Page 3 of Happy Hour

It has been just Charlie and me since I was six. My mother, Rachel, died of breast cancer when she was twenty-five. After her death, we moved from Aberdeen to Elma Washington and that’s when racing caught my attention.

Soon after the move, Charlie purchased Grays Harbor Raceway, a 3/8 oval clay racetrack off Highway 8. I was literally around racing every weekend and was eventually how I met the Riley family.

The first time I saw Jameson Riley, I was eleven years old, the summer of 1992.

Now that I think about it, it was eleven years ago this weekend.

The night we met, I was at the track one Saturday evening for the weekly races. I remember that day distinctly because it was one of the hottest days in Washington’s history. It was something like a hundred and two degrees that day. When your average summer temperature reached maybe eighty that was hot.

Jameson likes to joke that this had something to do with him and his good looks.

There I sat with a red rope licorice in hand, when a black sprint car caught my attention. With their thunderous rumbling and slide jobs, sprint cars were always my favorite cars to watch. Sprint cars were small open-wheel high power to weight ratio beasts that would reach 140mph on some quarter mile tracks.

I chose a seat close to the fence to feel the dirt and wind of the cars hit me when they would broad-slide into turn one. Some call me crazy but I loved to get right in the middle of the action, despite the lack of visibility. I also enjoyed the burn in my eyes from the methanol and that growling pop they made when they lifted in the turns.

The black speed demon went from sixth to first in two laps straight. I’d never seen the car race here before let alone seen someone race the way he did. His agile movements on the track were so smooth and so precise balancing right on the edge of control. Once he chose a line, he was set and determined—he’d easily slid past two and three cars in each corner.

I continued to watch him the remainder of the night. He not only won the heat race I watched first but the trophy dash, the B-Feature,andthe A-Feature—he was the talk of the night.

Listening closely, I tried to pay attention to the announcer to catch his name but you couldn’t hear anything over the roar of the cars and cheering fans.

When it came time for the trophy’s at the end I made my way to the pits to find my dad. It was usually the only time I saw him throughout the night.

I glanced towards the flag stand when I got past the entry gate. From the distance, I could see aboyemerge from the car appearing to be the same age as me.

I thought for sure he would be a full-grown adult with those racing chops. Not to mention the legal age to be in a sprint car was sixteen. Charlie frequently bent the rules back then on age limits so that was no surprise.

There the boy stood with the biggest grin on his face having just smoked men three times his own age in an 800 horsepower sprint car weighing 1400 pounds.

The fact that he could even drive that machine in a straight line was impressive enough for me. I doubt I could even push-start the damn thing let alone make it through turn one.

I managed to make it down to the pits to find my dad eventually, not exactly the easiest task when you’re a little over four feet tall. I spotted Charlie standing outside the CST Engines car hauler talking to Jimi Riley so I walked over to them.

Jimi was racing in the World of Outlaw Series—it was rare to see him here on a Saturday night unless the series was in town. The Riley family lived here in Elma but we rarely saw them around since they traveled so often. With an 85-race schedule each year, it was grueling and allowed little time spent on the West coast.

“Hey kiddo. How you been?” Jimi asked me as I stood beside my dad.

“Good Sir, how are you?”

“It’s Jimi honey, not sir. I’m good.” He smiled; his stance shifted gesturing towards the hauler behind him. “Have you met my kids before?”

“No Si...Jimi.” Even though I supposedly went to school with them, I never recalledactuallymeeting them.

“Let’s introduce you then,” He glanced around for a moment. “If I can find the little shits,”

There were so many people standing around waiting to get a glimpse of Jimi you couldn’t decipher who was who let alone find anyone shorter than five feet tall.

“Jameson...Spencer...get over here!” Jimi hollered over his shoulder reaching out to sign a few autographs for a couple kids that made their ways past the adults.

“Coming,” the boys yelled barreling out of the back of the car hauler.

Jimi smiled reaching for the younger one by his race suit.

It was the speed demon.

“Sway, this is my son Jameson. I think you two are the same age.” Jimi shook Jameson’s shoulders. “And this is my other son, Spencer.” He ruffled Spencer’s hair. “I’ve got a daughter, Emma, but who knows where she disappeared to.”

“She’s selling t-shirts.” Spencer said.

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