ARC MAGAZINE

Austin Riley rarely encountered raucous cheers and thunderous applause while growing up in Uxbridge, Ontario.

His autism undiagnosed for 13 years, Austin led a childhood fraught with frustration. “We’d sign him up for soccer but that wouldn’t work out,” his father, Jason, recalls. “Then we’d give power skating a go.

“It didn’t really matter. No matter what we tried, it would always end in flames and sadness.”

Fast-forward to today. Thanks to his achievements as a race car driver and promotional speaker, Austin enjoys a celebrity status Justin Bieber might envy. He’s heard the roar of racing fans after winning a tournament and the applause of schoolkids after delivering a speech. At 21, Austin is now that anything-but textbook example of someone who surges into the lead from several laps back once they’ve found their joy and set out to pursue it.

“For the first time, my wife and I have hope for Austin’s future,” his father says. “And we’re committed to keeping him on the yellow-brick road to whatever Oz awaits him.”

Though remarkable, Austin’s successes on racetracks across North America come as little surprise to his family.

“From the moment Austin could walk, he’s been obsessed with anything sporting four wheels and an engine,” Jason says. “When he was two, he’d walk into a car dealership with me and start describing every car and their engines.”

Jason even recalls an incident that now seems like the perfect intersection of Austin’s exuberance for cars and his experience with autism.

“One day, we pulled into the parking lot of a Tim Horton’s restaurant. Nearby was a replica 1965 Shelby Cobra, my favorite car. When its owner exited Tim Horton’s, Austin darted across the lot toward the vehicle.

“But he didn’t want to sit in the car or interact with the owner. Instead, he lay on the pavement beside the exhaust pipe, so he’d feel the engine when the owner started it.

Finding a school compatible with a boy who only wanted to play Formula One video games or talk about Dodge Hellcats was challenging, Jason admits. One poignant memory he has is that of Austin trudging off to another day of classes, his knapsack full of Hot Wheels crunching as he walked.

Then, one day, the mail delivered what Jason considered a blessing from heaven. “It was a flyer promoting a program 20 minutes away that teaches kids go kart racing and race craft,” he recalls. “I thought, ‘this is perfect.’”

Austin wasn’t so sure.

“Why would I want to try that, Dad?” he asked. “I suck at everything.”

Four weeks later, Austin agreed to give it a shot, but with one condition. He’d drive the go-kart, but for one lap only. Things didn’t go as planned.

“At the end of the lap, Austin wouldn’t take his foot off the gas pedal,” Jason says. “Even on the turns, he wouldn’t take his foot off the gas pedal. They gave him the checkered flag, but he refused to leave the track. The officials finally had to swarm the track to make him stop

Ever since, it’s been tough keeping Austin off the racetrack – and the winner’s stand. He launched his resume as a go-kart racer at age eight, and spent the next five years burnishing it with multiple karting championships at tracks across Ontario.

And all the while, neither Austin, his competitors, nor his parents knew he had autism.

Austin would get really anxious going to a race if the route didn’t present any landmarks he recognized,” Jason recalls. “But once we’d arrive at the track, he’d suddenly become a rock star behind the wheel.”

In 2012, Austin’s life, and his racing career, kicked into overdrive. Doctors officially diagnosed him autistic, prompting his family to redesign his lifestyle. They introduced more repetition and familiarity to his schedule and minimized the noises that would cause him distress. Soon after, Austin returned to racing and slayed the competition. He won two club championships and “only placed second in the Eastern Canadian Karting Championship,” Jason insists, “because his mechanic dad forgot to tighten a bolt.”

That’s also the year Austin’s current mechanic, Jeremy Mitchell, first noticed the standout driver from Uxbridge. At the time, Mitchell had been working with the Energy Kart Canada race team, which had recruited Austin to drive for them.

“Austin would stand around, quiet and shy before a competition,” he recalls. “Then, he’d get on the track and everyone would say, ‘Wow! That guy can drive! that guy can race! who is that guy?’

“Working with Austin back then meant patiently building a relationship he could trust. If he needed some parts, I’d find them and go out of my way to deliver them. When he arrived for a race, he’d sometimes discover I’d set up a hospitality tent for him.

“But Austin gives back. If a competitor crashed, he’d ask me to go help them. And the first time he reached the podium for us, he presented the trophy to me and the team owner.”

Word of Austin’s skill was spreading across Canada. But word of his autism was not. So, with a measure of apprehension, Austin and his father decided to go public with his diagnosis. “No one else with autism was racing at that level,” Jason says. “We worried how his racing fans – and the licensing body – might react.”

Turns out, they had no need to fret. “The support was overwhelming,” Jason says, “from local car clubs and parents of autistic kids outside of racing. We printed t-shirts promoting Austin and couldn’t meet the demand.”

As with most sports, however, t-shirt sales didn’t cover the cost of competing, which Jason estimates to be $3,500 per weekend. The middle-class family soon faced financial constraints that threatened to curtail Austin’s budding career.

“One day, we were studying the upcoming schedules for local races,” Jason recalls, “when Austin burst in and announced he wanted to race in the Western Canadian Karting Championship in Regina, Saskatchewan. I was thrilled Austin wanted to try something different. But I was skeptical, for it meant an expensive, 27-hour drive in our diesel pick-up.”

Turned out, Austin was prepared for his father’s pushback.

“What if I miss a couple local events I usually race in,” he suggested, “and race in Regina instead?”

In the race’s final practice, Austin clocked one half-second faster than everyone, and in the race itself, he roared from 28th place to finish third. “People went crazy when he ascended the podium,” Jason recalls. “They instantly wanted to meet him.”

Austin’s comfort with speed makes perfect sense to Jessica Benge, an autism advisor in Tasmania who lived and consulted with Austin for several years.

“Austin’s brain is constantly thinking,” she says. “So, the faster he’s moving, the more relaxed he gets. It’s the only time he feels he has control of his thoughts and emotions.”

On their trek home, Austin was indulging an alternate persona he calls ‘DJ Schizophrenic’ because he’s inclined to stream Frank Sinatra one moment, Megadeth the next. Reflecting on the successful weekend, Jason announced, “You know, we raised awareness of autism here without meaning to.” Then he added, “Maybe we should do this more often.”

From that comment sprang Racing With Autism, a continent-wide tour that would feature Austin at a racetrack one day, an area school the next. The message from both appearances? “Don’t dismiss people because they can’t tie their own shoelaces,” Jason says. “Instead, appreciate everyone for what they can do.”

The tour nudged Austin beyond his comfort zone, as a racetrack driver and public personality. At the tour’s first stop in Ocala, Florida, he competed for the first time in a DD2 (two-speed kart) against several kick-ass car racers. His team hoped for a top-15 finish. He captured tenth.

Then came New Orleans. Austin had never been there, so his anxieties kicked in. Rather than sit onstage with his helmet while his father presented, he hung back . . . until he heard the audience applaud Jason. He ambled out and signed autographs for more than 400 kids, many of whom had autism and asked to hug him.

But it was eight weeks later, in Calgary, Alberta, that Austin did the truly unthinkable.

“I was to present at a large elementary school,” his father recalls, “when Austin tapped my shoulder and said he wanted to speak. I was flabbergasted. When the time came, I asked him, ‘Are you sure about this?’ He just pushed me aside and, holding a piece of paper, walked onstage and spoke for 45 seconds.

The powerful moment is captured on video. It’s Austin’s manifesto, his clear and resounding statement of purpose that speaks to something even greater than the art and skill of moving a car around a track at high speeds.

"Thank you for listening to Racing with Autism,” Austin tells the audience. “Racing changed my life. It makes me feel really free. If I can follow my dreams, so can all of you. Just because you have autism doesn't mean you can't do great things."

More than five years later, Jason still stands in awe of his son’s courage and the strength of his convictions. “It was the purest, most beautiful thing I’d ever seen from my son. I just stood there, tears streaming down my face.

Jessica Benge also finds that moment unforgettable.

“Five months earlier, I could hardly get Austin to participate in class discussions,” she says. “And when Jason launched Racing With Autism, it was sometimes difficult getting Austin to even enter the school.

“But in Calgary, something just clicked inside him. I helped him write the speech and stood on one side, his cousin, Shane, on the other. His putting himself out there screamed to me what a one-of-a-kind hero Austin is.”

After Calgary, Austin started trying foods he’d never tasted, exploring places he’d never visited, talking to people he’d never met. He seemed transformed . . . until the tour’s final week, when he suddenly became argumentative with others and sloppy on the track. Exasperated, Jason yanked Austin from his car and marched him to their pick-up. “Dude!” he said. “what is going on?”

His son sat quiet for a moment, then jumped off the tailgate. “Dad,” he said as he began walking away, “it’s because I know the tour is almost over and that this is what I’m meant to do."

Jason now passionately believes that what Austin is meant to do is advocate full-time for racing and autism.

As a driver, Austin’s graduated from go-karts to Radicals – proper race cars that clock 160 miles per hour but with downforce that grips them to the track. The transition certainly hasn’t slowed Austin; among other achievements, he won four of his five races in a Radical before the pandemic arrived.

As a motivator, Austin’s eager to teach kids with autism how to commandeer go-karts and to share his narrative with those just starting to confront their differences. His renown is even spreading across the globe. Jessica Benge recently launched Racing With Autism Australia, an initiative that’s helping 12 autistic kids learn to love racing.

“Our ability to keep Austin racing and presenting to groups depends on whether we’re able to attract sponsorships in the months ahead,” says Jason. “I hope we do, because Austin’s story really resonates with anyone, whether they have a disability or not.

“I think that’s because what Racing With Autism emphasizes is, ‘There’s greatness in all of us. Find your passion and pursue it, for that’s how Austin’s fulfilled his dreams.’”