"Bill Wimbley. Wimbley Racing,” he said, extending his hand. “Helluva show you put on today. It's too bad you got clipped on that last corner.”
I shrugged and smiled. “What can you do?”
"I understand this is your first race.”
I nodded.
Bill smirked. "Impressive. Damn impressive.”
"Thank you.”
"I don't see many people ride like that. Most people are tentative. Uncertain. Afraid. The young kids… Fearless. They still bounce. They’ve got too much testosterone and not enough sense. It's the thing that makes them push it to the limit without fear of going over. With a certain level of maturity comes an appropriate sense of caution. That's the downfall of riders as they get older. They make a little money, get a wife, a kid, and responsibilities. Pretty soon, laying it all on the line for a bit of glory doesn't make much sense.”
"Are you saying I lack good judgment?" I teased.
Bill laughed. "I think there's a little bit of crazy in all of us. Especially when we decide to get on something with two wheels and fly down the track at 160 miles an hour, wouldn't you agree?”
I laughed. "Indeed.”
"I find that life is most interesting when lived on the edge. One wrong step. One oversight." He snapped his fingers for dramatic effect. "It's over."
"There are pros and cons to living life at the limit," I said.
Bill smirked again. "How will we know who we are if we don't ever push ourselves to the limit?"
“True.”
"Most people sleepwalk through life, going from one day to the next, repeating the same thing ad infinitum until they step into the grave. I often ask myself, ‘What is it all for? What is the purpose?’”
"Have you found it yet?”
"To make experiences. Create relationships. To leave a mark.”
I couldn't disagree.
He squinted at me and sized me up. "I look at you and I see a man who wants to make a mark.”
With a grin, I said, "How do you know I haven't already done so?"
"I have no doubt you've left several indelible marks in your short time on the planet. But how would you like to make one on the racetrack?"
"I think I left a pretty big skid mark today.”
He laughed. "Fair enough. But I'm talking about a mark on the podium. On the leaderboard.”
I figured I'd indulge Bill for a moment. "I'm listening.”
"How would you like to come and race for me in the 600 class?”
I lifted a curious brow.
"I'll cover the bikes, the pit crew, personal training, everything. We tour the circuit, going around the country. It's not a full-timegig. A dozen races throughout the season. I can't pay a lot, but it's a hell of a lot of fun, you’ll meet a lot of great people, and if you keep riding like that, you’ll have quite a few moments on the podium.”
"Something to consider. My schedule is pretty tight. But I certainly appreciate the offer."
Bill pulled a card from his pocket and slid it across the bar counter. "Give it some thought. My team is doing a practice session in two weeks. Come out, hop on a bike, and see what kind of times you can put on the board. You don't need to bring anything other than your leathers, helmet, and what other personal items you require. I've got everything else covered. Think of it as a free track day. No obligation. See what you can do on a track-tuned bike. Win, lose, or draw, it will be a lot of fun.”
I shared a look with JD. He seemed enthusiastic.
