.

Life Points

As I sat and tried to empty my brain and bask in this nice, over priced buzz that I had going from the Key West airport. I gazed out the tiny window and stared at the airtran.com vinyl lettering on the wing. "That's great advertisement" I thought as I sat and pondered what font it was and what grade vinyl the decal was made out of. You see, I grew up working under my Dads wing in our family owned sign shop. Typically, when I have been drinking I draw on this ridiculously useless knowledge to entertain myself. Before I knew it my mind was running wide open and thinking about signs. Which is a really shitty subject to be mentally wrapped up in.

Anywho, as the plane took off and I looked down at the Key islands get smaller and smaller I pondered how different my life may have been had I never left home. What if I was still painting signs with Dad? What if I didn't walk away from my sprint car team? Would I still be racing? What if I hadn't walked away from a great relationship? Would I be married? Yada Yada "What-if What-if" it was exhausting and unsettling. All of those questions bounced around in my head. When I decided to move to North Carolina it was a hasty and fast decision. In twenty-four hours I walked away from an amazing race team, a boy who worshiped the ground I walked on and my best friends who just so happen to be my Mom and Dad. I never once asked myself those questions on the forefront of this expedition. "Why didn't I ever ask myself 'what if' before I left?"

  The conclusion I came up with was, because I had everything ahead of me. These days I seem to be trapped in my mind, swimming in the memories of the past. Wondering if this is it. If this is the end of the amazing journey I have been on. Quite honestly, I don't feel like it is the end but I have definitely pulled out of the passing lane to do some coasting for a while.
   That day on a north bound plane, in a semi-sober :that's being generous: state I answered a lot of questions for myself. Lets just say that I stayed in Maryland, I believe I would probably be married, still working with my favorite person everyday, Dad, and I would likely still be racing sprint cars. And on this day, as I sit in my back yard next to a fire and write this blog those few things seem to be all that I need to make my life complete :I feel certain the whole marriage thing is a phase, Ill snap out of it just as soon as all of my friends finish their wedding marathon: Annnnywho, had I stayed I would however, have missed out on all of the Life Points I have gathered over the past 8 years. I have had the opportunity to see and do some pretty amazing things. I won't spill on and on about them because frankly I feel like my life has been nothing short of silly and to rehash them all would be bragging and I really hate when people brag,Dont get me wrong.. I LOOOOOVE to brag but I hate when people do it to me so, yea, theres that.
   Tonight I walked into my office in Cornelius, North Carolina. I sat down at my desk and looked around at all of my memorabilia that I have obtained over the past 8 years. I like to consider these to be remnants of Life Points. Life Points to me are moments that mark exact dates in ones life. Monumental moments, events and experiences. Kind of like "The Game of Life" that we played as kids except we aren't cruising around in a little orange plastic car with little blue and pink pegs as family. :try to follow me here:
   Jumping out if a plane. Life Points. Getting paid to wreck a car. Life Points. Testing a car at Daytona. Life Points. Sneaking in a little self bragging in your blog. Life Points. If I had stayed in Maryland I may have the three key essentials that I love the most: Family, Love and Contentment but I would have missed out on so many amazing memories..

   There is an invisible hour glass of sand floating about everyone's head. How much sand is left, no one really knows but I want to continue on not worrying about the 'what ifs' of life but gather up as many life points as possible cause when we go, that is really all we leave behind. Moments and memories.

Current State of Waldo

I reached down and grabbed another sip of my McCafe black coffee. I had been driving for over an hour without even realizing that the radio was off. A music lover like myself, rarely does anything without theme music. In fact my constant bumping of profanity laced hip hop at my cubicle had recently caused a problem at my place of work.. anywho.. I was deep in thought. I was rehashing the events that had transpired in my life for the past eighteen months. It’s been quite a downward spiral from my perspective. This is the part of one’s life that movies are built around. This is what screen play writers call the body of the story, the train wreck, the troubles, the dilemmas. They make for good tv but are a real shit show if you are actually living them.


Lets recap (and for time sake we will just touch the surface here).. Another year wasted on a failed relationship, a near fatal car accident, a completely stagnant career, getting robbed, and the most painfully recent event; the sudden loss of my best friend, a two year old pup named Watson.


I often dabble through the circumstances and trials of my life and find some silly metaphor that makes even the worst case scenario seem hopelessly inspirational and some-what tolerable. On this day I was struggling on all counts. I was not only feeling extreme sorrow for myself I also felt estranged from the person I used to be.


As I looked down at my cell phone it lit up with what may have been the toughest blow yet. "Do yourself a favor and leave this town before it kills you." As I read those words my eyes filled up with tears. I pulled over into an empty parking lot across from Appalachian State. I was in this moment as fragile as I believe myself to have ever been. I felt as though the very last piece of silly inspiration and determination had been swiftly kicked out from under me. My will and determination that I transform into an iron clad bridge of steal for the world to perceive was suddenly exposed for what it truly was a shaky, rotten balance beam of high hopes. I cried and gasped for air quite historically. I was putting on quite a show inside my little black Corolla. I laid my head on the steering wheel and considered all of my options, quit, leave, cuss the person who just crushed me, call Dad, or just wipe my face and carry on to Bristol. I looked at my face in the rear view mirror and shook my head at the babbling mess I had quickly become.


Per the usual AP, I wiped my face and carried on to Bristol. I had no real answer to anything other than for the first time in my life I felt like Waldo minus the awesome scarf. Just plain lost. Lost.. not geographically, I knew how to get to Bristol, but metaphorically, I felt lost. I’ve always known where I was going with my career, my love life, my sanity.. knowing or at least pretending to know all those things gave me confidence. In the recent months I find myself going to bed with a great big question mark on my mind and in my heart. No real answer to anything. Even I don’t know where I am or what I am doing with myself most days. I’m over here, bumblefucking around on the daily, just going through the motions of life. I even credit my recent insomnia to this bumblefucking. One of my mentors is aware of my current state of Waldo and he has encouraged me to continue to blog. So, here it is.. a blog with no real ending to it. Other than the creation of a very new, fun, word: “bumblefucking.*”


But rest easy, I am trying to feel inspired and dig myself out of this horrible funk of misfortune, that I have found myself in. Contrary to some nay-sayers, this town is not killing me. Its teaching me a big life lesson and once I know what that is, blogging and not sucking at life will be much easier.

“To invent your own life's meaning is not easy, but it's still allowed, and I think you'll be happier for the trouble.”

― Bill Watterson

*this term is now liscenced by Ashley Parlett and may only be used with written permission

The Curse Of Entitlement

The door swung open to my little pick-up truck, quickly I snatched my ‘Whatchamacallit”  candy bar from the cup holder and my change of clothes from the passenger seat. I was running late. I’d hustle to the door of a small shed out back of a little white cottage style home. Then I could hear it :whaaaaaaaammmmmaaaaahhhhhhhhhh waaaaahhhhhhmmmaaahhhhhh: an engine would be screaming from the dyno in the back , the sweet sharp smell of methanol would fill my nose, I loved it.  Penelope, would greet me with her smelly coat, matted ears and glazed eyes. I tapped on the not so sound-proof glass.. “You’re late” he mouthed to me. I nodded my head and quickly scooted off to change out of my school clothes.

This was the nightly sight of my apprenticeship at Wes Hastings Racing Engines. Dad and I had come to see Wes months ago at this point and had asked him to build me an engine for my micro sprint. Wes, not a fan of female race car drivers, mumbled on and on about his work load and barked at Dad “Why did you ever tell her she could drive race cars? She should be cheerleading or bowling.” I always liked comments like that. I knew better than anyone how ludicrous it was that someone was letting me drive race cars. I always felt like I was getting something over on someone. I understood. I got it. I was stoked.

We were well into the racing season and Wes’ engines at this time were the best around. Dad was reluctant to buy an engine from anywhere else so we were making weekly visits to WHR in an effort to convince him to squeeze just one more stroker engine into his already busy schedule. At the age of sixteen I was very confident especially when I had Dad standing next to me. Most of the time, Dad was cleaning up the mess I would make from my “lack of a filter” communication skills. :its okay. I got it from him: As Dad and I sat and waited for Wes to pay us just an ounce of time I blurted out, ”if you are so busy, why don’t I build it? You just tell me what to do.” Wes turned his back to us and grumbled something as he walked away. I took that as an ok. To this day, I am certain it was definitely not an ok. The next day I drove straight to his shop right after school. I bounced in the door and said “ok I’m ready.”

That summer I learned to run a lathe, check bore clearances, change floats in carburetors..everything and anything that I could learn about a 2 stroke engine, I learned that summer. Wes was tough as nails and angry at the world. I had a huge respect for him and his knowledge. All I wanted to do was learn. He eventually warmed up to me and was easily the best mentor I have ever had. Finally at the end of the summer he let me build my own WHR (and AP) engine to take racing the following summer. I won my first race with that engine.

Recently, I feel like I am surrounded by the Wes Hastings of the world all over again. Silently waving my arms in the air and screaming “I belong here. I am good at what I do. Let me do it.” And perhaps…perhaps that is what is wrong. Instead of going in and putting my head down and respecting my place in the sport. I keep waiting for the credit that I somehow now, twelve years later, feel that I have earned. I have developed this sense of entitlement. I have forgotten how lucky I was to be given a shot, given an opportunity, given the chance to “fly below the radar” and do something outstanding. Perhaps, all of this starting going wrong when I stopped feeling lucky and started feeling entitled.

"Never forget your beginner's spirit"

-Lance Armstrong

Visual Inspirations..via tumblr

Much like my Twitter account... you can find all things I enjoy on this Tumblr account. I will continue to write my blog at this location on Blogger tho :)

http://greaseormascara.tumblr.com/

In Loving Memory Of My Dear Watson

Look not where I was
For I am not there
My spirit is free
I am everywhere
In the air that you breathe
In the sounds that you hear
Don't cry for me Mom
My spirit is near


I'll watch for you
From the other side
I'll be the one running
New friends by my side

Smile at my memory
Remember in your heart
This isn't the end
It's a brand new start

Watson 9/24/09 - 7/19/2011



The Condiments Car

The Cornhusker 50. The longest micro-sprint race in history...or at least it seemed. This was a race I looked forward to.. it had the fans, the credentials and the hype. One of the biggest micro-sprint races that I knew of...at the time. At age 14 micro-sprint races were life or death. I had just revamped myself from a potential "career ending wreck" as the local racing community called it. Just off the cusp of a three in a row win heater. This race was amongst the best in the micro-sprint business. I'm pretty sure there was a 32 year old in the field.. which made it a big deal for us youngsters.

I had the lead by half way. At this point in my micro-sprint career the only thing bigger than my stats were my ego. We had just sewn up the "Rookie of the Year" title, and talking to me was nearly impossible. As I began digging through the lapped traffic my "rookie status" tapped on my right-should and reminded me that it was, in fact,..still a factor. I tangled with a lapped car and spun out. Luckily, for my ego, my car was still race-able. I started at the tail-end of the longest line and had a "shit-ton" of ground to make up. I began darting around, passing cars as fast as possible. I was positive that Dad had his lecture already plotted out. "Nope. This can't happen. Not tonight" I thought as I snatched another muddy tear-off from my helmet. The win became a little more mine with each car I passed. I remember following a red and yellow car.. a road block. If I went inside, he darted across my nose. If I went high entering turn three he suddenly entered high. This pass would be for eighth position. The frustration of my winning race car wasting valuable time on what should be an easy pass began to wear on me. I struggled with this ketchup and mustard race car until five to go. The caution flag waved :exhale: "What the fuck" I screamed inside of my helmet. We made one lap under caution.. suddenly I felt pressure build in my right foot. :cling: before I knew it I was darting to the inside of the condiments car as he spun up the race track. I remember laughing historically as I drove past. Yup..I spun him. Without thinking, without tact, without even making it look unintentional.. I spun that jackass. As the green flag dropped I began making up time as fast as my RTS chassis could. I finished second, I was livid, only one.. maybe two laps too short.


The shield of my helmet fogged up as I cussed myself for losing the biggest race of the year. As I pulled onto pit road after the race and began to exit my race car I began to remember that in my battle to triumph I had made a few enemies. I was greeted by an angry crew member holding a jack handle and I believe and angry wife. I left my helmet on and spoke my mind about what had happened. It wasn't long til I was seeking cover.


My point for this blog may or may not pertain to certain recent events but what my opinion, in regards to fighting and racecars is this:


..race car drivers, drive with an unruly, untammed passion. That same passion is what makes a racecar mechanic, sponsor or owner wake up everyday and pour themselves into this sport. There is no crystal clear right or wrong in the world of AP on this one. But.. just like in politics and religion .. when two passions collide in the sport of auto racing..it will make news.. figure skating..however..rarely makes news. Perhaps we should ask ourselves.. why?