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Grandpa Casten wasn’texactly the best company in a public restaurant but I was willing to risk itfor food at that point. It wasn’t hard to get Jameson in the car once I toldhim I’d offer a little micro polishing once back at the track.

I had a feeling that,after lunch with his grandpa, and on a triple header weekend, he was going tokeep me to my promises.

Dry Slick – Jameson

Sway and I didn’t havetime to celebrate our proposal nor did I have much time to focus on anythingother than racing the following weekend in Richmond.

Richmond InternationalRaceway was a ¾ mile D shaped track located in Henrico County Virginia.

I decided I needed moreseat time to get back in the groove of racing, or maybe it was to take my mindoff everything. Regardless of the reasoning, I took Tate up on his offer torace his truck in the NASCAR Craftsman truck series on Thursday night and hisBusch car on Friday followed by the usual cup race on Sunday. I barely had timeto breath.

That weekend was thefirst time I’d raced a truck though. They were extremely different from thestock cars in their weight, body style, and horsepower. They weighed 3400pounds, without driver and fuel; had four speed manual transmissions and around650 to 700 horsepower.

I had a blast in it andwould probably be begging Tate to get in it again.

The only problem I hadwith the triple header, besides the obvious lack of time with my new fiancéeand lack of sleep, was not being around my usual team.

Tate already had a crewfor both teams so I was basically a driver for hire. Aiden spotted for methough. I didn’t know ChrisLeddywell enough totrust him when he said, “All clear.”

Every time I turnedaround that weekend, I was inside a car. For a guy like me, that was awesome,but it was draining as well.

The truck race wentgood and I was impressed to see that I finished third.

Then came the Buschrace, and that went well too with a second place finish.

But when Sunday rolledaround, the shit hit the fan again.

“Cautionsout,” Aiden announced about a hundred laps into the Chevy Rock & Roll 400.

The sun had finally setleaving the track lit by lights. It was the second night race in the last twoweeks and tempers were flaring. And I wasn’t the only one amped up tonight.

Tate and Andy, twoteammates, were battling for the lead when Andy pushed up the track on him. Itsent Tate into the wall coming into four. He wasn’t happy and made that knownwhich brought out this last caution.

“What changes do youwant?” Kyle asked.

I thought for a moment.We qualified eighth for the race and we were currently running fifth butsomething seemed to be missing.

“I’ve got good grip butit’s loose in three and four at times.”

We ended up taking fourtires, a wedge adjustment and changed the splitter.

“Watch that hose!”Masen called out gesturing toward Ethan in front of the car trying to catch thetire that rolled from BradyHewbert, our front tirechanger.

Brady slipped on thehose and then yanked it backwards slapping the official in our pit with it.

“Shit,” Kyle barkedtossing the clipboard. “Pay attention!” he yelled toward the crew and then gaveme the go ahead.

I battled for positionoff pit road with Steve Vander and Bobby.

“Come back in.” Kyletold me as the pace car led us down the backstretch. “They called a stop and goon us.”

They nailed us not onlyfor the hose but a tire violation too after Brady rolled the right front to thewall instead of carrying it. That sent us to the rear on the re-start.

“Jesus, we can’t catcha break,” was all I said in relation to the call.

I’m sure Kyle didn’tneed me adding to the noise already going on between him, Mason, and my dad.

Clearly bothered by thecalls being made from our pit, it seemed we could do nothing right after thatand every stop ended with some problem. Lug nuts weren’t tight, too many guysover the wall, another tire slipped away, over the line on the pit box.