Chapter 5
ISA Dayton Thunder Rolls 400, Inaugural Race, Saturday

I woke to the sounds of the most disgusting thing on earth. The American Alarm clock by Big Ben clockworks. I slap my hand down across the button to silence the offending time piece. “One of these I’ll get me a real alarm clock. One that plays music maybe.”

I roll out of my lonely bed wishing that Kelly were here. I know that she’s at home taking care of the twins. I know that our agreement was that she would stay home until the kids were old enough to travel better. I also know that, that time was a long way off. At least for all of the races in the countries outside of the Continental United States. The kids will be 5 to 6 years old before they’re ready to travel with me to the overseas tracks.

I swipe the hair out of my face and head for the bathroom. After taking care of my swollen bladder. I dress and head down to the hotel gym for a quick workout. I chuckle as I walk into the gym. As usual I find my pit crew along with everyone else from MRI working out. And as usual I’m the last one down. Not that I really care. Coach Hall knowns that I push myself harder than anyone else on the race teams. Only two people for the all of the teams match my daily workout. Coach Hall and Kathy Hall, the teams’ two senior spotters.

My brother Joey and his partner in crime David “Specs” Worth are the other two spotters for the team. The two have been pushing themselves to catch up with the rest of the guys on the teams. Not that I’m surprised by this. Both my brother and Specs are members of the Blue Devils. There’s no way in hell they’re going to let down their club. Especially not when Joey is dating the founder of the Blue Devils, Stephany Stone. Slow Jake Stone’s daughter.

Joey and Specs may not be able to match that Kathy and her mom. But they don’t have too. They’re on par with the rest of the spotters in the ISA. If not better than most of them. The only spotters that are better than them is Kathy and her mom, Coach Hall. As I head for the bench press station, I see Coach Hall and Kathy working the leg press station. I swear those two have legs muscles made of steel cables. Kathy maybe one of the smaller girls on the team but she is one of the strongest. Then again when you have a mother who is former professional Cheerleader you don’t have a chance to slack off. Not in your physical fitness anyway.

“Bobbie you owe me two extra miles for being late.” Coach Hall called out.

“Yes, Coach!” I yelled back. “Can I give them to you on Monday?”

“I except to see at the garage first thing Monday morning, young lady.”

“I’ll be there Coach.” I grunt out as I left the weight bar off the rack.

“Beth don’t overdo it on those leg lefts. I don’t need you pulling another just before a race damn it. Tony how many times do I have to get after you about sparring on the day of a race. That’s an extra fifty pushups for the both of you. Steve, Jim, I know that you’re not used to our race day routine yet. But if you two don’t quite trying to outdo each other. I’ll personally beat the crap out of you.” Coach Hall was in full on Valkyrie mood again. Maybe I should say as usual. The woman becomes a tyrant in the gym. I just concentrate on my workout as the Coach chews out individuals around the gym. Even she goes through her own workout.

After forty-five minutes Coach Hall yells out to me and the other drivers. “All drivers clear the gym. I want you four showered, dressed, and down at the track in two hours for race briefing.”

Jim, Sam, both yelled out. “Yes, ma’am.”

“On the way Coach.” Beth called back.

When I gave my answer of almost done Coach Hall corrected me with her usual commanding authoritative method. “I SAID NOW! BOBBIE!”

I knew the command for what it was and headed for my room. I knew better than to argue with Coach Hall. Not when she is using that tone of voice. I reached up and shut down the treadmill I was on. Like Sam, Jim, and Beth, I headed for my room while the pit crews finished with their workouts. As I entered my room, I saw the time. Damn, we were going to be pushing it. With just two and a half hours to get ready and hold the race briefing. We would just be on time for the drivers’ briefing, then introductions.

Needless to say, I hit the shower and got dressed in my Nomex plus leathers in record time. I catch a ride down to the track with Beth. The nice thing about staying at a hotel with a helo-pad we don’t have to worry about traffic. At least not on the way to and from the track. Now, during the race that is another matter entirely. The good thing about having the pole position for a good portion of the race I should be out in front of the traffic. The bad thing about having the pole position is I’ll be out in front. With a great fucking big target painted on my ass.

A target that every racer out there will be looking to put holes in. To include my own sister and teammates. The kick in the ass until they can work their way through the pack. I’ll be all out there on my own. I got one driver from all the other teams between me and my next teammate, Sam back in 11th place on the 6th row. Beth and Jim have the 13th and 14th pole positions in row 7. Still all things considered I’m reminded of the words from a great man. “I want to be up front racing.”.

Beth placed her hand on my left knee as we crossed over the grandstands to come in for a landing. Even after all the times we have taken helicopter flights from hotels to racetracks around the world. Beth still can’t stand to ride in a helicopter. She’ll take the inner most seat for every ride. As Tony is normally with us, she is the one in the middle. I reach down and pat her hand smiling. “We’re almost down, sis. The ride is just about over.”

“Thanks for taking the outside seat, Bobbie.” Beth whispered. “I don’t know why but I can drive at two-hundred plus without a problem. The minute I have to fly in damned helicopter I get the shacks. Doc Shelly has been able to figure out why either.”

“Forget about it, Beth. We all understand.” I told her as the helicopter sit down. “Now do me a favor. Go to your trailer and get your head in the game.”

“Now that we’re down, I’ll be fine sis.” Beth sighed. “Just let me get out before I leave my morning tea on the floor.”

I popped the side door and jumped to the ground. I watched as Tony helped Beth out his side of the helicopter. Once we were clear the helicopter headed back to the hotel for his next batch of drivers. I have to give it to the ISA. They have gone out of their way to treat us drivers like superstars. I kind of wish that they would let up on the security though. It makes going for my morning runs a real bitch. Unless I have at least four of the guys from my pit crew with me. The security goons won’t let me out the door.

When I bitched about this back at Pocono I got laughed at by the male drivers. Only the six other female drivers and my sister gave me any sympathy. It was until later that I found out that the ISA Officials had stuck all female drivers with slightly heavy security concerns. More than a few of us female drivers have been threaten by upset fans of other male drivers. Fans that believe their drivers were cheated because of political correctness among the ISA officials and Regulations Committee.

I know that neither Beth nor I have received any threats. Then again, we’re a known quantity in the world of Stockcars thanks to our parents. A lot of the other female drivers are just starting out in the Stockcar field. They’re all rookies to stockcar racing. Most of them have never been behind the wheel of a Stockcar racer until eight months ago. Not that they can’t drive. Of those eight women, six of them are former Indy drivers, one is a Sports car driver, and the last one is a Turning car driver. These women are some of the best in their fields. Three of them even have championships trophies on their mantels in their offices.

Not that it matters with this crowd of drivers. Around here it truly is a battle of the sexes at times. When one quarter of your star athletes are beautiful young women, between 20 and 35, in great shape, you have a primetime draw on your hands. Last week’s race put the sport on the TV ratings map with the male Stockcar fans because of the wreck. But it was the ten female drivers that drew in the female fans of the sport. Having so many female drivers also drew in some real sickos as well.

Sadly, stalkers have become a real threat in this day and age of the World Wide Web for female sports celebrities. Beth and I have both dealt with a few stalkers in our careers over the last two years. The worse one was a guy from Pamplona, Spain. That was last year at the Barcelona race. The bastard had snuck into my trailer. The guys in my pit crew beat the crap out of him. When Track Security searched the man, they found a pair of my panties in one of his pockets. The beating he got from my pit crew was nothing compared to what the Security and Police did to him.

I won’t even go into what happened to Beth’s little stalking problem. I’ll only say that if a woman has a former Mixed Marshal Arts Champion for a husband or boyfriend who now bends wrenches for their living. Stay away from her. Far away from her. People like Tony tend to break bones and dislocate joints when they get upset. When they get pissed off let’s just say they like to beat you to within an inch of their lives. Because it will take longer. I will say that after word got out about what happened to Beth’s stalker, she hasn’t had a similar problem sense.

“G’day, Bobbie!” I turned smiling at the sound of the thick Aussie accent that belongs to only female Australian driver, Violet ‘Tiger snake’ Knight. “Where’s that bloody legless shark biscuit you call a brother?”

I could tell by the none too subtle smile on her face that Joey had done something to get under the Aussie’s skin. I just sighed. “What did that ignorant redneck little brother of mine do this time Violet?”

“The little bugger put a barbie in-a-box with a esky of shrimp in my pit box. That’s what he did.” Violet chuckled. “He could have at least left me some coal for the barbie.”

I couldn’t help myself. I had to laugh. I know that it wasn’t cool, but this was one of Joey’s best pranks yet. For some reason Violet was his favorite target for his practical jokes. “Sorry, about that Violet. I’ll get you the coal for your grill. I hope you got that shrimp on ice?”

“Of course! No reason to waist good tiger tails over a laugh. You know for a rowdy bunch of bogans your mates are right clever.” Violet chuckled then smiled as Joey entered the pit area. “Though your little bru is a right beauty for a Bruce. Any chance for a Shella like me self with him?”

“Sorry, Violet. But he already has a girlfriend back home.” I told her with as bright a smile I could gave her trying to lessen the blow to her ego. “You’d like her. She’s a nice young lady with a love for classic cars. We’re all hoping that Joey puts a ring on her finger before the end of the year.”

“Fuck Me Dead! That little wanker! Then what’s with all the pranks?” Violet asked me with more than a little confusion.

This time I sighed before answering her. “Violet, you remember back during the practices leading up to the race last week?” The Aussie woman nodded her head. “Do you remember how you gave Joey that wet-willie?” Again, Violet nodded. “Well, you fired the first shoot in a prank war. Against an enemy that has been well tutored in the art of the prank.”

“Oh shit! He’s not going to stop until I wave the white flag is, he?” Violet grinned. “How bad will it get?”

“Let’s just say that I learned long ago to not prank my little brother.” I told her with a grin. “Beat the shit out of him in a fist fight sure, but not go head to head with him in prank war.”

“Why?” Violet asked me warily.

“Because my little brother’s mind is so twisted that I doubt only one man can match him.” I grinned evilly then closed my eyes and bowed with my hands clasped. “Our father, Grand Master in ways of the Prank he is.”

Beth just groaned as she walked up next to us. “Argh! You just did not Yoda her, Bobbie. Especially on race day.”

“She did.” Violet laughed. “Good on ya’ Bobbie. I’ll be seeing you on the track. Today should be fun.”

As the tall Aussie red head walked a way, I turn to go find Joey. I needed to have a word with my little brother. Even if it meant using a 2x4 to get the point across with him. “JOEY! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!”

At the sound of anger in my voice Joey showed the better part of valor. He took off as if his ass were on fire. Beth, Sam, and Jim busted out laughing at the sight of me getting ready to chase him down. The only thing that stopped the inevitable chase and beatdown, was the one person that gave me more pause than mom and dad, Coach Hall. “Don’t do it Bobbie!”

“Yes coach.” I grumbled knowing full well that I would be the one to pay for Joey’s latest prank. No matter what my reasons for giving Joey a life altering beating. Now was not the time for that. I needed to get my head in the game. “Let’s go guys. I can tell the Coach wants to go over the track before we have our drivers’ meeting. Not that we really need it. I think all of us have dreamed of racing here at least once in our lives.”

“THAT is beside the point, Roberta.” Coach Hall snapped as we neared her table. “You may have set the record yesterday during Qualifying but all that changes today. Yesterday’s Qualifying was held during the morning and afternoon. Today’s race starts under the early afternoon sun and ends in the late afternoon sun. Trust me boys and girls the track conditions will be changing throughout the race. If you don’t stay on top of the changes. Your parents will kill my ass.”

“Trust us Coach. We know.” Sam said coming to my rescue. “The area that will give us the most problems is going to be Turn Three going into Turn Four. The later in the race we get the more the sun’s glair will come into play during the exit. Then there is the shadow from the Sprint tower and front straightaway grandstands will also screw with the track temp in the trioval.”

“Very good Sam. Now, what can you tell me about the super stretch?” Coach hall asked with shit eating grin.

“Well, for starters it would help if we had a map, Coach.” Sam complained.

Coach Hall just smirked and rolled out a printed color map of the Daytona International Speedway. “Does this help?”

“It does Coach.” Sam ran his finger along turn 2, to turn 3 covering the super stretch. “The nice thing about this whole stretch of the track is one thing. The track temp stays the same. The track temp doesn’t start to fall off until well after sunset. The only real problem we’ll face out there today is a buildup of rubber up near the outer wall.”

“What about down on the apron?” Coach Hall asked quickly.

“That depends on what the race officials declare out of bounds. If they say anything below the yellow line is a no-go unless for emergencies. Then sure we could probably make a pass using the apron with ease.” Jim answered for Sam. “The problem though isn’t going to be where we race on the track, Coach. The problem is going to be who we race with.”

“Explain.” Coach Hall asked of Jim.

“This track it is all about the draft and pack racing. Aerodynamics may have played a big part in last week’s race. But they’re doubly important here.” Jim explained. “This is one time when who you’re running with will play a major part in where you finish. Because once the field starts running side-by-side and more than six deep. It won’t matter how fast your car is or how big your lead. The pack will real you back in. It’s not a matter of how long it takes. They will be chomping on your ass sooner or later.”

“Very good James. Now which one of you two Stockcar drivers can tell me how you plan to work your way through the pack?” Coach Hall looked expectantly at Sam and Jim. “Remember gentlemen, the main goal for ISA race teams is the Manufacturers Championship Cup. Just like it is in Formula One.”

“Oh, man. I totally forgot about that aspect.” Sam bitched then looked over at Beth and me. “Sorry about that girls.”

I just waved it away, while Beth grinned. “Forget about it Sam. It took us a while to get used to the Manufacturer’s Cup being more important than the Driver’s Cup. Sure, we all got a deferent sponsor on our cars, but we all represent the same manufacturer Mercedes-Benz. They expect us to win as a team at the end of the season. To do that we need as many top five finishes as we can get our hands on.”

“Beth is right guys. Until the last lap out there we race as a team. Doing our best to get everyone into the top five positions.” I explained for them. Then gave them all an evil grin. “That is until the white flag. Then all bets are off and it’s every man or woman for themselves.”

Coach Hall chuckled than began to go over the specs of the track. “Okay you jokers. Listen up. Daytona’s tri-oval is two point five miles long with thirty-one degrees banking in the turns and eighteen degrees banking at the start/finish line. The front straight is thirty-eight-hundred feet long and the super stretch is three-thousand feet long. Now the tri-oval shape was designed with the fans in mind. It is also one of the two tracks in the NASCAR Cup Series circuit that uses restrictor plates to slow the cars down due to the high speeds. Average lap time for most stockcars during a race is less than a minute.”

“Damn, Coach Hall! You really know a lot about Daytona. I thought you were a professional Football Cheerleader. Not a track groupie.” Beth smirked.

“I’ll have you know that I was no ordinary Football Cheerleader Beth. I was a Dallas Cowgirl.” Coach Hall sniffed airily. Then giggled. “But Kathy’s father on the other hand was the original Daytona Beachcomber or maybe bum would be a better word for him. He’s also a bigger adrenaline junkie than all four of you put together. He flies civilian Hurricane Hunters for NOAH.”

“He’s not a junkie, he’s crazy.” I corrected her. “Coach I may drive my racecar at one-ninety plus. But I’m not crazy enough to do it in a hurricane.”

“That’s debatable.” Jim stage whispered as he turned his head to the side.

Our little briefing was interrupted by the call for the drivers’ meeting. “All drivers report to the Officials’ tent. All drivers report for briefing.”

“Got to go Coach. We’ll be back later.” Beth told her.

“No, you won’t. Remember you got the driver introductions, then the fan meet and greet. All that is followed by the opening ceremonies. During which I got to get my happy ass up to the spotters’ nest.” Coach Hall corrected us. “Just remember what I told you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” We all called out and headed for the drivers’ briefing.

The drivers’ meeting took the better part of thirty minutes. They went over the standard Fueling procedures, Fire caution, extinguisher requirement. Spill cleanup procedures. The Flags and Control, Flag drills. Emergency Procedures. What to do for a Rollover. What to if you’re injured. Pit road speeds, Pitting procedures. At the end of the meeting the Officials had every driver sign the track race release forms.

I found out during the meeting that Toto would not only not be returning for today’s race but her wouldn’t be returning to racing at all. The man was lucky that he was still a live, but his lower spine was severed. It’ll take time but with hard work he’ll be able to walk again sometime in the future. It didn’t matter. His racing carrier was over.

His team owners called in a replacement driver for today’s race from the NASCAR Xfinity series for a one-time race. From what the other drivers on his team were saying their owners were going after a driver on the Super GT circuit. I hope they can get either Yoshiie Erika or Yuuma Arei. Their team is the only one without a female driver.

After the meeting we all went straight to the driver introductions. After another thirty minutes all forty drivers have walked across the stage to thunderous applause from our fans. The stands were filled with more than just the fans that followed us from our old sports. There were just as many NASCAR fans here as well. It seems that last weekend’s race had brought a good number of the diehard Stockcar fans over to our side.

A lot of these fans were surprised at the number of female drivers in our sport. I had one mother and daughter pair asking me where I was from. When they found out that I was born and raised in Darlington their heads spun. They really got a kick when I told that I had raced for two seasons in Formula One and that I had already seen a good deal of the world. They were surprised to learn that our next two race were in Japan.

Like a lot of the other drivers I had a stack of fifty pamphlets with the racing schedule. I signed two of them for the mother and daughter. They weren’t the only ones to learn that the ISA would be racing at tracks around the world. I must have signed more than forty of the fifty pamphlets and passed them out to fans. I gave one pamphlet to each group of fans that I signed autographs for. I must have signed everything from t-shirts, hats, cups, even diecast models of my car. I didn’t know those were out yet and I wanted one of them for my own collection dang it. When the time came to start the race, I was sad to see the fans go.

Unlike the fans of Formula One racing who were from around the world. These people were my countrymen. They were Americans that were accepting a new sport with open minds. It didn’t matter to them that most of us drivers were from another country. We were Stockcar racers in their eyes. That’s all that mattered to them in the long run. They had come out to see a race at one of the most famous NASCAR Tracks in all the world. That is what we’re going to give them today. One that they’ll never forget.

The fans here today will be able to tell their grandchildren of the first ever, Thunder Rolls 400. A 400-mile race broken down into 4 stages of 40 laps each for a total of 160 laps. I barely pay attention to the invocation by Reverend Zachary Greene. I do pay attention for the national anthem and the flyover by the F-15 Eagles.

Once the flyover and national anthem were over with, we climbed into our cars. Each driver eagerly pulled their safety harness tight. I cued up my race mix on my iPod. Ear plugs were put in and radios synced up. Helmets, gloves, were pulled on. Window Safety nets were raised and secured. Final safety and radio checks were made. Once again 40 drivers and over 150,000 fans waited for those four words. “Drivers! Start! Your! Engines!”

I flipped the dual battery switches and push the starter button. I send up a prayer for my engine to start. When it does, I give out a sigh of relief. I know that it sounds crazy, but the fear of my engine failing to start is a real one. Last year in Formula One I had one DNF due to an engine failing to start at the signal. Talk about embarrassing. I have one last thing to do before the race starts as we roll off pit road. I hit the play button for my iPod. The sounds of Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song fill my ears as we pull onto the track. I chuckle as it is the prefect song to get me in the mood to drive the wheels of my car.

We lined up behind the pace car. For the next five laps I sit there riding around the track staring at those flashing yellow lights. The whole time I get more and more worked up. Then as we drop down onto the super stretch the pace car’s caution lights go off. I spot the Honorary Flag Marshal taking the stand. It is time to go racing. As we exit turn 4 the pace car drops down pit road. I down shift and wait for the green flag to fly. When it does, I drop the hammer and power down the front straightaway heading for turn 1. I up shift into fourth gear just before entering turn 1.

As I round turn 1 into turn 2 the opening notes of Richard Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries blares in my ears. The first thought that crosses my mind is what the fuck. Then I remember that I had let Joey hold my iPod while I went to the drivers’ meeting. I don’t know why but I just busted out laughing and powered down the super stretch pulling away from the pack. For the next 5 minutes I do nothing but pull away from the pack.

By the time we’ve put 6 laps in the books my lead is more than three and a half car lengths while steadily growing. As I exit turn 4 headed for the tri-oval front straightaway I’m greeted AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. I have to give it to Joey. His little joke of playing around with my race mix was one of his best. The only problem was it backfired on him. All it did was motivate me even more. Because after 10 laps I was so far out in front that I was remind of a YouTube video of the 1985 Daytona 500 and Bill Elliot’s victory in a Ford Thunderbird that day. The ’85 Ford Thunderbirds were damned near unstoppable. That was the way that I felt today.

A feeling that continued to grow with each passing green flag lap. Right alone with my lead. By lap 30 I had a 7-car length lead. I also knew that I would need to pit soon. The performance of my car was starting to slip. That meant two things. First, my tires were worn and losing grip. Second, I was running out of fuel. Both of which could cost me the race. I hated it, but I pulled down off the track onto pit road on lap 31.

As I entered my pit box the guys and gals of my pit crew cleared the wall in record time. I could tell by the way they were moving that this was going to be one of their fast pit stops. If not a record breaker. I felt the right side of my car bounce into the air as Dan jacks up that side of the car. Greg slams the first gas can into the intake before the car is even off the ground. I can hear Chief Hailee shouting over the screams of Casey and Sherry’s air guns. “GO! GO! MOVE IT PEOPLE!”

Before I know it, the left side is in the air and Greg was stuffing a second can of fuel into the tank. Casey and Sherry have their air guns screaming before the tires are even off the ground. Joseph and Will are moving like there is no tomorrow. They have the old tires over the wall and the new tires in place before I realize what’s going on. Before Danny drops the jack, Will rips off the first tearaway giving me a clear view. The second that the left side of my car hits the ground Chief Hailee is already screaming in my ear. “GO! GO! GO!”

Even as I pullout of the first pit box Kathy is all over the radio. “Stand on it Bobbie. Half the field followed you in for green flag pit stops. The rest stay out for now. The other teams are bringing in only half their drivers on this lap. The rest will have their pit stops on the next lap.”

“Damn. Sounds like the other teams are playing the fuel game.” I bitched over the radio. “Not good. Kathy keep an eye on those cars that stayed out. If any of them run out of fuel give me a shout.”

“What are you thinking Bobbie?”

“That someone out here is going to be running on fumes deliberately. Remember a lot of these drivers and Crew Chiefs came over from Formula One and Indy where the manufacturer’s race is more important.” I explained my thoughts. “I wouldn’t put it pass them to deliberately run one of their cars dry. Just to get a better handle on fuel management.”

“You really don’t think they’ll try something like that?” Kathy asked before continuing. “Never mind. Dumb question on my part.”

I didn’t bother with answering as I powered round the track. It didn’t take long for the rest of the field to cycle through their green flag stops. We stayed green for the rest of the first stage. I took the green/white checkered flag signaling the end of the stage. It also signaled my win for the stage. The pack gathered up behind the pace car on lap 41. On lap 42 the whole field was once more on pit road for fuel and tires. My pit crew turned in a prefect pit stop in record time. I pulled out just as Beth pulled up to the rear of my pit box. It was a race to the exit. I beat her off pit road by inches. As we lined up the pace car, I took the inside position with Beth on my right door. I keyed my mike.

“Okay Kathy, give me a breakdown on the field. Who’s on first?”

“On the Front Row we have the McGuire Ice Cold Furies. In the Second Row we have the Flying Dutchman with the Gal from down under. Followed up by everyone’s favorite Rednecks from Darlington.” I wanted to laugh at the descriptions Kathy was giving for the drivers. By the time she got done I was short of breath. I swear the girl has been spending way too much time watching old horserace videos. Some of her descriptions sounded like racehorse names. I mean come on, who in their right mind would give a race car driver a nickname like the Leaping Frog, Italian Sausage, or English Butler. Then again Kathy always did have a twisted sense of humor.

We followed the pace car for one more lap before they turned off their flashing yellows. Once again, the pace car pulled off onto the pit road the green flag signaled the restart of the race. It was a drag race between me and Beth to see who would lead coming out of turns 1 and 2. It stayed that way for the rest of the lap until we exited turn 4.

I was finally able to pull ahead of Beth enough to block her. From there out Beth stayed tucked in tight to my rear bumper. I thought that I had speed before. Now it’s taking all of my skills to control the monster under me. Thanks to Beth splitting the draft with me the performance of my car has gone through the roof.

The tighter she hugged my bumper that faster we went. After 4 laps we were 8 cars lengths in front of the pack. The race for the stage win was between the two of us. Everyone else was racing for third place. Then at lap 68 all that went away. We had our first wreck of the race.

It was a single car wreck. Sadly, it was one of my guys. Jim blew his right front tire going into turn 3. He hit the retaining wall at just the right angle to ride it around and come to a stop on the exit to turn 4. The yellow flag comes out just as I pull onto the super stretch. I start backing down on the throttle just as the pace car pulls onto the track.

As I pass Jim, I see him climbing out of his car. I can tell by his body langue that he’s pissed. “Kathy let Slow Jack know that he is pissed.”

“Jim has every right to be pissed Bobbie. That worthless piece of shit Hartman cut down his right front tire during the pass. It’s damned miracle that only Jim wrecked. Oh hell! Jim just threw his helmet at Hartman.”

Oh man! Not fucking good. The Marshals are going to slap Jim with a heavy fine, suspension, or both. Then again, they might do nothing. This is Stockcar racing after all. It takes a shit load more than a thrown helmet to damage one of these cars or hurt a driver. From the reactions of the fans. I think that the Marshals will do nothing.

I can tell that Jim is going to be a fan favorite after that little stunt. All we need now is a cat fight in the pits or in the infield after a wreck. I just don’t want it to be me in that wreck. The fight now that is another story. I won’t mind getting into a nice knock down drag out brawl with one of the other drivers if it reinforced my bad girl reputation.

The Officials open pit road on lap 70 and I lead the field down off the track. I roll all the way to the first pit box. As I came to a stop my pit crew were over the wall, and 12.8 seconds later I had 4 fresh tires, and a full tank of fuel. Once again as I came down of the jack it was a drag race between Beth and me for the exit. Only this time we had company. In the form of Violet ‘Tiger snake’ Knight. It was a three wide drag race.

I just barely beat out Violet by inches. While we both beat Beth by a car door. I couldn’t figure out how Violet had jumped more than 8 positions. I keyed my mike. “Kathy how in the name of all nine hells. Did the Tiger snake jump eight positions?”

“That’s simple. Two tires instead of four. Only one can of fuel. That’s how. She isn’t the only one to short pit Bobbie. Only the top ten drivers took four tires and two cans of fuel. If it hadn’t been for your pit box positions. You and Beth would have been shuffled back like the rest.”

“Damn. The other teams have figured out the fuel and tire window. Not good Kathy. Pass the word to Beth and Sam. We need to hook up as soon as possible.” I couldn’t believe what happened. The other teams had figured out a way to beat us by using the fuel and tire window. “Dad, we got a problem.”

“What’s up kiddo?” Dad answered over the radio.

“They’ve figured out the window. That’s what is up.” I told him.

“No, they haven’t Bobbie.” Mom chuckled. “They’re rolling the dice on track position over fuel economy and tire ware.”

“You sure about that mom?” I normally don’t question mom like this, but this was Daytona. A track that was known for being unpredictable.

“Trust me Bobbie. I’m sure. The end of this stage is less than twenty laps away. We got two more stages to go. I give them five to seven laps before they’re swallowed up by the pack. You just run your race.” Mom told me.

“Okay if you’re sure. Where’s Sam? How far back did he get shuffled?” This was something that worried me. I didn’t want to leave my teammate hanging out there on his own.

“Bobbie this is one time that Sam is on his own. At least until the next stage or there’s a wreck.” Dad answered for me. “Whichever comes first.”

I didn’t like the sounds of that. If mom and dad were telling me to not worry about Sam. Then I had to follow their directions. I may not like it, but that was the name of the game. I could only hope that Sam can work his way back up through the field. As we round turn 4 the pace car dropped off the track. The green flag waved, and we were racing once again.

I was expecting Violet to falloff long before we reached the exit to turn 4. Yet she was still there knocking on the right-side door panel. Even with Beth pushing me as hard as she could. It didn’t make any sense. Then it hit me. Violet was using the side draft off my car to stay alongside. The sneaky bitch was using one of the oldest tricks in the book. I forgot that Violet got her start on the IROC circuit.

We battled for the lead for another 2 laps before things got interesting. It was on lap 84 when it started. Halfway back in the pack two cars tangled and went into the wall. By the time the last car got mixed up in the wreck seven car were out of the race and four others were damaged. The yellow flag came out and 2 laps later the cars that only two tires were pitting again. Mom made the call for us to stay out. I chuckled as I watch Violet led those cars down onto pit road. Their gamble may have paid off in the short run, but it came back on them in the long run.

On lap 93 the green flag waved again, and we were back to racing. Beth didn’t even bother with racing me for turn 1. She just dropped in behind me and started pushing. I don’t know where he came from, but Sam was right behind Beth by the time we entered turn 4 heading for the tri oval. Kathy radioed in letting me know that Panos Kontotis for Prototype Outcasts was right behind Sam. As we took the green/white checkered flag on lap 100 I knew that the race was half over and so far, I had led almost every lap.

If I kept up this pace, then I would be joining a every elite group of drivers. Pole position winners at Daytona. Of which there are only 7. I would be joining the ranks of Fireball Roberts, Richard Petty, Cale Yarborough, Buddy Baker, Bill Elliott, Jeff Gordon, and Dale Jarrett. This is one time I really hope Murphy stays home.

I hit pit road for 4 fresh tires and 2 cans of fuel. I’m surprised when everyone came down for a pit stop. Even the teams that had come in back on lap 93. The race off pit road was won by Beth and then Sam by half a car length. Halfway through my pit stop Sherry’s air gun jammed. Thank God we keep spares just on the other side of the wall. It still cost my pit crew 2 seconds on the stop. Just enough time for Beth and Sam to clear me.

As we lined up for the restart, I was in third place. With Violet in fourth place. This next stage was going to be a bitch. With Sam and Beth both in front and Violet next to me. There was no way I could just power away pass them. I was going be fighting for the lead. There went my chance at setting the most laps led in a race at Dayton record. I still had a chance to join the Pole Position Winners. As I waited for the green flag to drop on stage 3, I planned my return to the front. It was risky. It wasn’t something that I would do on old tires. It was also something that I had warned a Formula One driver about two years ago.

The pace car turned off its caution lights halfway down the super stretch. As we exited off turn 4 on lap 102 the green flag waved again. As the pack powered down the front straightaway across the tri oval I dropped to the inside of Beth. I took Beth and Sam three wide into turn 1 at full throttle. We hit the turn at over 190mph to the sounds of Metallica’s Metal Gods.

I pushed my car to its limits as I powered way past my sister and Sam. When we exit turn 2 onto the super stretch Sam and Beth lineup on my bumper with Violet right behind Sam. Our 4-car train slowly starts to pull away from the rest of the field. By the time we exit turn 4 we have a 3-car lead on the rest of the field. As we cross the tri oval on the front straightaway our lead is almost 5 car lengths. It didn’t take me long to figure out what was going on. While Beth, Sam, and Violet were pushing me around the track. I was pulling them along behind me.

Over the next 18 laps the race stayed green. At lap 120 I took the green/white checkered flag winning stage 3. I led our little group down pit road. Violet was the first one to hit her pit box. Next was Sam, then Beth. I was the last one to hit their pit box. When I rolled out 13.4 seconds later it was with 4 fresh tires and 2 cans of fuel stuffed into my tank. I led the other three back out onto the track in the order we came in. My race mixed had gone from classical music to hard rock to techno to classical rock. Each song felt right for some reason.

With 39 laps to go I rolled down pit road hopefully for the last time. I had been running the math in my head. I had a plan for winning. I just needed Chief Hailee to confirm my numbers. I keyed my radio. “Chief can we make this last stage on one stop?”

“Forget it Bobbie. We’ve run all the numbers five times. You’ve been pushing the car flat out. You, Beth, and Sam will be six to seven laps short of a full stage. Even with two or three yellow flags with four laps each. You’ll still fall short two to three laps short.”

How could my calculations be off by so much. “Chief are you sure?”

“Trust me Bobbie. The fuel mileage isn’t there. No one is can make it with this as their last stop.” Chief Hailee confirmed my worse fear. “I figure around lap one-forty to one-forty-five we’ll start seeing green flag stops.”

“Then let’s pray for at least five yellow flags. If not, I’ll see you around lap one-forty-five.” I radioed back as we lined up behind the pace car on lap 122. As we entered turn 3 the pace car turned off its lights and dropped down for the entrance to pit road. With 38 laps to go the green flag waved and we were back to racing.

Again, I had Beth, Sam, and Violet riding my ass. Just like the last time we pulled away from the field. For the next 10 laps our 4-car train led the field by 7 ½ car lengths. All that disappeared on lap 137. Kathy was warning me about the wreck before we even cleared the midway point on the super stretch, or the yellow flag came out.

“Brake Bobbie! Four car wreck in turn four! Back of the pack. Stijn Bargboer for Northern Alliance spun out in the middle of turn three. He clipped Mori Unkei from King Night and Nazarova Grigorievna of Red Star during his spin. Taking all three out. Siegmund Kühne for Thunder Valley had the bad luck of plowing into them when he tried to avoid the wreck by going to the outside.”

The pace car quickly pulled out to gather up the field. I began to wonder if I can really pull this off. Of 138 laps I’ve led 127. The pace car leds us around for 2 laps before pit road opens. At lap 140 I led the pack down off the track for our last pit stop. My crew was over the wall and has me heading back out in record time. And I mean a record time 13.94 seconds for 4 tires and 2 cans of fuel. It was another race off pit road.

Only this time it was between Sam and me. Beth’s crew turned in a slightly slower pit stop because of a bad jack. Violet was nowhere to be seen. Kathy told me that her engine stalled out and she had to restart.

I swear Murphy has been playing marry hell with the pit crews today. There had been 6 jammed air guns, 3 jack failures for deferent reasons, 9 dropped lug nuts, and 1 ruptured air hose. Out of 40 pit crews that is a total of 19 equipment failures. Now if I were a suspicious person, I would believe that someone was sabotaging the teams. But this is racing, and shit happens.

I had 20 laps to the checkered flag and 28 drivers still gunning for my ass. As we round turn 4 on lap 142 the green flag waves and were back to racing. I felt Beth hit my rear bumper and start pushing. I know I’ve got the race, but Sam is still glued to my door.

“Bobbie drop the hammer girl. Sam is being pushed by two drivers from Horn Thomas Racing, Ben Baldwin and Ronan Bain. They got the power to drive past you in turn three if you and Beth don’t get out front now.”

Hearing this I do the only thing I can. I drop as low as I can on the track. I take Beth with me. We hit the super stretch finally pulling away from Sam and the two HTR cars. As we pass Sam, he drops down onto Beth’s rear bumper. Over the next 2 laps the three of us pull away from the rest of the field. I don’t let up on the throttle. The next 16 laps we run nose to tail. When we exit turn 4 on lap 159, I spot the white flag signaling the final lap.

We cross the start/finish line and all hell breaks loose. Beth goes low to the inside and Sam went high to the outside. We take turn 1 three wide at full throttle. We exit turn 2 still going three wide and pushing the 200mph mark. We stay three wide down the super stretch. Then as we enter turn 3, I finally pull ahead of them both. But not by much. This is Stockcar racing at its finest. We come off turn 4 heading for the start/finish trading door paint as we cross the line. We’re so close together that I have no freaking idea of who’s won as we pass under the checkered flag.

“Bobbie, the officials want you, Beth, and Sam to hold on the super stretch.”

“Okay, what’s going on Kathy?” I asked.

“They’re trying to figure out who won.”

“What the hell do you mean?” I asked in confusion. “They just need to pull up the video of the finish.”

“Um… Bobbie. They already have. They’re still trying to figure things out.”

After 10 minutes Grégory Van Den Houte Chief Commissioner for the ISA finally announced the winner over the racetrack’s loudspeakers. “Ladies and Gentlemen the winner of the Thunder Rolls four-hundred is Mrs. Roberta McGuire by one-one-thousandth of a second.”

Holy shit I did it. I actually pulled it off. My name will be added to the names of such greats as Gordon, Ellet, Roberts, and Petty. I won a Daytona International Speedway race from the pole. One of only 7 now 8 people to have such a feat. When I didn’t rollout for Victory Lane, Kathy came up on the radio. “Bobbie, you alright? Is there something wrong with the car?”

I had to shack my head. “I’m on the way, Kathy. I just need a moment.”

“Do that later girlfriend. You’ve got a burnout to perform. Then got your second ISA trophy to pick up in Victory Lane.” Kathy chuckled. “That’s two in a row, girlfriend. Where to next?”

I could only give her a hopeful answer. “The record books, Kathy.”

-----tbc-----

Special thanks go to the newest member of my pack for this chapter, Karen Wolf for all of her hard work in both editing and story line dialog.