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Total number of drivers 40. Number of company teams 10. Number of tracks 20. Number of countries 12. Time frame 6 months. Number of Fallen Angels hooked on speed 2. The McGuire sisters are and they’re out for blood in the newly founded International Stockcar Racing Association. After two years driving the Formula One circuit Professional Drivers Roberta Bobbie McGuire and her sister Elisabeth ‘Beth’ McGuire have made real names for themselves. The two young ladies took the world by storm in their first year by placing 3rd and 4th in the Championship points race. Now their plans and dreams of starting in the International Stockcar Association have come to fruition. The Fury twins plan to prove to the world they belong in Stockcar Racing. And they don’t care who they have to put into the wall to bring home the inaugural championship.

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Chapter 2
Pocono Speedway, Long Pond, Pennsylvania, Sunday

I’ve been in Long Pond, Pa, with the rest of the team since Wednesday. As usual we’ve been out on this track every morning running laps. Coach Hall may have come to our outfit as a compromise with the Schoolboard but that is no longer the case. She and Kathy have totally taken over the physical training for all of the race teams. Those two have become our High Priestesses to the Gods of physical fitness. And we are their poor mortal sacrifices to their Gods. Thanks to their daily torture regime Beth, Jim, Sam, and I know every inch of this superspeedway.

As I wait for the green flag to drop, I think about that Sponsor party on Friday night. I know that I don’t have a lot of room to talk, but Jim and Sam really showed their short tempers. It all started when Jim went to get a drink for Caroline his fiancée. I know that I warned the guys to not leave their better halves alone at the party, but even so Laurentino Toto really should have taken Caroline’s hint to leave her alone. It would have avoided ensuing trouble. I’m still wondering how in the name of hell that man will be able to drive for even half the race with that black eye.

Then again, I really can’t blame Caroline for cold cocking the asshole. Though I think I’ll need to arrange for lessons in social etiquette for her and Missy with Issy. There had to be a better way of handling an asshole with wandering hands than a kick to the nuts and right cross to the face. I do have to admit that Missy and Caroline looked absolutely beautiful in their gowns. They made me look like a tomboy who raided her mother’s closet. And I’ve been going to those damned meet and greet sponsor parties for two years now. For Missy and Caroline, it was their first time so they could be excused for wanting to put on their best.

I know that I should be paying more attention to the upcoming race, but I have to chuckle as I thought about that night. I can honestly say that in more than eighty some parties for our Sponsors and other dignitaries for Formula One. None of them have ever ended in a bar brawl. Then again, that was most likely the first time that there was 14 NASCAR drivers in a room with 26 drivers from other motorsports. Of course, there was going to be friction. I just surprised that the Stockcar drivers are getting along with their non-Stockcar driver teammates.

I look out at Pocono one more time. I know that most people consider this track a tri-oval, but the turns are much more severe than those of a more typical tri-oval such as Daytona and other such speedways. Then there’s additional complication that the three turns are in no way the same, nor are any of the three straightaways identical in length. The banking of each turn is considerably less than on many other long superspeedways. Turn 1 is a nice 14° banking and modeled after Trenton Speedway. Turn 2 has 9° banking also known as the ‘Tunnel Turn’ was modeled after the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Then there is Turn 3 at 6° of banking it is the shallowest turn and modeled after the Milwaukee Mile.

Although the track is long at 2.5 miles, the sharp nature of the turns and the low banking tend to make the average speeds lower than at other tracks of similar lengths. Because of its unique characteristics, Pocono is sometimes referred to as a ‘roval’, an oval track that behaves like a road course. Others refer to Pocono as a modified road course, due to the use of shifting gears to handle the range between the slowest turn and the fastest straightaway. Just the type of oval track that Beth and I can shine at. I swear the unique design makes the setup of the car and the crew’s ability to make chassis adjustments more crucial than at many other tracks. Often it is the difference between a winning performance and a piss poor performance.

Today’s 500mi race is going to be a monster. It’ll take 200 laps to complete the race. The good thing is that those laps have been broken down into four 50 lap segments. Not taking in to account a yellow flag laps, and segment stops, that’s still doesn’t take in the green flag pit stops. This race is going to come down to who can manage their fuel and tires the best.

The driver introduction and parade is behind us. The national anthem was sung; all I have left to do is climb into my car. I take one last look around at the stands and a smile comes to my face. I can see the seventy-nine kids from the children’s wards in the grandstands. Herr Herwig really came through for those kids. From what I understand he didn’t even flinch when presented with the bill for all those airplane tickets. Hell, I had to laugh my ass off when I heard that he sent his personal 707 for one group of kids in Columbia. That has to be one of the biggest planes to ever land there.

“HAY SPEEDY! Get your head in the game kid.” Chief Marks snapped at me.

“Sorry Chief. I’ll be fine. I was just thinking about something.” I said as I took one last look at the grandstands where the kids were.

Chief Marks looked to where I was and chuckled. “You did something beautiful, Bobbie. No matter what else happens here today. That is something you can be proud of. Now, remember you got two-hundred laps to work your way through the pack. No need to burnout the engine in the first stage.”

“Got it Chief. Keep a cool head and let the car and track come to me.” I said as I climbed into the driver’s seat. I quickly put in my earbuds then pulled on my NOMEX balaclava. Once they were on, I settled my helmet in place then hooked up the HANS device. Next came my gloves as Chief Marks hooked up my iPod to the radio. I know that I’m crazy, but I drive better with music. I connected the steering wheel to the shaft and smiled. Chief Marks pats me on the head then pulls up the window-net. As he steps away, I hear the four most famous words in racing. “DRIVERS! START! YOUR! ENGINES!”

I flip the two battery switches, then mash the starter button. The steady rumble of the monster V-8 coming to life settles my nerves. Until now I had butterflies in my stomach. Now, they’re gone. All my fears vanish into nothingness. As we roll off pit road and fall in behind the pace car I fight to keep from bitching at my position. The fact that Sam is in the pole position really is a sting to my pride. Then again Jim is on the second row in fourth position. I’m all the way back on the eighth row in the sixteenth position next to Beth in fifteenth. Our team is spread out at the start of the race and this isn’t good.

We take four warm up laps behind the pace car. I spend that time weaving back and forth trying to build up the heat in my tires. I think every driver that has any experience on a superspeedway is doing the same thing. I know that Beth and I are considered rookies to the sport of Stockcar racing by the rules. But we’ve been test driving mom’s designs for years now on some of the meanest tracks in all of NASCAR. We may be new to Stockcar racing but we’re no rookies by any stretch. Today we’re going to prove it.

We round turn 3 and I get a laugh at the ‘What Turn 4?’ sign that is painted there. Pocono is known as the tricky triangle for a reason. Unlike most triovals this track doesn’t have a Turn 4.

I’m brought out of my thoughts by the pace car turning off his lights. We’re lined up and it’s almost time to go racing. We round turn 3 and the pace car drops off the track onto pit road. I hit play on my iPod. The flagman waves the green flag in the air. I down shift to second gear and drop the hammer. As one the pack surges forward towards top speed and turn 1.

As we cross the starting line the opening notes for Rammstein’s Engel blast in my ears. The hard driving bass pounds in time with my heartbeat. The screaming lead guitar boils my blood. The thump of the drums brings me a peace of mind. We come out of the high banking turn 1 onto the Long Pound straightaway. I’m only inches away from Beth’s car as we race down the straightaway. The side draft is unbelievable. Fuck the whole draft is unlike anything I’ve experienced in Formula One. This is where I’m meant to be. Going 170mph with my hair on fire into a highspeed turn.

We fly into turn 2. I have to fight the sideways g-forces that are brought on by the banking and our speeds. This is the style of racing I’ve been dreaming about for years. The roar of the engines is almost load enough to drowned out my music. We exit turn 2 and hit the North straightaway at full speed. I see my first opening and dive down around the 23rd car. Beth goes to the outside of him. The guy never knew what happened. One second, we were in his rear view the next we were passing him on each side. This was something we had perfected in Formula One. We called the move the uneven splits. Here it’s just side drafting at its finest.

We dive into turn 3 and go three wide. This is racing at its best. I once told a Formula One driver that there was nothing like going three wide in turn 3 doing over 180mph at Pocono. Yesterday during Qualifying we set an average speed for the field of 175.98mph. Thankfully ISA isn’t forcing restrictor plates down our throats. I can see using them on the short tracks but not on the standard speedways and superspeedways.

The ability to hold something back in reserve for the pass on straightaways has changed the game. The only problem is at the speeds we’re running we can’t hold nothing back. We come off turn 3 and head for the start/finish line. We cross the line and lap one is in the bag. The inaugural race of the International Stockcar Association is on the way.

Over the next fifteen laps the field shakes out into two separate packs. Beth, and me are in the middle of the lead pack with Jim leading. Sam is right on his ass. The front pack is made up of thirteen cars running single file and we’re steadily pulling away from the rest of the field. At this pace I realize it’s not going to a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’. Sooner or later, there will be a nasty wreck somewhere on the track. I got a feeling that for the ISA Pocono is going to be more than a historical inaugural race. It’s going to go down in history for a record breaking ‘big one’. My only question is in which stage and what part of the track.

We round turn 2 on lap twenty-one when the yellow flag comes out. Kathy Hall came over the radio before the caution lights even began to flash. “Back it down Bobbie. Metz blew his right front tire and rode the wall in turn one.”

“How bad did he go in Kathy?” I asked as I geared down.

“Not bad enough for the wrecker but his race is done. He’s limping it around on the apron as we speak. Though it does look like the cleanup crew is going to be busy for the next few minutes. Yup. That blown tire is tearing up his front end with each yard.”

That was not good. If that front tire was coming apart like Kathy was saying. Then it would be throwing rubber and sheet metal all over the track. That much trash on the track and the officials could ‘red flag’ the race. I doubt it though. The track crews all came over from NASCAR. They’re used to fast cleanup of wrecks much bigger than this one.

“Bobbie, everyone is coming in for fresh tires and gas the next go around. Chief Marks and Hailee are calling for four tires each.” Kathy told me.

“Sounds good. I’ve been sliding around out here in the turns like crazy. I swear it’s like I’m driving on marbles.” I bitched to my Spotter.

“Take it easy Bobbie. You’ve got a hundred and seventy-seven more laps in this race. Plenty of time for us to work on the car. You’re in seventh place. Beth is right behind you in eighth.” Once again Kathy pointed out something I had forgotten. When me and Beth team up during a race, nothing can stop us. We were a winning combination for two years in Formula One. We can do it here. We just need time to get into the grove. And we got 177 laps do it.

On lap 22 Jim leads us down onto pit row. I hit my pit box dead on. My pit crew fly over the wall going into action the way they were trained. Danny has the right side off the ground before I know what’s happening. I hear the twin air guns of Cassy and Sherry scream as they remove the lug nuts on those tires. I feel Greg jam the fuel into the fuel intake. I watch as Joseph and Will carry the old tires back around to the pit wall to grab a set of left side tires. Danny has already dropped the car and is raising the right side as Cassy and Sherry remove the right side lug nuts. Greg is on his second can of fuel already. Chief Marks is really packing the fuel in. I watch as Cassy and Sherry tighten the lugs on the new tires. Danny drops the car.

That’s my signal to pull out. Kathy comes over the radio as I pass cars still sitting in their pit boxes. “Slow it down Bobbie. We don’t need a penalty for speeding on pit road this early in the race.”

“Gotcha, Kathy. I’m watching the tachometer. I’m just under the posted pit road speed. How was the time?” I reassure Kathy.

“Let’s just say, that our boys and girls are showing their skills. Both teams pulled down ten point eight, eight second stops.” When Kathy told me how fast our pit crews had become, I almost ran into another driver coming out of his pit bow. I missed him by inches. As we exit pit row, I’m shocked to find that I’ve moved up four places.

I didn’t realize that my mike was open. “Holy crap! We’ve jumped four places!”

“OPEN MIKE BOBBIE!” Kathy screamed. I double checked and let go of the mike button. If anyone could have seen my face just then they would have seen a blush going from the top of my head clear down to my nipples. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Holding a mike open is a rookie mistake. One that I haven’t made in almost two years, not since my first Formula One race in Melbourne, Australia. I just hope that no one else heard my potty mouth. I really don’t need a fine from ISA officials over something as stupid as cursing over the radio.

As we pull in behind the pace car I smile. I went from 7th to 3rd. Beth is right behind me now in 4th place. Jim is still in 1st and Sam has moved back up to 2nd. MIR is now running one, two, three, four with more than half the race to go. For the first time our small racing firm is showing their muscle on a NASCAR track. For some reason, this sight feels like an omen of things to come. I key my radio for Chief Marks.

“Chief patch me through to the other cars.” I ordered the man.

“Give me a few seconds, Bobbie. What are you up to?” Marks asks while doing as I requested him.

“Time to step out and shine, Chief. Let’s see what we can do with everyone on the same sheet of music.” I answered between giggles.

Beth was the first to answer. “PUMP UP THE VOLUME SIS!”

Jim was right behind her. “TIME TO DANCE THREE WIDE AT ONE-EIGHTY GUYS!”

Sam may have been the last to answer but he put all our feelings into words. “LETS ROCK THIS JOINT! CRACK OUT THE TUNES! DJ SPEEDY IN DA’ HOUSE!”

I waited until the green flag waves again two laps later before hitting the play button for my iPod. The first song out of it is AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. Needless to say, our team rocketed away from the rest of the pack. By the time we were entering turn 3 the four of us had shaken out into single file. Our running order was Jim, Sam, me, then Beth. By the second lap after the restart we had a two second lead on the rest of the field and were walking away with each passing second. By lap 40 we had a full six second lead on the nearest cars. At lap 47 though that six second lead disappeared.

Back towards the end of the second pack a car spun out on the inside and took three other cars with him. The rest of the field had to scramble to keep from hitting them. I could just see the wreck happening from my position on the Long Pond straightaway. The ISA officials threw the yellow flag for the second time this day. Jim was already backing down and going to the outside to avoid the wreck. The rest of us followed behind him as the pace car pulled out onto the track. For the next three laps we waited for pit road to open while doing everything we could just to save fuel. We finished the 1st stage under yellow and the ISA officials finally opened pit road.

Jim may have won the 1st stage but there were three more to go. As we roll onto pit road I start counting down to the beginning of my stop. Once again, I hit my marks dead on. Danny, Cassy, Sherry, Greg, Will, and Joseph are over the wall in a flash. Danny has the left side up in record time. Before I can count to three, I feel the left side slam down. By the time I reach five I feel the right bounce into the air. The scream of the air guns is almost nonstop as the girls pull the lug nuts off then slam them back on. Greg has again packed two cans of fuel into the tank.

Danny drops the jack and I’m off. I pass Sam before he can get out of his box. Beth pulls in right behind me cutting him off before he has a chance to make up for his missed cue. As we near the end of pit road I come along side Jim’s pit box just as he is coming down off the jack. The race to the end of pit road and first place is on. I edge out Beth by inches and Jim is right behind her with Sam coming in fourth off pit road.

Holy shit I couldn’t believe it. I was in first place. I knew that the only reason that I was in first place was through luck and skill. Mostly luck. To be honest all of it bad luck on the part of my friends and fellow competitors. Well, a little good luck on my part and a lot of skill. We fell in behind the pace car for another three laps. I held off on hitting the play button again until the pace car turned off its warning lights. When he pulled off the track onto pit road, I turned my attention to the flag stand. I hit the play button just as we entered the restart zone. The green flag dropped to the opening notes of Steve Earle’s Copperhead Road.

I was shifting gears as I crossed the starting line. I dove into turn 1 as if the hounds of hell were hot on my heels. In a way they were. Beth, Jim, and Sam wanted first place as badly as I do. The only problem is I’m not going to give it up that easily. I wasn’t the meanest rat racer in all of Darlington county for nothing. Today I was going to remind my sister and our friends exactly why I’ve never been beaten in a rat race.

I may not have won the Formula One championship, but I had set more than a few records in that sport for reason. Out here is where I truly come alive. I spent more time in the company of the Devil’s Bounty Hunter than I care to admit to in my younger years. I’ve played chess with the Grim Reaper more than once and beat the bastard. Today, I can outrun even Him and his Black Dog. As I come out of turn 1, I drop the hammer.

It doesn’t take long before I’m the one setting the pace for the 2nd stage. I never let up as I enter turn 2. Most people at least brake going into the turn. I don’t. I let up on the gas just enough to keep control as I round the turn. I step down hard on the exit shooting for turn 3 at full throttle. Beth is right behind me with Jim and Sam doing their best to keep up. Once their out front leading the pack like me most drivers would be driving with one eye in their review.

Not me. I left that to Kathy. She learned that I would concentrate only the track and race if I left it up to her to tell me where the other drivers were. Kathy and her mom weren’t some of the best Spotters for nothing. I know that Beth and I are lucky to have them as our Spotters. They can call a race in microseconds where it takes other Spotters minutes to do the same thing. They learned all of mine and Beth’s little quirks when we’re driving over the last two years.

Kathy radioed in as I exited turn 3. “Bobbie go high on turn one. The thirty-two has dropped off the pace big time. Yup there’s the smoke. Looks like your old buddy Fontana just blew his engine. Yah the smoke is a real nice blue-gray. He dropped a cylinder alright. The RRI team owners aren’t going to like this one bit.”

“Got it Kathy. Where’s the rest of RRI?” I asked her.

“Depends on where you’re sitting in the stadium.” Kathy chuckled. “For you they’re so far back in the second pack they’re not even on the radar.”

“Good. They having problems with the track?” I asked.

“Bobbie those monkey nuts have no business being out there. The only one that has shown any skill at Stockcar racing is Lars Brant.” Chief Marks said over the radio with a chuckle. “Now get your head back in the game. You still have a hundred and forty laps to go.”

I got my head back in the game. For the next thirty laps I kept the hammer down. I was feeling great. The race had gone green for longer than I thought and knew that I would need to pit soon. The handling of my car was slowly going to hell. I could tell that I was starting to get rubber buildup on the tires, and I was getting light in the tank. I started planning for a green flag pit stop and praying for a yellow flag.

At lap ninety my prayers were answered. I saw the wreck in turn 2 long before Kathy could call it. I knew that I would be in the middle of it long before the yellow could be thrown. “GO HIGH! BOBBIE GET TO THE OUTSIDE AND STAY THERE!” Kathy screamed.

I didn’t think twice and followed her advice. I don’t know how many cars were involved. I just know that once I was up by the wall, I did my damnedest to hug that outer line. As I drove through the smoke and flying car pieces I prayed once more to the gods of speed. By the time I cleared the wreck the yellow flag was out, and the pace car was on the track. By the time we came back around to the start/finish line the officials threw the red flag. We came to a stop on the Long Pond straightaway and shutdown our cars.

I keyed the radio. “Talk to me Kathy. How many?”

“It’s bad Bobbie, really bad. I’m still counting but so far. I can tell that at least fifteen of the thirty-eight that were running at the start of the second stage are out of the race for good. I’m seeing window nets down on thirteen of them already. No make that all of them. Yes, they’re all down now.” Kathy told me with a sigh of relief.

She wasn’t the only one to breathe a sigh of relief. I knew that there would be a big one. I just wasn’t expecting it to happen this early in the race. Normally the big wreck doesn’t happen until the last fifty are so laps of the race here. Something must have really gone pear-shaped for the wreck to happen at this time in the race. “Can you tell me what happened Kathy?”

“We’re still working that out Bobbie.” Kathy told me.

“Jacob Teller hand grenaded his engine entering turn two Bobbie. From there it was a nonstop cluster fuck. Daniel Szylling hit Teller in the rear end before Teller could clear the track. Szylling lost control then spun out to the left sideswiping Theo Kaur and Philip Cunningham. From there on out it was like a pinball machine. Cars bouncing everywhere and nowhere.” Coach Hall said over the team channel. The more she described the way the wreck went down the more I realized just how fucking lucky I was by going high to the outside and staying there.

It may have been the only open line through the wreck, but that was a line that could have close without notice. There was no way that Kathy should have been able to call that line with such confidence. The more that I think about her call the more that her ability to call a race had to be supernatural in nature. She and her mom were just too good at times.

“Bobbie, we got the final count for wrecked cars. It’s bad, Speedy. Eighteen cars bound for the scrapyard. I got a break down of the cars involved if you want it?” Kathy told me.

“Give it to me Kathy. It can’t be good either way.” I told her. I was right.

“Here’s what mom and I have been able to figure out. Reynolds is totally out of the race now. Along with King Night Racing, and Red Star Racing. Horn Thomas Racing, Bisbee Snider Racing, and Northern Alliance Racing all lost two cars a piece. Only Thunder Valley lost one car.” The more Kathy list off the teams that were involved the more I realized that they were the teams made up of mostly non-Stockcar drivers. Only Red Star Racing, the Russian owned company, had more than one Stockcar driver on their team.

“Damn it! Not good.” My words must have gotten mom’s attention as she came up on the radio next.

“What are you thinking Bobbie?” Mom asked.

“Those four teams that were taken out are made of almost nothing but drivers from the other Sports. Think about it mom. The regular Stockcar drivers can point to those teams and say ‘See. This won’t have happened if they were using real Stockcar drivers.’ The publicity fallout from this wreck is going to be a Super Hurricane Shit storm making landfall.” I explained.

“Damn. I hadn’t thought about that. As much as I hate to say this, I need to do some damage control fast.” Mom dropped off the radio before I could ask her what she was talking about.

“What the hell was that all about?” I wondered out loud to no one as I waited for the ISA officials to give the signal to restart our engines.

Ten minutes later Kathy came up on the radio. “Okay we’ll be restarting shortly. The pace car will make two laps around the track. On the third pass pit road will be open. This will be a four tire stop. Got that?”

“Load and clear, Kathy. Two laps then hit the pits. Four tires and gas.” I was more than ready to get this race restarted. After ten more minutes the last car was finally loaded onto a wrecker. When the signal came to restart engines, I couldn’t have been happier. The reports coming in from the infield care center were all good. None of the drivers were injured, and all were walking around laughing at the first ‘real’ wreck of the season. Even the three drivers that came over from NASCAR.

The pace car started off slow to give all of us a chance to get rolling before lining up. It took us reaching turn 3 before finally coming into line. We exited turn 3 and pit road was still closed. There were more than a few of us out here that were running on fumes by the time we came back around on the third lap following the restart. I had a feeling that I was one of those running on fumes as my engine was cutting out in the turns.

When the ISA Officials opened pit road there was not one driver who stayed out. I know that when I hit my pit box I was on fumes. The second I stopped Greg was over the wall and slamming a full fuel can into the fuel port. Within seconds the sounds of my engine changed. I now knew that I had been on the edge as I pulled into the pits. Danny drops the right side of the car. Even before he has the left side off the ground Cassy and Sherry have the lug nuts off. I swear my pit crew have gotten faster with each stop. Danny grabs the windshield tear off and pulls it clear giving me a clean view out the windshield.

The car slams down and I floor the throttle. I’m out of my pit and heading for pit road exit. I pass Beth and Sam before they get the chance to leave their pits. When I reach the number one pit stall Jim’s right side is still in the air. I exit pit road with Beth and Sam hot on my heels. Jim was still in his box being worked on. He finally came down off the jack. But by that time the damage was done. Jim lost six places. He is now running 10th.

I don’t know if Jim can work his way back to the front. What I do know is this. Jim is a diehard rat racer. There are six drivers between him and us. He has the hottest hotrod out here. He’ll be back long before the end of the race and he’ll be hungry for the win. Before the red flag stop Jim was a threat that I had to take seriously. His pride has now been hurt by a bad pit stop. That makes him twice as dangerous than before. Damn that’s all I need now. Especially after Friday night’s fiasco. I still can’t believe that shit went down.

At lap 139 Kathy calls me over the radio with a warning. “Heads up Bobbie. Bowman, Toto, O’Brian, and Szopinski are lined up tight. Looks like they’re looking to make a run on you guys.”

“Where’s Jim?” I was more worried about my pissed off teammate then those four clowns. I’ve face them all on the F1 circuit and knew how they drove.

“He's currently sitting right behind Patrick McEvoy, in sixth place. Wait make that fifth place behind Seán Donohoe. He just completed a pass to the inside. At this rate Jim will be behind Sam at the end of this lap.”

“Thanks Kathy. What’s the time difference between the lead pack and the rest of the field?” I really needed to know.

“You guys have about a seven second split going back to the second half of the field. If my math is right, and this race goes green for another ten to twelve laps you’ll have a twelve to fourteen second lead. More than enough time to make a green flag pit stop.” I couldn’t believe what Kathy was saying I knew that she had to be wrong.

“Kathy’s right on the money Bobbie. Though I would put the split at closer to seventeen to nineteen seconds in ten laps.” Chief Marks told me.

“Damn. Are you sure? Have you doubled checked the math?” I was still having trouble believing we would have that big of a lead.

“Bobbie, I had Chief Hailee, and both of the Stones go over the math. After nine more laps the split will be seventeen seconds.” Chief Marks told me.

“I hope like hell that you’re right. Because the way things are going, we’ll be hitting a bunch of green flag stops. How do you want to handle them?” I asked already thinking away.

“IF it comes to that it’ll be four tires and gas, Bobbie. You and the others will be back in the lead once everyone else cycles through.” Chief Marks answered with more than a little confidence.

For the next ten laps we kept running all-out. Just like Chief Marks told me we had a seventeen second lead on the rest of the field. At lap 128 I drop down off the track and lead the first five cars onto pit road. I hit my marks dead on, and my pit crew cleared the wall. Once again, they were at work faster than the eye could follow. By the time, the first of the second pack cleared turn 2 they were on right side of the car changing those tires. When Danny dropped the jack, I had four new tires and two cans of fuel.

I cleared the pit box heading for the exit of pit road. By the time I rolled off pit the first of the second pack were just entering pit road. It took two laps to cycle through the field and for me to get back into first place. As I rounded turn 3 at lap 150, I spot the green/white checkered flag waving for the end of the 3rd stage. I lead the field across the start/finish line winning the stage. So far out of the 4 stages I’ve won two, and Jim has one.

MRI has swept the stages so far. I know that with 22 laps on these tires Chief Marks will call for four tires and two cans of fuel. At lap 151 I lead the field once more down onto pit road. I hit my marks in the pit box a little off but not so much that my pit crew couldn’t do their jobs. I wasn’t out of my box. Four tires and two cans of fuel later Danny is dropping the jack and I’m off. I pass Beth and Sam before I get to the end of pit road. I should win the race off pit road, but Jim is in the first pit box and his pit crew are just as good as mine. He comes down off his jack as I’m pulling alongside. I want to pound the steering wheel as Jim beats me off pit road by inches.

Kathy must have ESP. “Chill out Bobby. You can still win the race. Jim is good but you’re better.”

“Okay, Kathy. How has he been doing against the side draft?” I asked her.

“Bobbie, you’re not going to like this, but you’ll have to drag race Jim off the start/finish line if you want first place. Jim is good enough to drive with you in his rearview mirror.” I didn’t like what Kathy was telling me. I hate drag racing. If the only chance I had was to get in front of Jim, then that’s what I needed to do.

We line open behind the pace car for the start of the final stage. As we exit turn 3 at lap 152 the pace car turns off its lights and drops down off the track. Jim had taken the outside line. I know what he was thinking. Hell, if I had the choice, I would have taken the outside. It has been the fastest line all day long. He may have the faster car, but I have the skills and drive. The green/white checkered flag drops. We barrel down the track heading for turn 1. As we enter the turn we’re side by side. Close enough to trade paint if we get any closer. The side draft, between our two cars, is incredible. I’m having to fight to stay in my line.

We exit turn 1 with Van Halen’s ‘Running with the Devil’ pounding in my ears. It was just the song I needed to put me in the mood to overtake Jim and secure first place. Once more I’m out here racing not my fellow drivers, but the Devil’s Bounty Hunter. They say you can only outrun the bastard for so long. Well, I’ve been out running his ass for the last seven years. I’m not about to give up that race just yet. Not while I have a fast car strapped to my ass. As we enter turn 2 off the Long Pond straightaway, I slide in front of Jim taking first place.

Beth drops in behind Jim for third place. Sam brings up the rear in fourth place. I grin to myself. McGuire Racing International is once again running one, two, three, four, at the head of the pack. Within two laps we’ve stretched out our lead to the point that it is only our four cars racing for the win. The rest of the field see nothing but our taillights.

The race is ours. All we have to do is stay out front and out of trouble. With 45 laps to go that is going to be a tall order. I also know that at the pace we’re setting we’ll have to pit one last time. I start doing the calculations in my head and praying that I was wrong. At this pace I would be ten laps short on fuel. “Damnation. How the hell could this happen?”

My radio crackled. “Bobbie, I need you to ease up on the throttle.”

“I ease up and Jim takes the lead dad. If I’m running short, then so is he.” I figured that I might as well point out what I had already figured out.

“Then you better start praying for a yellow flag, Speedy. Because that is the only way you’ll be able to go the distance on that tank of fuel.” Dad snapped over the radio. “We’ve been lucky so far, Bobbie. Use your head.”

“I am using my head. We either roll the dice or lose the race. This is no time for playing safe.” I countered. I knew that I was gambling. But this is Stockcar racing. You trade paint, going three wide into a turn at 180mph.

“Okay Speedy it’s your call. Keep your head on a swivel.” Dad said before dropping of the radio.

At lap 168 I started to feel the handling of my car going away. I knew that my tires were wearing out and the tank was getting empty. I didn’t even get the chance to radio in. chief Marks was all over my ass. “Bobbie, you’re starting to slide all over the track. Either back it down or bring her in.”

“Don’t worry Chief, I’m still in control. This is my kind of racing. It’s time to get a little sideways.” I told him smiling. “I’ll be bringing her in after two more laps. Jim has to be in the same condition as me.”

“Then you better pray that those tires hold kid. Because you go into the wall now. There’ll be no recovery from a wreck this late in the game.” Chief Marks stated the obvious.

“No shit, Chief. Just pray for a yellow flag before I have to come in on the green.” I had no sooner finished than my prayers were answered. I had just exited turn 3 when Kathy radioed.

“Bobbie go to the bottom and stay there. Horner just went into the wall on turn three. She blew her right front tire. She’s riding the wall around. Yup she’s come to a stop next to the outer wall. There’s pace car and the yellow.”

Sure, enough I hadn’t even cleared Rachele Horn’s car than I spotted the pace car pulling onto the track. I knew that pit road wasn’t going to be open just yet. The officials won’t open up the pits for at least one more lap. As the field closed in behind MRI, I knew that this would be my last chance to take home the win. We rounded the track two more times before pit road finally opened. I came down off the track and onto pit road.

I hit the button for my radio calling Chief Marks. “Four tires and gas Chief. Don’t miss your marks people. This is for all the marbles.”

I slide to a stop inside my pit box hard. I wasn’t even stopped good before Greg was slamming a fuel car into my car’s intake. Cassy and Sherry had their air guns screaming as Danny was jacking the right side off the ground. I had started counting the second I came to a stop. By the time I reached five Danny was dropping the jack. As I continued to count, I reached seven and Danny had the left side in the air. The girls’ air guns sounded like the scream of eagles as they dove on their pray. Greg was already trying to stuff a second full can of fuel into my tank. I knew that he would stuff as much fuel into my car until the last second. Danny drops the jack.

I take off for all I was worth trying to stay under pit road speed while weaving my way through traffic. I need to beat Jim off pit road if I’m to have a chance at beating him. I pass Beth just as she is coming down off the jack. She falls in right behind me. We both cut off Sam before he has a chance to pull out forcing him to come in behind Beth. As we pass Jim, I see something that upsets me. His pit crew have the hood up for some reason. “Chief Marks is something wrong with Jim’s car?”

“I just found out Bobbie. Jim lost one of his fan belts. Looks like he’s out of the race.” Chief Marks answered.

“Damn. I wanted to beat him on the track. I didn’t want to win this way.” I bitched. I really did want to beat Jim on the track. Winning this way went against everything it meant to be a racer at least in my eyes.

“That’s racing kiddo. Sometimes you’re the cat. Other times you’re the mouse. Today you’re cat and Jim was the mouse.” Mom’s words barely soothed my wounded pride. I prefer to win a race on my skills not luck.

As we line up behind the pace car, we’re running one, two, three. With Beth right behind me, followed by Sam. As we exit turn 3 under yellow Jim finally pulls out of his pit box. I hope and pray that he makes it off it road before we cross the start/finish line. I smile as he makes it in time. Jim may be at the back of the pack, but he’ll have half the track to get up to full speed, while we’ll still be trying to get up to speed. The pace car drops of the track we hit the restart zone and the green/white flags waves.

I drop the hammer, hit the play button, and start shifting gears. As the sounds of Ozzy Osbourne’s Crazy Train blast in my ears I realize that I need to get ahead of Beth before she pulls a slide job on me. Sam is right on her bumper, pushing. Sam and Beth have decided to gang up on the youngest member of our team, ME. If that’s the way the want to play I have no problems. I can play their game. After all, I’ve beat them more than once on the back roads of Darlington County. This may be oval track racing, but its bump and grind at its finest.

I drive down hard on turn 1 forcing Beth and Sam to check up. I giggle as I clear turn 1 leaving them eating my dust as I barrel down the Long Pond straightaway. By the time Beth and Sam fully recover I have a two second lead on them and the field. Kathy calls me over the radio.

“Bobbie you do know that you just pissed off your sister and teammate?”

“I hope so. I hope that they get even madder.” I chuckled.

“Okay, tell me why you want them mad?” Kathy asked.

“Because neither Sam nor Beth are emotional drivers. They’re technical drivers. They lose their cool and let their emotions take over their driving suffers. The more emotional they get the worse they drive. The worse they drive the better for me.” I explained.

“Ah, shit. You’re doing it, again aren’t you? Head games at a hundred plus.” Kathy groaned just before signing off. I just chuckled.

“Please tell me that you’re not trying to piss off your sister, Roberta?” Mom asked over the radio.

“I cannot tell a lie. Of course, I’m trying to piss her off.” I chuckled.

Even though I couldn’t see it. I knew that mom just face palmed. “Didn’t you learn your lesson two years ago?”

“Of course, I did. I just don’t care, mom. This is Stockcar!” I told her in my best King Leonidas impersonation.

I hit the front straightaway and open up my lead even more. Beth and Sam are having to fight off the rest of the field. I got the whole track to myself. There is no way I’m going to give up my lead now. Only a late race wreck or some other yellow flag event will stop me from winning.

At lap 189 Beth and Sam have finally been able to shake the rest of the field. They’re now nipping at my heels and pissed off at the world with me. for the first time I’m actually driving in my rearview mirror. Those two have enough skill between them to bump draft my ass all the way around this track. At this late in the game we’re all tired. The exhaustion is starting to take its toll on us both physically and mentally. After 470 miles, running at 180mhp, for 3 ½ hours, anyone will be close to the edge.

So, you can imagine my surprise to see a very familiar car moving into fourth place. I didn’t even bother with keying my mike as I asked thin air. “Where the HELL did, he come from?”

“Heads up Bobbie. Jim’s back. And he’s back with a vengeance.” Kathy told me the obvious over the radio.

I had eleven laps to go. A total of 27.5 miles and three very pissed off teammates snapping at my heels. Yup, I’m screwed. Time to get serious. For the next 9 laps I push my car for all it’s worth. I never take my eyes off the track in front of me. “Kathy tell what the others are doing, girl.”

“Beth, Sam, and Jim have teamed up. They’re bump drafting like there no tomorrow. You got maybe a car and half on them, but that won’t last for long. Put the hammer down Bobbie. Drive it like you stole it.”

I have to laugh at Kathy’s last comment. “That’s the only way I know sister.”

As I exit turn 2 The Who’s Baba O'riley begins to play. My smile grows with each note. My speed picks up with the first verse. I go high into the turn towards the wall pouring on the gas. I see the white flag waving as I barrel down the front straightaway slowly pulling away from Beth, Jim, and Sam. I don’t know how fast I was going when I crossed under the white flag, but I do know that I was pulling away from the rest of MRI.

I hit turn 1 and never looked back again. The last I saw of Beth, Sam, and Jim was in my rearview mirror entering turn 1. I was now on a mission. I was out to set a new final lap track record for Pocono. I wanted the inaugural win for the International Stockcar Association. I wanted it more than anything else in the world just then. And come Hell or high water I would have the win for the inaugural race.

I powered through turn 2 over the Tunnel turn and down the North Straightaway. I never let up of the throttle. I know that it was reckless but didn’t care. I was going to set a new lap record if it was the last thing I did. I enter turn 3, the Big Bend at just under full throttle. I fight the g-forces that pull on the car. I was not going into the wall. Not now, not this late in the race. I exit turn 3 and stand on the throttle, only to have the yellow flag come out with the black/white checkered flag. Something had happened further back in the field. I crossed the finish line with more than a little disappointment. The track lap record would stand for another season.

“Kathy what happened?” I demanded of my Spotter.

“Shella England spun out in the Tunnel turn. The good part is she only hit two other cars. The bad part is she flipped and rolled. I’m still waiting for her to drop her window net.” Kathy told me as I rolled around turn 1. I got a good look down Long Pond straightaway. I could see the emergency crews were already rolling to the wreck area. “Okay, her net is down. Thank the Goddess for small blessings.”

“Would that be the Goddess Aly Raisman? I know that your moto is ‘No pain, no gain.” I chuckled.

“Nope. We had to abandon our previous Goddess for a new. Mom figured that with this bunch we should find a proper Goddess. We now worship the Goddess Danica. The Patron Goddess of Speedways.”

-----tbc-----