I don't have too many regrets in my life, but one of my biggest is never thanking my pit crew during a victory
lane interview. It seems like an easy thing to remember to do, but for some reason, I always forgot. I have no
idea why, maybe it was just all the excitement of the moment, maybe it was the pressure to remember all of my sponsors, maybe
it was trying too hard to make a joke about something. But for some reason, I just never told the fans how much my team
meant to me.
To my parents:
You are the only reason I ever sat in a race car to begin with. You'll never get anything material in return for
the sacrifices you made for me and my desire to race. I wish I could change that. What you will have, however,
is a bunch of memories - some of them very bad, but hopefully more of them that are pretty good. We struggled
and succeeded not only as a racing team, but also as a family. In the end, I believe the good outweighs the bad, and
the five years we spent chasing a dream together were spent well. I love you, and thank you for your support, your forgiveness,
and your spirit. Dad, I miss you like crazy.
To my friends Jerry Chamberlain and Donald Fuller:
Jerry, you were my crew chief, and that was the plan since we first met in fifth grade - I'd drive the car, you'd fix
it after the wreck. And that's exactly how it worked out.
Donald, you were the "ride buddy" to and from the track, and the guy in the stands every week, dragging his girlfriend
along to watch me for 15 or 20 laps of catastrophic mayhem.
You both were my crutches when things weren't going the right way, my biggest fans when things were good. Thanks
To my cousin, Kenny St. Louis:
I feel like Kenny was in some ways looked at as the red-headed stepchild of the crew, the guy that was just
kind of there every week, and not many people knew why. But the thing is, Kenny was really the heart and soul of the
team in a way - he could be completely pissed off at somebody or something, but he would always give 100% every single race.
Not everyone on the team could do that, especially not me. If someone needed a wrench, Kenny was the "gofer".
If somebody couldn't turn what the wrench was connected to, Kenny usually finished the job. Kenny was always the last
guy to head to the stands before I went on the track, and the first guy back at the trailer when I came in. Thanks,
To Eddy Companion, a competitor that became one of my closest friends:
I can't think of anyone that has bailed my butt out of trouble in a moment's notice more than you and your old man.
Whether it was borrowing tools at the track, a frame machine at the shop, or a whole freakin' race car when mine was trashed, you
came through. Our relationship sort of began as me mooching off of you, and later blossomed into a "tied at the hip"
friendship. I've slept on your couch more times than I can count, gambled away money we didn't have at the Montreal
Casino, done many other stupid things together (both drunk and sober), and I loved every minute of it. Many of
the best moments of my life were spent with you creating hijinx with me. Thanks.
To John Adams, my mentor:
You have always been a father-type figure to me from the very start. You taught me almost everything
I know about working on cars (that's not much, but it's all thanks to you), driving race cars (again, not much), and repairing
race cars (I know A LOT about that). You got the ball rolling for me quite a few times, and your help and
willingness to teach me will never be forgotten.
To Jeremy Carpenter, and maybe even Matt Brassard:
You are my New York family, and were my 2001 entourage. You spent an entire week at my house that year
and poured a lot of blood, sweat, and tears (well, Jeremy never cried, but Matt probably did a little) into St. Louis
Motorsports. You made everything a lot more fun, and you introduced me to the wonderful world of go-kart racing.
To Aaron Maynard, the Career Killer:
You were, are, and always will be The Wildman, and for the first two years, I had a lot of fun trying to not hit you
as you went a lap down. The third year, I had a good time holding you off and chasing you down, and the fourth year
I had a blast watching you become a real racer. Every week, you pissed me off, made me laugh, and made me question the
safety of my roll cage, usually all at the same time. You turned into a good racer, a good family man, and
- as we all knew would eventually happen - a good race announcer. Congratulations, and thanks for being there.
To Keith Fortier, my final car owner:
You knew going into it that we would end up with a trashed race car, but you went for it anyway. We had potential
before the big wreck, and that old pile of rust went like a bat out of hell. Thanks your initial faith in me, and thanks
for making me look good at Claremont. I'm glad you were there for the final race, and I'm now a little bit jealous of
your career in the big leagues.
To the "auxillary members":
Alan Claffie, Gene Gagne, Lil Gene, the late Rick Knowles, Dan Bancroft, my sister Jennifer Chicoine, Andrew Hill, Jamie
Rabideau, Chris Cayea, the Fortier family, the Sweet family, the Amerio family, Bethany Bell, the Hiscock family (my biggest
fans) and everyone that helped for even five minutes - you may not have been there for everything, but you all contributed
in a significant and positive way. I will always be grateful for your support and friendship.