06/25/2025
Great read.
Before I learned to race, I learned to rebuild…because the only way to understand speed is to take it apart first.🏁
Growing up in a family of gearheads, I found myself handing my father wrenches and beers in the garage before I knew how to ride a bike.
Our driveway was a makeshift shop. One bolt at a time, I watched him bring dead cars back to life.
Back then, I could take apart almost anything. Putting it back together… that was the tricky part.
Every toy car I had ended up in pieces. Repainted. Modified.
Sometimes destroyed by trial and error. But every broken piece taught me something.
Over time, I got better. My father, grandfathers, and uncles passed down their knowledge like it was sacred. I soaked it in.
Most weekends as a kid? I was at Seekonk Speedway in Massachusetts with my cousin and grandparents, planted at the end of the front straightaway grandstands.
That high-banked 1/3 mile oval known as the “The action track of the east” was my church.
The smell of race fuel. The scream of engines at 7000 RPM. The cars nearly inches apart like a choreographed dance on pavement.
That was it. That was the moment I knew: I don’t just want to watch this. I want to live it.
So I got to work. I learned most of my mechanical knowledge at home so in high school I studied collision repair and paint.
I built my first demolition derby car right after getting my license. I needed to know … was motorsports really for me?
It was. That first competition lit something in me I couldn’t shut off.
But I didn’t just want destruction. I wanted precision. Control. A car I built that could fly.
Through college, I kept my hands dirty … fixing, learning, connecting with anyone who knew more than I did.
But engineering classes felt hollow. The classroom didn’t light me up like the garage did.
Then I got a shot: an apprentice position working on exotic and luxury vehicles. The catch? I’d have to drop out of school.
In my head, it was a debate … In my heart, it was a done deal.
Over Christmas break, I dropped out to chase what felt right.
That leap paid off. I started meeting people who thought like me, people who lived and breathed machines.
On a snowmobile trip with a buddy from work, we joked about building a car and entering an endurance race series.
A few months later, we weren’t joking. We were in the garage wrenching.
Our first race? 16 hours at Thompson Speedway Motorsports Park in Connecticut with the The 24 Hours of Lemons series.
Rookie drivers. Top 15 finish. We were hooked.
The grind was real … long nights, endless prep, broken parts, but the payoff was even sweeter. We weren’t just racing. We were building something.
Then came 2022.
I was finishing metal work on a fresh build 3 weeks out from its debut when a jagged sheet of steel dropped and sliced into the back of my leg, right above the Achilles.
I hit the ground, bleeding, and knew immediately: this could ruin everything.
There was still paintwork, bodywork, setup, everything left to do. I was limping. But I wasn’t quitting.
So there I was, a few days later, crutches, walking boot, rolling around the shop on a wheeled chair painting a race car.
Driving was a question mark. Endurance stints mean 2.5 to 3.5 hours of hard clutch and brake work both on the left leg.
So I put pride aside and made the call. I asked a friend to be my relief driver.
But make no mistake: I drove that car in its first event.
Wrapped up tight in bandages and medical tape, I got in for the first practice. The car felt perfect.
Then I heard it. Engine knock. Bottom end.
We swapped the motor that night. Five hours. Fired it up. Ready by green flag the following morning.
We finished in the top 20 that weekend. I did shorter stints to protect the leg, but we made it. The car made it.
Then the streak of brutal luck continued: three straight races. Three engine failures.
Thompson Speedway Motorsports Park. New Hampshire Motor Speedway. Back to New Jersey Motorsports Park - NJMP.
Each time, we swapped in the backup. Kept going. It hurt … mentally, financially … but by the third time, we just laughed it off and started timing ourselves.
We got the process down to four hours flat. There was no quit in us.
That season showed what we were made of. And the next season? We proved it.
No engine issues. Just clean runs. Rattling off seven straight top 10 finishes.
And that’s what racing … and life … is really about.
It’s not always going to go perfect. That’s okay.
You rebuild. You get back out there. You keep driving forward because...
I believe the real test isn’t how fast you go … it’s how many times you’re willing to rebuild and keep trying. 🏁👍
🤙
