05/27/2025
Pistol Pete Duel
Jason Swavely is the headline—Brent Shearer is the story.
I wanted to put a bookend on the Pistol Pete Duel posts with my own story from the weekend. I wanted to post it on my page since it is my outlook.
Jason Swavely has entered a stretch that feels like something special in the making. He’s fresh off a National Open victory, and now he's etched his name as the inaugural Pistol Pete Duel champion, pocketing $6,000 at Linda’s in a half-year stretch. He’s at the forefront of a division many prematurely labeled as fading, a class whose death has been exaggerated by the thunder of 78 zinging engines.
I enjoy talking with Jason after the race so much. He ability to remember small details and willingness to share insight is so cool for me. There’s going to be a time in October to tell Jason’s story.
But this weekend belonged to Brent Shearer.
Before I get there, it’s important to acknowledge the Skias family and their supporters. This event was a tribute, beautifully realized, every detail attended to. Jolene saw me starting to pace beneath gathering storm clouds during time trials. She walked over and hugged me. “Keep going. It’ll all work out exactly as it’s supposed to.” I just wanted it to go smooth, it helped keep me centered.
Time trial ended and the family opted to walk rather than ride to victory lane on four wheelers with Brent Shearer after his quick time. I had mentioned earlier that doing a quick victory lane would give Tim and Kason some needed time to do line ups. She said we will give them a little extra. But that walk more importantly, it gave Brent space to share his stories of racing, of Pete, of what all this meant. Jolene later told me One of the nice moments was walking with Brent hearing him share his stories of Pete and racing with their family. I smiled and said it’s funny you should say that…
Shearer’s weekend—his story—began to unfold for me.
Friday night with the White flag waving. Then, suddenly, the rear wheels locked up. Kasey Kreider’s voice captured the disbelief: “Oh, he’s breaking, he’s locking up! You’ve got to be kidding me!”
And I watched it all unfold. I saw the belts fly, and out of the car he came. The gloves came off, the HANS device broke free from his helmet. He stepped out with all the heat and ache of a driver who knew what had just slipped away.
I stood there doing that thing… lips pressed, forehead tight. It’s the face I used to make when I didn’t know what a student or basketball player was about to do—but they hoped it was the right thing. Brent stared blankly at his engine, head slowly shaking, shoulders slumped. He climbed back into the car, enduring a push back to the pits worth $3,000 less than he deserved. It wasn’t about the money. It was the trophy, the validation, slipping through his fingers.
Just a week earlier he had a tough one when Brandon Heist had passed him late. Losses like that can accumulate. They test your character more deeply than victories ever could. This one though? It could’ve gone sideways. But it didn’t. And not everybody handles losing that moment and a race you know you had the same way. And that’s okay. You grow in the loses as much as the wins in some of these instances. It’s how you carry the weight when you don’t. And Brent carried it.
He grew up racing. He’s met a lot of people. His dad raced at Linda’s for years. His brother Brandon followed. His sisters raced too. You watch the two boys now - and you can see their dad in their posture, their expressions, their words. It’s comical at times.
Brent’s path in racing was never narrow. Micros, Modifieds, Sprint Cars—anything fast, anything challenging. His drive carried him to a 358 Sprint Car feature win at Lincoln. And then…
Port Royal. 2023. Tuscarora 50. Sixty-two thousand to win.
Out of seemingly no where, Brent was on the pole. Racing against the best—Larson, Brown, Macedo— I was watching from my mom’s kitchen table where kept saying, “Look at Brent.” And I did, thinking to myself “For God sakes Brent, don’t wreck Kyle Larson.” Lance Dewease came out during the red flag and started helping on the car, and a few people raised their eyebrows. The camera was on them, Brent looks like a sponge soaking in everything Lance said. The rumblings were that Lance was heading to the 12. We now know that to be true. At the time I hoped it was true. I knew they would give Lance everything they could. The Shearer’s respect for the best in our sport runs deep. What I didn’t put together at that moment was Brent was giving up his seat for that to happen.
He ran fourth against the best Sprint Car drivers in the country that night.
A week later, he rolled into Linda’s for National Open 34 in a car I didn’t know I got acquainted rather quickly. Wrecked in the heat. I walked out to check on the driver. I was met with a flying steering wheel out the top of the car. To this day am not really sure what happened. We towed the car to his trailer. He was inside. Came back out. Still fuming. Started in again. He babbled a bunch of stuff as he looked at me, "You don’t like me." That irritated me. The week before I all but broke a kitchen chair leaning side to side trying to will him to a podium at Port!
“Get your head out of your rear end," I snapped back, handing his steering wheel to a young woman nearby. "You’re capable of running the alphabet—but not like that."
That young woman is now Brent’s fiancée. Otis’s mom.
Brent ran the alphabet that night.
D to C - C to B - B to A
passing a combined 48 cars. He finished 10th.
People I talked to after told me I was too patient. I know that desire to perform runs deep, the kind that lives deep down in drivers who are wired to chase the big moments. Example Brent and Conner at Speedweek last year. It got heated everyone wanted retribution. Something done. A punishment handed down. I think daily I should have left the rule book out of it. It cost Connor a Speedweek title that should have been his. That’s the part of that intensity that is just hard to appreciate in that moment. Lighting two firecrackers in a box and expecting a tea party as Ted Lasso would say.
Are those the big moments though? No.
That moment for me came in a friends barn. It was the kind of day where the air feels heavy enough to kill you. Jesse asked for help to do hay. I’d said yes. He said it’s just us everyone else is busy. I thought I should have been busy too. Then he told me he had another person to help. He didn’t tell me who. It was Brent.
So there we were—hot as Hades itself, covered in hay dust, stacking square bales against the top of a barn in the death of a Pennsylvania summer. It was there that I really heard him talk. He talked like someone who loved racing. The volume was turned down a little bit. Quarter midgets. Watching his dad race. Funny stories about people. Stories about how much he liked learning from other drivers. About the way this whole sport shapes you. But what struck me is how little of Brent’s story can be captured by a win column. You can’t measure him in stat lines. You have to listen to the moments. You have to see the heart of things.
Ten years earlier, Early August and Brent’s first Linda’s 270 Mico Sprint victory was marked by the loss of Jim Campbell at the Grove. I asked him to leave Victory Lane respectfully empty. I didn’t want to ruin the moment, so when he asked I said I’ll tell you later. Just help me out for now. He nodded.
Fast forward almost a decade. We’re talking about Pat Bealer, the Race of Champions win, stories from years ago. We come to that night “That was the night at the Grove… We left Victory Lane open. I’m glad we did that.”
So let’s circle back around to August 16th, 2024. My story to Jolene Friday night.
That night, the 3 car came back to Linda’s Speedway for the first time since Pete passed. I’ve told that story before. When Chuck pulled in I think we all felt a little more, okay to race. Josh Stoyer in the seat. The weight of it all heavy in the pit area air. Selfishly I wanted to be glued to that car to live that moment. I wanted to capture something special. They didn’t need to be there, but they were. It felt like as much for us as them.
I saw Chuck sitting on the bleachers after Josh’s heat race run. My camera was rolling. I watched him soak in a moment and then get up, shake a few hands, and walk alone toward staging to retrieve the car. I followed—but kept my distance, looking for the moment, but not trying to force it. Chuck stopped. I took a step back to see Brent stepping out of his trailer. He didn’t say much. Just wrapped an arm around Chuck’s shoulders. A hug. A few words in passing. That was it. But sometimes, the whole story lives in just that.
That’s the part people miss.
On Saturday night at Lanco I’m sure there was a chip on his shoulder. He didn’t need to win that race at Lanco to prove he could contend. Maybe he needed it for himself. But for me, the story was written in the moments this weekend that didn’t come with the big check. It was written in the moments that showed his admiration for Pete, his growth, and reminded me of his heart. Something I wish more people could see like I have.
