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?

To Infinity And Beyond

Darlington, SC. The only thing I remember about this race, last year, was that my socks were wet due to a "hail the Virgin Mary" rainstorm, that passed thru just in time for qualifying tech. And in pure "first day" fashion I didn't bring a change of socks.

This year life is different. I'm not going to ramble on about how different life is for once.. it seems to be all I do these days. Life is different. It's boring. You got it. I know. I do, however, have a few necessary confessions to make... the first is I am lonely. I’m not used to traveling alone. I miss the Harrys. Those guys were such good sources of amusement and material for this blog. Second, I drink alone. Yup, all of those rides in Dad’s truck listening to some good ol’ George Thurgood taught me that this is not only ok but it can be phenomenal. I also just realized that I have been spelling phenomenal wrong for quite some time. Third, Most all of my blogs have been born and raised under one motto "Write drunk. Edit sober." And lastly, I believe I was a super hero in a past life.


I am aware I have just dropped a palate full of delicious items on you but the one I wish to expand on is the Super Hero one.. hear me out. Tonight I was alone, heading home from dinner :before drinking my dale-deuce (what I call 32oz) Coors Light: and a car started to pull out in front of me. As I drove past I realized that I had my right hand up as if to say "halt/stop/freeze." I then began thinking... I have done crazy shit like this before. It would seem as tho I know what is about to happen or I have some sort of cheesy way of heading off impending disaster. I also love wearing my wonder woman costume... which may or may not be related. So..in ending I am going to pretend for the rest of my days that reincarnation is, in fact, real and I was once someone amazing like Buzz Lightyear or Chuck Norris. Maybe then, this hotel room won't feel so lonely and this life won't seem so hopelessly boring. Until next time, "To Infinity AND Beyond." that came so natural...it's scary..

Littered With Magic

You could say..actually I will say, I believe in magic. Not disappearing white bunny rabbit magic a totally different kind of magic. I believe in the type of magic that moves you and awakens your soul from it's state of boredom. Magic that shakes your insides and causes you to perform and accomplish seemingly impossible things. The restlessness that keeps you from sleep. The constant sensation of being late for something but not knowing what. The raw need to fulfill a destiny. It's magic, and it is real. Somewhere in America, there is a child who dreams of being a better athlete than Lance Armstrong, and I believe if he has the magic, he will fulfil that destiny.

I feel without the magic I am a mear corpse aimlessly roaming this earth. I have spent my winter in this lost, wondering, state. No spunk, no ambition, no anxiousness, just drab and uuninspired. I've looked everywhere for my magic. I have held everyone around me as suspect of stealing it. I've ran for miles looking for it. I've  looked through pages and pages of books. Between couch cushions, inside of pizza boxes, I really have looked everywhere. My magic is gone. Like a crazed crack-head, I needed it back, I needed to be awake, I needed to be shaken.


As I walked my zombie ass into Daytona Speedway I was certain that the fire was gone and I would never see it again. On Friday somewhere between the bright blue Florida sky and the roaring of forty engines I stood back and felt the warmth of excitement in my soul again. The air in Daytona seemed different this year. There was a new and positive energy. I hope that it wasn't my lofty imagination turning a finger painting into a Picasso. I hope it was real for everyone. Every aspect seemed different. As the race cars hit the race track each event held it's own seeming impossible story.

The entire weekend was text book lessons on dreamers and destinies. A tear-filled Brian Kesolowski would get a shove from his brother to qualify him for a coveted starting spot in the Daytona 500. Landon Cassill, a young, hidden talent would go on to wheel his underfunded Phoenix racing machine into a podium position in the Nationwide race, lending him the platform he has been needing to display his talent. Daytona was littered with magic.

I arrived home and plopped down on my couch to watch the Daytona 500 with Watson. Completely typical I fell asleep for most of the race. I awoke just in time to see young driver, Trevor Bayne cross the finish line as the winner of the great American race in only his second start. "Am I dreaming right now" were the words Trevor said on his radio as he made his way to victory lane. My eyes filled with tears and my heart raced with excitement. I was excited for him but I was more excited about seeing the magic. The hope. The affirmation once again that dreaming big is still allowed. All is not lost. As I regained my composure and began scrolling through my Twitter feed I saw that many were touched and inspired. Maybe I wasn't the only person looking for some magic.

Trevor gave the Lord all the glory for that win. I often forget that the Lord knows when I need that magic and when I need to stumble around looking for it. The point is, I am never alone in this. No one is. Magic or not the dream is real and the desires of our hearts are real. The magic is seeing it come to life. 

"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

A Mystical Creature Known As "The Off-Season"

My January has been fairly easy. Life has been quite simple in the life of my little cubical in South Carolina. Don't get me wrong, I am bored as shit. The highlight of my week are the days I spend visiting my accounts and all of the Nationwide and Camping World truck teams. For the first time in 9 years my January is rather dull. I've spent a lot of time and effort into getting to know our products better and educating myself on the life and love of brake sales. Its riveting. :really: Meetings, placing orders, gathering samples.. enticing I know. Recently, I have found myself constantly in a state of.. "This time last year, I was.." :haha: I walk into these race teams with my carefree, peppy, cheerful, rested, brake salesman attitude and the Harrys are exhausted. Its written all over their faces. Misery. Hating life. It's pre-season not off-season. The first race is looming in the dark corner next to the pit equipment. Cars need to be built, set-up, engineered, fine tuned and in the lucky cases branded with sponsorship. The media calls it the "Off-Season", which is hilarity at its finest. The "Off-Season" in the world of NASCAR is as mystical of a creature as "Puff the Magic Dragon."

During these months most all of the guys are working late hours and long weekends with, in most cases, minimal help, due to the current financial standing of NASCAR. Don't let their gripes, grumbles and cursing fool you..they love it. They all do. They must. I know I did. Trust me, I bitched as much as anyone else.
Here's a taste of how it goes.. The news of unplanned wind tunnel time comes down the chain of command and what do ya know the crew chiefs wants to take chassis 087. :ahhh yes, perfect, ofcourse chassis 087: That's 087 over in the corner with no suspension, no engine, no nada. Sitting over there in all her "just a body" glory, collecting dust. Oh and they need it now.
Maybe that is why I am so bored. Typically this time of year, I am right there with them. Wide open, exhausted and going in 4,684 different directions. That is "Business As Usual" for the month of January in NASCAR. I know the Harry's are just about over it, but I really miss it. I find myself putting off little tasks in my cubical so that at 4pm I am paniced and stressed-out trying to get that last spreadsheet completed before 5. Its all subconcious but completely on purpose. It's delightful. PANIC! I love you. I miss you.
On a set-up plate in Mooresville the bump-steer on the Intermediate car is all wrong. A sub-assembly guy is scrambling around to change the culprit drag link.. for the third time. All of this is happening under the watchful eye of the already annoyed crew chief, who incidentaly told the mechanic what drag link needed to be installed in the first place. Patience are running low and he considers throwing down the parts and making a dramatic exit. Just wait, that same guy will be the first one at the plane en route to Daytona. As he waits for the rest of the crew to board he is filling up his Twitter feed with something like, "On the way to DAYTONA Baby! Wooowhoooo." It's all ok now, cause race season has finally arrived, and everyone survived.