Remembering Pete

I hate Boston.

Okay, not true. I love the city. I hate the memories it brings me. because Boston...is where my brother died.

Beats me why we have to race here. I mean, really, c'mon, there's tons of cities in the US big enough to have fancy race tracks and enough cheap motels for the drivers and teams to stay at. Why here? And why here now, almost exactly a year after the crash that killed my older brother?

But I have to come here, have to drive here, if I want to stay on the circuit-- which is like a duh no brainer- of course I do. Just be nice if I could do it by racing somewhere else.

Everyone I tell about this-- which isn't too many people since I hate talking about it-- assumes Pete died in a race. That's the hell of it. he didn't. Some idiot drunk driver hit his car out on US Highway 1 which winds along the coast. Pete tried to stop, to steer away, but even as good a driver as he was, he couldn't-- the road just wasn't wide enough.

Pretty stupid, huh? A guy who risks his neck every week for a living-- and he gets killed driving along a scenic highway so he could see the ocean-- his favorite spot. I think maybe I could deal with it better if he had died while racing. At least I'd know he died doing what he loved. This way-- who knows?

Well, Rick's bugging me to go help him work on my car so I have to stop. At least tuning my engine might help keep me from remembering the stuff I don't want to remember and can't bear to forget, either.