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Oliver Chami shares Stuarts last moments with all of us
I don't know where to begin really....so here goes. I was pitted with Stuart at Daytona when the
accident happened. Stuart and I got in touch with each other a few weeks before Daytona. I was
looking for a ride out to Daytona for my bike, and Stuart was looking for some help getting out
to Daytona. We talked almost every day on the phone coordinating everything. To any of you who
may have known Stuart, he was the nicest guy...genuine, no pretenses, with a great sense of humor.
Because of a scheduling mix-up, Stuart almost did not leave for Daytona. I remember Stuart saying,
"Well, if we can’t get a ride with another team, maybe that means I just was not meant to go to
Daytona." We both made phone calls to other teams, and after some effort, Stuart called me back
and said, "OK, I am driving out no matter what." Stuart drove to Southern California from his
home in Northern California to pick up my bike. I had a trade convention to attend in Orlando
a few days prior to the races at Daytona so I flew into Orlando ahead of Stuart.
I arrived at Daytona Raceway Thursday morning at 7:00 am. I found Stuart in the pits with everything already set up. We talked, got the bikes ready, went through tech inspection, and headed out onto the track for practice sessions. I had never been to Daytona before and had a hard time adjusting to the strange rhythm of the track (high speeds on the banks with "bus stop" corners on the infield where you almost park the bike). Stuart spent time with me showing me the lines and giving me advice about getting around the track smoothly. After a few practice sessions, I remember thanking Stuart for his advice. Stuart was in good spirits all day Thursday and after practice sessions, Stuart, Owen Richey and his father, Paul Richey and I all headed back to the hotel to have dinner together. Stuart was leading in his Ford F350 Diesel and I was following in my rented car. Somehow, from the track back to the hotel, Stuart kept getting lost and turning around to lead in the other direction. Every time Stuart would turn around and drive by me in a new direction, he would give me this sheepish grin through the window as if to say, "Sorry about that…"
When Stuart, Owen, Paul, and I entered the Quality Inn Hotel off Exit 56 just west of Daytona, Stuart and I joked around with two older ladies working the front desk at the hotel, Tara and Darlene. They asked me if I knew of any jokes. I told them the only jokes I knew were dirty ones, and they said, "that’s OK, we can take it." So I replied, "Someone asked me once, "Do you smoke after sex?" I answered, "I don’t know, I never looked." I thought they would be shocked but instead, they burst out laughing. I remember Stuart ribbing me afterwards with, "I can’t believe you told them that one." And I remember answering, "I don’t know what got into me, the joke just came out."
After a few more pleasantries with Tara and Darlene, we went into the dining room of the hotel where we sat down for dinner. I ordered a Bud Light while Stuart ordered a Coors Light. The waitress brought our beers and accidentally confused the two beers. Stuart immediately told the waitress that she had gotten the beers turned around and so she swapped the beers on the table. Stuart took a sip of his beer and said, "Man, I got a warm beer." I looked back at Stuart and joked, "That’s funny, my beer is ice cold." And Stuart answered with, "Darn it, and to think I had it within my grasp just a few seconds ago." We ordered dinner, and ate while swapping stories about racing, work, our lives, and just small talk. Our waitress told us about how she had this habit of wrecking all of the motorcycles she ever rode. Stuart joked around with her about her neighbor who had lent her his four-wheeler she had flipped somewhere mud riding in Florida. I can still see her face when I think back. After dinner, we all turned in early.
Friday morning, we all met back in the pits around 7:30 a.m. Stuart was in good spirits. I sat with him at the entrance of the trailer talking about next year. Stuart was planning to run the entire AMA circuit probably in 750 Supersport. He was getting one of the Arclight Suzukis and was trying to line it up through Bryan Parriott (I think). I told him that I was planning to campaign in AMA next year in the 250 GP class to promote Wood-Ease Hand Cleaners, my company. Stuart said, "Hey, maybe we could hook up and do the circuit together so that way, I could campaign a 750 bike for Wood-Ease." I told him that if the funds were available, I would like that very much. He went into the trailer and pulled out a red, white and black shirt and showed it to me. It said "Stratton Racing" on it and he joked, "See, I have three race shirts like this for my team…one for me, one for my mechanic, and one for his wife."
A little while later, Bryan Parriott came to our pit. He and Stuart spoke for a while, and Stuart introduced me to Bryan. We all chatted for a while longer and Bryan left. After that, we had one practice session before the start of CCS half-hour endurance races we both were using to get track time before the FUSA races began. We suited up, put our race-faces on and headed out for the track. After practice, we attended the riders meeting and headed back to the pits for the beginning of the races.
I had a race ahead of Stuart and just before heading out to the grid, I noticed that one of the screws holding the toe slider onto my Sidi boot had come off. I quickly duct taped the toe slider onto the boot feeling that small surge of anxiety that sometimes comes over me when something does not go according to plan immediately before a race. As I was leaving the trailer, Stuart came in, and I asked him if he had any spare screws. He looked at me and said, "Sure, I have a screw set with my tools, and I think you’ll find one in there." Because there was no time left before the start of the race, I said, ‘Thanks Stuart, I’ll take a look after the race."
Stuart followed me out to my bike. I began to take the tire warmers off as second call was made. Stuart said, "Don’t worry about that, just put your helmet on and I’ll take care of the tire warmers." I got my helmet and gloves on, and grabbed the bike while Stuart removed the tire warmers and the rear stand. He patted me on the back and said, "Good luck." I looked back and gave him a nod. That was the last thing he said to me.
I went out, ran an uneventful race, and came back into the pits thinking about what I had to do to the bike to prepare it for the next CCS race a few hours later. Stuart had arranged for a couple of MMI mechanics to come from Orlando to assist us with pit duties, and they had wheeled Stuart’s bike out to the hot pit wall around the same time I went out for my first race.
About ten minutes after I had returned to the pits, and as I worked on my bike, I saw two of the MMI mechanics wheeling Stuart’s mangled bike to the pits. Lane, one of the mechanics, said Stuart had an accident at the start of the warm-up lap. I asked him if Stuart was OK, and he said he was not sure, but it did not look good, and that an ambulance had taken Stuart away. I dropped everything I was doing and ran to the Medical Center building l ocated about two hundred yards from our pit in the infield of the track. I entered the building, told them who I was and for whom I was looking. They told me to sit down, and that they would let me know as soon as they had news. A few minutes went by, and I was informed that Stuart had been taken directly to the hospital at Daytona Beach. The hospital was only a couple miles away. After getting directions, I jumped in the car and drove over there immediately.
I arrived at the hospital ten minutes later and found the emergency care ward. I parked the car, walked into the ward, checked in with a nurse and was instructed to have a seat in the waiting area. No more than five minutes went by when a doctor came to find me. He told me to come with him. As we walked down the hallway of the emergency care unit, I remember thinking that I would be seeing Stuart any minute. I remember hoping that Stuart would be released from the hospital without having to spend the night. Maybe he might even be able to race if we could get his bike back together. I wanted to ask him how the crash occurred. I wanted to ask him if he needed anything or if there was anything I could do for him. The doctor led me down a long hallway that turned right at the end with a doorway immediately on the right. I thought it was the room where Stuart was recovering, but when the doctor opened the door, it was a waiting room with chairs lining the sides of the room and a few small end tables with a couple of phones and some magazines. I entered the room and three more people followed. They introduced themselves. One was an emergency room nurse, one was a hospital administrator, and the other was a chaplain. I can’t remember who spoke to me because everything became a blur. One of them told me that they had done everything they could, but Stuart had not survived. I was told that death had been virtually instant. I just went numb. I don’t remember whether I was standing or sitting when they told me, but a few seconds later, I remember sitting as the chaplain asked me if I would join him in a prayer for Stuart. I remember crying while the chaplain prayed. I remember asking the nurse if she was absolutely sure there was no mistake in identity and that it was indeed Stuart Stratton. The nurse said she was absolutely certain it was Stuart. They kept asking me if I was OK. I didn’t know how to respond. I could not find the words.
I don’t know how long I stayed with them in that room. At some point, I composed myself and left. I headed back down the same hallway I had walked a few short moments ago. But everything was different now. People were staring at me. What were they looking at? I remember walking out of the hospital leaving the stark glow of the neon lights and the sterile environment of the hospital and into the light of the day. It was raining. My head was pounding from a violent headache. I remember looking up and seeing a little break in the clouds. I don’t know why I noticed it, but it comes to mind now as I recall the events. I got in the car and made my way back to the track thinking about Stuart, thinking about his mother and father, thinking about what to do next. I was so unsure because I had never been in a situation remotely similar. I knew that Stuart’s parents had to be informed. The chaplain had asked me if I had any numbers for Stuart’s family. I did not. I started making calls when I got back to the pits from my cell phone. I knew that Stuart was friends with Casey Cannon and Ken Chase. I had their numbers. I called Ken but there was no one home. I called Casey and told her what happened. She had the same numbers for Stuart I already had. I then remembered Stuart had a cell phone. I found it in the trailer in Stuart’s shorts that were still sitting on top of a large white plastic case in which Stuart kept a spare motor for his bike. It was a small Nokia phone. I was not familiar with the memory functions on the phone, but after a little experimenting, I managed to find his friend Dave’s number.
I called Dave. Dave answered and I told him he did not know me but it was important that I obtain numbers for Stuart’s parents. Dave asked me why I needed the numbers and I told him what happened. I think it is one of the hardest things I have ever done. Dave told me he would make some calls and call me back. After some more experimenting with Stuart’s phone, I managed to find Stuart’s father’s and mother’s home phone numbers. The chaplain had given me his business card at the hospital. I called the chaplain from my cell phone, and I gave them to the chaplain.
A few minutes later, the phone ran and it was Stuart’s father. A few minutes prior to answering the phone, I thought that informing Dave of Stuart’s passing had been the hardest thing I had ever done, but talking to Stuart’s father who had just lost his only child was the most difficult and sad thing I have ever done. My heart still aches for Stuart’s family. The rest I guess is details that don’t have much to do with Stuart, but more so with dealing with Stuart’s personal belongings. I decided right away that my racing weekend was over and after making arrangements to get all of Stuart’s belongings back to California, Continental Airlines was kind enough to change my non-changeable and non-refundable return flight back to San Diego from Monday to Saturday evening. I said good-bye to everyone and headed back for Orlando to catch a flight home.
So why am I writing all of this in such detail? For a number of reasons. First, I want to honor the memory of Stuart with those who knew him, loved him, and would like to know how he spent the last days of his life. Perhaps having a glimpse of what he was doing, thinking, and feeling briefly prior to his passing will help loved ones know that he was enjoying himself while doing something he loved, and that he was kind and helpful to others to the last minutes of his life.
Also, I spoke to several other racers after the accident who all expressed their deepest sympathies. Many truly were hurting for Stuart and his family. I was touched by the outpouring of sentiment. As I spoke to some racers who were trying to make sense of what happened, some expressed the notion that we as racers have encountered; that is, racing is inherently dangerous and death is a risk we face and accept when we race. To one racer in particular, I asked, "Do you truly accept death as a risk of racing, or do you believe that although death is a risk of racing, it will not happen to you and that is what you accept?" He reluctantly agreed that it was the latter. And as I think more about it, I think that perhaps I have been guilty of this thinking. I have fallen off many times, and I even fell off overshooting the West-End Horseshoe at Daytona on Thursday. There was no damage to the bike, and I was unscathed. Falling and walking away unhurt or with only minor injuries can make you feel a bit invincible. It tends to reinforce in your mind that death is a remote notion and that it won’t happen to you. But take it from me, it can happen to you. It happened to Stuart.
Stuart was a tremendously talented rider--more talented than 99% of us. As a privateer, he could put his bike into the top ten in AMA races and run with factory riders on full factory bikes. And yet Stuart died leaving the pits. He was 35 years old. It could have happened to ANYONE. So why am I talking about this? I am not trying to talk anyone out of racing. Live, race, have fun, but next time you are out there pushing the envelope and wondering whether to "stretch" that envelope, just think of Stuart. And if that doesn’t make you pause to think really hard, then think of Stuart’s family who had to receive that phone call, and think of Stuart’s friends who had to go through his personal belongings, and speak with Stuart’s loved ones, and explain to them what happened. Ultimately, the choice of how hard you decide to push is up to you. But in making that choice, as you place glory, money, and ego gratification on one side of the scale, make sure not to forget death, and the pain of family and friends who may have to deal with tragedy on the other side of the scale. Then choose, and choose wisely because you may not get a second chance.
As for me, I have been wrestling with my emotions since the accident. I want to honor Stuart in the best way that I can. I think that we can learn something from everyone with whom we come in contact. I believe a famous writer once said, "Every person I meet is greater than me in some respect, and from them, I try to learn." If I am to remember and honor Stuart, I have learned two things from him. One, that death is very much a part of racing, and so if I am to continue racing, I have to make sure to place it on the balance of decision making every time I go out on the racetrack to compete. And two, that life is short…so very short. All of the mundane things I worry about from day to day don’t mean a thing if my life may end tomorrow. There has been much death around us the past few months. If I can honor the people who have passed, perhaps I can change my life to savor every day that goes by. So many times I have said, "I will be happy when I reach this or that goal." Goals are important, but so is the journey to that goal. I will continue on my journey towards my goals, but Stuart has taught me to enjoy the ride there. I will honor Stuart by remembering each day to enjoy the journey. Even if I never reach my destination, I will have admired the view along the way. Peace and God Bless you Stuart.
I arrived at Daytona Raceway Thursday morning at 7:00 am. I found Stuart in the pits with everything already set up. We talked, got the bikes ready, went through tech inspection, and headed out onto the track for practice sessions. I had never been to Daytona before and had a hard time adjusting to the strange rhythm of the track (high speeds on the banks with "bus stop" corners on the infield where you almost park the bike). Stuart spent time with me showing me the lines and giving me advice about getting around the track smoothly. After a few practice sessions, I remember thanking Stuart for his advice. Stuart was in good spirits all day Thursday and after practice sessions, Stuart, Owen Richey and his father, Paul Richey and I all headed back to the hotel to have dinner together. Stuart was leading in his Ford F350 Diesel and I was following in my rented car. Somehow, from the track back to the hotel, Stuart kept getting lost and turning around to lead in the other direction. Every time Stuart would turn around and drive by me in a new direction, he would give me this sheepish grin through the window as if to say, "Sorry about that…"
When Stuart, Owen, Paul, and I entered the Quality Inn Hotel off Exit 56 just west of Daytona, Stuart and I joked around with two older ladies working the front desk at the hotel, Tara and Darlene. They asked me if I knew of any jokes. I told them the only jokes I knew were dirty ones, and they said, "that’s OK, we can take it." So I replied, "Someone asked me once, "Do you smoke after sex?" I answered, "I don’t know, I never looked." I thought they would be shocked but instead, they burst out laughing. I remember Stuart ribbing me afterwards with, "I can’t believe you told them that one." And I remember answering, "I don’t know what got into me, the joke just came out."
After a few more pleasantries with Tara and Darlene, we went into the dining room of the hotel where we sat down for dinner. I ordered a Bud Light while Stuart ordered a Coors Light. The waitress brought our beers and accidentally confused the two beers. Stuart immediately told the waitress that she had gotten the beers turned around and so she swapped the beers on the table. Stuart took a sip of his beer and said, "Man, I got a warm beer." I looked back at Stuart and joked, "That’s funny, my beer is ice cold." And Stuart answered with, "Darn it, and to think I had it within my grasp just a few seconds ago." We ordered dinner, and ate while swapping stories about racing, work, our lives, and just small talk. Our waitress told us about how she had this habit of wrecking all of the motorcycles she ever rode. Stuart joked around with her about her neighbor who had lent her his four-wheeler she had flipped somewhere mud riding in Florida. I can still see her face when I think back. After dinner, we all turned in early.
Friday morning, we all met back in the pits around 7:30 a.m. Stuart was in good spirits. I sat with him at the entrance of the trailer talking about next year. Stuart was planning to run the entire AMA circuit probably in 750 Supersport. He was getting one of the Arclight Suzukis and was trying to line it up through Bryan Parriott (I think). I told him that I was planning to campaign in AMA next year in the 250 GP class to promote Wood-Ease Hand Cleaners, my company. Stuart said, "Hey, maybe we could hook up and do the circuit together so that way, I could campaign a 750 bike for Wood-Ease." I told him that if the funds were available, I would like that very much. He went into the trailer and pulled out a red, white and black shirt and showed it to me. It said "Stratton Racing" on it and he joked, "See, I have three race shirts like this for my team…one for me, one for my mechanic, and one for his wife."
A little while later, Bryan Parriott came to our pit. He and Stuart spoke for a while, and Stuart introduced me to Bryan. We all chatted for a while longer and Bryan left. After that, we had one practice session before the start of CCS half-hour endurance races we both were using to get track time before the FUSA races began. We suited up, put our race-faces on and headed out for the track. After practice, we attended the riders meeting and headed back to the pits for the beginning of the races.
I had a race ahead of Stuart and just before heading out to the grid, I noticed that one of the screws holding the toe slider onto my Sidi boot had come off. I quickly duct taped the toe slider onto the boot feeling that small surge of anxiety that sometimes comes over me when something does not go according to plan immediately before a race. As I was leaving the trailer, Stuart came in, and I asked him if he had any spare screws. He looked at me and said, "Sure, I have a screw set with my tools, and I think you’ll find one in there." Because there was no time left before the start of the race, I said, ‘Thanks Stuart, I’ll take a look after the race."
Stuart followed me out to my bike. I began to take the tire warmers off as second call was made. Stuart said, "Don’t worry about that, just put your helmet on and I’ll take care of the tire warmers." I got my helmet and gloves on, and grabbed the bike while Stuart removed the tire warmers and the rear stand. He patted me on the back and said, "Good luck." I looked back and gave him a nod. That was the last thing he said to me.
I went out, ran an uneventful race, and came back into the pits thinking about what I had to do to the bike to prepare it for the next CCS race a few hours later. Stuart had arranged for a couple of MMI mechanics to come from Orlando to assist us with pit duties, and they had wheeled Stuart’s bike out to the hot pit wall around the same time I went out for my first race.
About ten minutes after I had returned to the pits, and as I worked on my bike, I saw two of the MMI mechanics wheeling Stuart’s mangled bike to the pits. Lane, one of the mechanics, said Stuart had an accident at the start of the warm-up lap. I asked him if Stuart was OK, and he said he was not sure, but it did not look good, and that an ambulance had taken Stuart away. I dropped everything I was doing and ran to the Medical Center building l ocated about two hundred yards from our pit in the infield of the track. I entered the building, told them who I was and for whom I was looking. They told me to sit down, and that they would let me know as soon as they had news. A few minutes went by, and I was informed that Stuart had been taken directly to the hospital at Daytona Beach. The hospital was only a couple miles away. After getting directions, I jumped in the car and drove over there immediately.
I arrived at the hospital ten minutes later and found the emergency care ward. I parked the car, walked into the ward, checked in with a nurse and was instructed to have a seat in the waiting area. No more than five minutes went by when a doctor came to find me. He told me to come with him. As we walked down the hallway of the emergency care unit, I remember thinking that I would be seeing Stuart any minute. I remember hoping that Stuart would be released from the hospital without having to spend the night. Maybe he might even be able to race if we could get his bike back together. I wanted to ask him how the crash occurred. I wanted to ask him if he needed anything or if there was anything I could do for him. The doctor led me down a long hallway that turned right at the end with a doorway immediately on the right. I thought it was the room where Stuart was recovering, but when the doctor opened the door, it was a waiting room with chairs lining the sides of the room and a few small end tables with a couple of phones and some magazines. I entered the room and three more people followed. They introduced themselves. One was an emergency room nurse, one was a hospital administrator, and the other was a chaplain. I can’t remember who spoke to me because everything became a blur. One of them told me that they had done everything they could, but Stuart had not survived. I was told that death had been virtually instant. I just went numb. I don’t remember whether I was standing or sitting when they told me, but a few seconds later, I remember sitting as the chaplain asked me if I would join him in a prayer for Stuart. I remember crying while the chaplain prayed. I remember asking the nurse if she was absolutely sure there was no mistake in identity and that it was indeed Stuart Stratton. The nurse said she was absolutely certain it was Stuart. They kept asking me if I was OK. I didn’t know how to respond. I could not find the words.
I don’t know how long I stayed with them in that room. At some point, I composed myself and left. I headed back down the same hallway I had walked a few short moments ago. But everything was different now. People were staring at me. What were they looking at? I remember walking out of the hospital leaving the stark glow of the neon lights and the sterile environment of the hospital and into the light of the day. It was raining. My head was pounding from a violent headache. I remember looking up and seeing a little break in the clouds. I don’t know why I noticed it, but it comes to mind now as I recall the events. I got in the car and made my way back to the track thinking about Stuart, thinking about his mother and father, thinking about what to do next. I was so unsure because I had never been in a situation remotely similar. I knew that Stuart’s parents had to be informed. The chaplain had asked me if I had any numbers for Stuart’s family. I did not. I started making calls when I got back to the pits from my cell phone. I knew that Stuart was friends with Casey Cannon and Ken Chase. I had their numbers. I called Ken but there was no one home. I called Casey and told her what happened. She had the same numbers for Stuart I already had. I then remembered Stuart had a cell phone. I found it in the trailer in Stuart’s shorts that were still sitting on top of a large white plastic case in which Stuart kept a spare motor for his bike. It was a small Nokia phone. I was not familiar with the memory functions on the phone, but after a little experimenting, I managed to find his friend Dave’s number.
I called Dave. Dave answered and I told him he did not know me but it was important that I obtain numbers for Stuart’s parents. Dave asked me why I needed the numbers and I told him what happened. I think it is one of the hardest things I have ever done. Dave told me he would make some calls and call me back. After some more experimenting with Stuart’s phone, I managed to find Stuart’s father’s and mother’s home phone numbers. The chaplain had given me his business card at the hospital. I called the chaplain from my cell phone, and I gave them to the chaplain.
A few minutes later, the phone ran and it was Stuart’s father. A few minutes prior to answering the phone, I thought that informing Dave of Stuart’s passing had been the hardest thing I had ever done, but talking to Stuart’s father who had just lost his only child was the most difficult and sad thing I have ever done. My heart still aches for Stuart’s family. The rest I guess is details that don’t have much to do with Stuart, but more so with dealing with Stuart’s personal belongings. I decided right away that my racing weekend was over and after making arrangements to get all of Stuart’s belongings back to California, Continental Airlines was kind enough to change my non-changeable and non-refundable return flight back to San Diego from Monday to Saturday evening. I said good-bye to everyone and headed back for Orlando to catch a flight home.
So why am I writing all of this in such detail? For a number of reasons. First, I want to honor the memory of Stuart with those who knew him, loved him, and would like to know how he spent the last days of his life. Perhaps having a glimpse of what he was doing, thinking, and feeling briefly prior to his passing will help loved ones know that he was enjoying himself while doing something he loved, and that he was kind and helpful to others to the last minutes of his life.
Also, I spoke to several other racers after the accident who all expressed their deepest sympathies. Many truly were hurting for Stuart and his family. I was touched by the outpouring of sentiment. As I spoke to some racers who were trying to make sense of what happened, some expressed the notion that we as racers have encountered; that is, racing is inherently dangerous and death is a risk we face and accept when we race. To one racer in particular, I asked, "Do you truly accept death as a risk of racing, or do you believe that although death is a risk of racing, it will not happen to you and that is what you accept?" He reluctantly agreed that it was the latter. And as I think more about it, I think that perhaps I have been guilty of this thinking. I have fallen off many times, and I even fell off overshooting the West-End Horseshoe at Daytona on Thursday. There was no damage to the bike, and I was unscathed. Falling and walking away unhurt or with only minor injuries can make you feel a bit invincible. It tends to reinforce in your mind that death is a remote notion and that it won’t happen to you. But take it from me, it can happen to you. It happened to Stuart.
Stuart was a tremendously talented rider--more talented than 99% of us. As a privateer, he could put his bike into the top ten in AMA races and run with factory riders on full factory bikes. And yet Stuart died leaving the pits. He was 35 years old. It could have happened to ANYONE. So why am I talking about this? I am not trying to talk anyone out of racing. Live, race, have fun, but next time you are out there pushing the envelope and wondering whether to "stretch" that envelope, just think of Stuart. And if that doesn’t make you pause to think really hard, then think of Stuart’s family who had to receive that phone call, and think of Stuart’s friends who had to go through his personal belongings, and speak with Stuart’s loved ones, and explain to them what happened. Ultimately, the choice of how hard you decide to push is up to you. But in making that choice, as you place glory, money, and ego gratification on one side of the scale, make sure not to forget death, and the pain of family and friends who may have to deal with tragedy on the other side of the scale. Then choose, and choose wisely because you may not get a second chance.
As for me, I have been wrestling with my emotions since the accident. I want to honor Stuart in the best way that I can. I think that we can learn something from everyone with whom we come in contact. I believe a famous writer once said, "Every person I meet is greater than me in some respect, and from them, I try to learn." If I am to remember and honor Stuart, I have learned two things from him. One, that death is very much a part of racing, and so if I am to continue racing, I have to make sure to place it on the balance of decision making every time I go out on the racetrack to compete. And two, that life is short…so very short. All of the mundane things I worry about from day to day don’t mean a thing if my life may end tomorrow. There has been much death around us the past few months. If I can honor the people who have passed, perhaps I can change my life to savor every day that goes by. So many times I have said, "I will be happy when I reach this or that goal." Goals are important, but so is the journey to that goal. I will continue on my journey towards my goals, but Stuart has taught me to enjoy the ride there. I will honor Stuart by remembering each day to enjoy the journey. Even if I never reach my destination, I will have admired the view along the way. Peace and God Bless you Stuart.