Scott Bloomquist is on my mind. Despite the bright sunshine and the beautiful summer breeze that washes through the open windows, I’m feeling sad.

He was in the news cycle once again yesterday, when the NTSB released their declaration that Scott’s airplane crash last August was suicide.

I’m sad that Scott chose to take his life, sad that I’ve lost a friend, sad that people are so morbid they can’t stop talking about the juicy details surrounding the crash. A son, a father, a friend is dead…isn’t that morbid enough?

I wish I could say I knew Scott well. I’m not sure I did. But I knew him well enough to begin to understand him. To do so meant getting beyond the façade of the god-like racer, the illusion of invincibility that he tried to project.

Dave Argabright interviews Scott Bloomquist in 2014. (Rick Schwallie photo)

Here’s what he was: a world-class racer, a technical guru, and a vast repository of knowledge on the modern dirt late model. He had a mind for promotion and the flair of a showman. He understood the wants and needs and behavior of racing fans very well.

Here’s what else: he was a troubled genius, a man who wrestled with forces and appetites that he struggled to control. He lived with the same emotions as any of us who have chased life in any capacity: doubts, fear of failure, loneliness, rejection.

Scott tasted success beyond belief. In a race car, he experienced more joy and triumph than all but a handful of human beings. He had fame and fortune, and he commanded respect from every quarter. That respect was often grudging, yes; but it was there.

Scott photobombs Dave's stand-up at Florence Speedway in 2019. (Heath Lawson photo)

As life went on and he reached middle age—his mid-50’s, I’d say—Scott’s demons sometimes got the best of him. His best friend and closest ally, Randy Sweet, died in 2019. Financial difficulties mounted. He survived a serious motorcycle accident but recovery was slow and painful. He was diagnosed with cancer.

On a hard August morning Scott made a decision that we wish he hadn’t made.

A lot of people didn’t like Scott. They didn’t like his grandstanding interviews, they didn’t like his lifestyle, they didn’t like that he had the ability to dominate on the race track. Maybe those are the people who are taking such pleasure today recounting all of Scott’s failings over the past few years.

I suppose if you see someone as a public figure that makes them fair game.

Public figure? Not really. I knew Scott as a regular person, no better or worse than the rest of our imperfect fraternity. He succeeded at many things, he failed at others, he struggled to understand…kinda like everybody else. But make no mistake; Scott was loved by many people.

Most of all, I wish things would have worked out differently. I wish Scott had found some answers that might have helped him navigate the stormy waters. I wish I had realized he was in trouble, and could have reached out. I wish I had told him how much I enjoyed those long conversations late into the evening when the racing had finished.

Suicide is not a joke. Suffering is not a joke. If you—or anyone you know—has talked or thought of suicide, don’t stay silent. There are resources and tools that could help you see that you are loved, and that life is worth living.

Call or text 988. Chat at 988lifeline.org. Call a friend. Please hang on. The world is a much better place with you in it. Absolutely.

It isn’t fun to write about this subject. It isn’t fun to think about that August morning in Tennessee. It isn’t fun to think about losing a friend. I’d much rather write about happy things.

Life is like that. The seas are not calm every day, for any of us.

I think I’ll fire up my old Camaro and go for a ride. I’ll crank up some music, and get out into the country. Maybe we can wind ‘er up through the gears a time or two. That would bring a smile to Scott’s face. Noise and speed and excitement, that’s what he was all about.

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