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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 14
Race day, Brooklands Superspeedway, United Kingdom, Sunday earlier morning.
Pit road

Bobbie stood next her car shaking hands with the fans, signing autographs, smiling for pictures. She may not like some parts of her job at times but meeting with the fans was never one of them. The ones she really loved interacting with was the little girls and boys. They were the ones that always made her want to push her car and herself to the limits. To give them a real show when she was behind the wheel of her car. Some of the teenage boys gave her the creeps at times but she had come to see the signs of a ‘crush’ years ago.

She was surprised at the number of her fans that had followed her over from F-1. There was one group of individuals that had followed her she had no love for. The monkey nuts that host a popular TV show about cars. This was born out last night during an interview with one of them. The man ambushed her and the rest of MRI drivers at diner. If it hadn’t been for Beth’s intervention, Bobbie, Sam, and Jim would have beaten the asshole to a bloody paste.

“Still thinking about the asshole from last night?” Oscar Johnson asked from next to his car. He smiled as a fan stepped next to get his autograph.

“You could say that Oscar. You’ll have to forgive me, but your countryman is a total waste of human flesh. I won’t use him to grease the undercarriage of my tractor.” Bobbie huffed then chuckled as Oscar’s fan held out one of her ballcaps. Bobbie didn’t even think twice as she took it and signed the bill.

“Miss McGuire you’ll have to forgive some of our more obnoxious TV personalities. Especially those nutters over at Top Smear.” The fan said with a chuckle. “Not all of us believe in the idea American cars can’t cut the cheese.”

“Oh, I know that sir. I would also been more than happy to go on their show for an interview. What I have problems with is ambushing a person during a meal. There are just somethings, I don’t care how famous you are, that you don’t do.” Bobbie snarled. “Not even those internet trolls and slugs that call themselves blog reporters in my home nation pull that kind of crap.”

“Really Miss McGuire? You would be willing to sit down for an interview with Jeremy on their show?” Asked the trackside reporter out of nowhere cornering Bobbie.

“Of course. I just hate it when reporters ambush me during a meal.” Bobbie smiled sweetly. When she really wanted to pound the piss out of the man.

“I’ll be happy to setup the interview for you after today’s race.” The reporter offered trying to keep Bobbie boxed in.

“Sorry but I won’t have time. Me and the rest of MRI are due in Rockingham tomorrow morning. This is not like Formula One. We have a much tighter schedule. Especially when you add in all the test runs that we have to work in at each track.” Bobbie counter the reporter who was in her opinion taking up her time with the fans.

“Bloody too right about that mate.” Oscar grunted. “I don’t know how our counterparts in NASCAR do it at times. I mean you have the test runs, then there is the shuffling between track, the constant physical training, nonstop studying of the individual tracks. When you add in all of our sponsorship duties it can get crazy at times.”

“You’re preaching to the choir here Oscar-san. Far too many of our fans only see the time we spend on the track. Especially those in my homeland. It took me and my team members more than a few months to realize we had to train more than just our minds. While Formula One requires a physically fit body it does not place the same stresses on our bodies as Stockcar racing does. The major deference between the sports revolve around the speeds and distances we race. Formula One is like a four-hundred-meter dash verses a marathon. Most Stockcar races last four to five hundred miles over three to four hours.” Kuno Junzo from team Knight Night.

“I noticed that most of the experienced Stockcar drivers are at the back of the field Miss McGuire. Any reason for this? Surely you could have all qualified much higher?” The reported asked shifting his interview to a more race orientated view.

“There is an old bible saying about racing, sir. ‘The race does not always go to the swiftest’. Unlike in Formula One racing taking the pole does not mean you’ll automatically win or lead the race for long. The more experienced Stockcar drivers know this fact. We also know that each track has its own unique properties. This one is a mean nasty backstreet hooker dressed up in a cocktail dress.” Oscar told the reporter bluntly.

“We got a saying about tracks like this in the US, sir.” Jim said as he walked up to join the impromptu interview. “Don’t let the lipstick, mascara, and perfume confuse you. She can go from makeup to a mud-covered bitch in three seconds flat with a switchblade behind her back.”

“I must say. You yanks have some rather colorful descriptions for racetracks.” The reporter said with a grin.

“Why do you think we give our tracks nicknames like Thunder Valley, The Lady in Black, the Big D, The Monster Mile, White Lightning, The Brickyard, The Paperclip, Magic Mile, Diamond in the Dessert, or my favorite the Bermuda Triangle.” Jim told the man with a grin of his own. “Just to name a few of them.”

Beth walked up at that pointed. She had seen the trackside reporter trying to box Bobbie in and had kept an eye, as well as an ear on the interview. “Yeah, Bobbie I got an idea. Next Friday before we start our practice runs. Why don’t you take our friend here out in the NASCAR Experience car for a few laps around Rockingham. You know the one that the NASCAR designers sent over.”

“Sure. I think Chief Hailee can get it setup for me to driver it.” Bobbie said grinning already liking where Beth’s idea was going. Bobbie wasn’t the only one who was sick and tired of this particular reporters attitude towards the new sport.

“If Bobbie-san does not wish to drive him around a few laps on Rockingham. I will do so with pride. I would be more than happy to show him how easy it is to drive fifty to sixty miles at one-ninety plus.” Kuno almost snarled yet he never let the smile slip from his face.

“Um… no thank you ladies and gentlemen. I have a rather strong love for breathing.” The reporter said as he moved down the line of cars and drivers. Once he was gone the drivers all started to laugh.

“By the gods of speed, I have wanted to put that man in his place for the last few months.” Oscar busted out laughing with a full belly laugh.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but he has been pissing me off from day one.” Jim snarled before spitting out a wade of tobacco juice. “Of all the international reporters that guy has been the biggest jack-hole of them all.”

“I have to correct you on that James. That loudmouth little beach-blonde hussy from ESPN is the worse. Her or that goofy former NASCAR driver turned commentator.” Kuno grunted before turning to Beth, Bobbie, Sam, and Jim. “Sorry to disparage your fellow countryman and former driver like that.”

“Forget about it, Kuno-san. You’re not the only one who can’t stand the fuckface. There’s also a few NASCAR drivers who feel the same way. About him and his older brother. Right now, I’m happy we’re not having to deal with drivers like the King, the Intimidator, the Silver Fox, the Outlaw, Smoke, Million Dollar Bill, Rainbow Warrior, or Seven Time.” Bobbie said with a chuckle.

“Um… who are all these people Bobbie?” Oscar asked.

“Let’s just say that those eight drivers are men that scare the crap out of most drivers on a NASCAR track. None of them are to be taken lightly on their worse of days.” Beth answered him bluntly. “If anyone of them were racing in our league shit would change faster than the tracks we race on.”

“How so Beth-san?” Kuno asked her.

“For starters, our chances of winning would drop to almost nil against them. They earned their nicknames for more reasons than one. Those men made changes to our sport in ways that are still being felt.” Jim told the Japanese driver.

“Speaking of the greats. I wonder how the Intimidator would handle this track?” Sam asked as he looked out at the track.

“Who is this Intimidator you are talking about? He sounds like a real nightmare of a driver?” Oscar asked of the MRI drivers.

“Ralph Dale Earnhardt Sr. was an American professional stock car driver and team owner, who raced from seventy-five to oh-one in the former NASCAR Winston Cup Series We just call it the NASCAR Cup Series now. Famous for driving the No. three Chevrolet for Richard Childress Racing. He began his career in seventy-five driving in the World 600. Earnhardt won a total of seventy-six Winston Cup races over the next forty years. Those include four Winston 500s and the nineteen-ninety-eight Daytona 500. He also earned seven Winston Cup championships, a record matched only by Richard Petty and Jimmie Johnson. It was his aggressive driving style that earned him the nicknames ‘The Intimidator’, ‘The Man in Black’, and ‘Ironhead’, while his success at the restrictor plate tracks of Daytona and Talladega Superspeedway also earned him the nickname, ‘Mr. Restrictor Plate’. He is regarded as one of the greatest drivers in NASCAR history. Dale Earnhardt Sr. became a legend in his own lifetime.” Sam answered as he thought about his favorite driver. “The day he died NASCAR lost one of its greatest drivers and most likely its greatest spokesman.”

“Bloody hell! And you yanks drove against such a man?” Seth Fisher asked.

“None of us the chance, Seth. Dale Earnhardt Sr. died in a sudden last-lap crash during the Daytona 500, in oh-one. Jim and Sam have had a chance to race against his son who is no slouch either. Not to mention some of those other drivers mention earlier.” Bobbie told the Australian. “Trust me when I say that all of us here have a long way to go before being able to compete against drivers like them. That includes every driver on MRI.”

“Damn to hear one of the Fury Twins say that makes me wonder just how good NASCAR drivers really are.” Oscar said bluntly. “Do we even have the right to say we’re Stockcar racers or are we just kidding ourselves?”

“Make no mistake in this Oscar. In the last few months, every last driver on this track has earned their right to call themselves a Stockcar racer.” Sam snarled. “Both Jim and me, have faced some of the best Stockcar drivers there are on the track. The only reason Bobbie and Beth are better than us is because of their natural skills. If they hadn’t gone into Formula One first. They would have had contracts with any of the big NASCAR teams back home.”

“More than just the Monster Energy crowd, but X-finity, and the Gander Truck series as well. Not to mention all the other Autosport leagues as well.” Jim told them all then turn his head to spit out another wade of tobacco juice.

“Damn it, Jim! Will you please quite that disgusting habit on pit road?” Beth snarled then sighed as Bobbie spat out her our wade of juice. “Gods! You’re no better than the rest of the damn rednecks back home.”

“The bad part is I’m your sister.” Bobbie smirked.

“Trust me.” Beth sighed as the other drivers and few fans chuckled. “I know.”

“Bobbie, can you come over here for a minute?” One of the ISA coordinators asked from by the pit road wall.

“Excuse me guys. I think I’m about to get my ass chewed for something again.” Bobbie said with a heavy sigh as she trudged towards the coordinator. It wasn’t until she was ten feet away that Bobbie noticed the teenage boy in the wheelchair next to her. “You needed something, Miss McGrath?”

“Bobbie, I would like for you to meet Maxwell Sutton. Max this is Roberta McGuire.” McGrath said with a pleasant smile.

“Nice to meet you Max. Is this your first time at a live Stockcar race?” Bobbie asked him as she took a seat on the pit wall. She remembered how she felt during her time in a wheelchair and people were always bending over her. Bobbie took in the white pallor of the boy. The lack of hair. Thin arms and legs. All signs of second or third stage chemotherapy.

“I’ve watched a lot of racing while in hospital.” The boy said with smile that belied his illness. “It wasn’t until I started watching the ISA league that I really got into the whole racing fan thing.”

“Trust me. I know what you mean. I hated being stuck in a damned sickbed. If it hadn’t been for one of the nurses on my floor. I would have gone nuts.” Bobbie said with a real smile of friendship on her face.

“What do you mean sickbed?” Max asked her warily.

“What Miss McGrath didn’t tell you that I’m a cancer survivor?” Bobbie asked with chuckle. While it was common knowledge that she was a survivor. It wasn’t ever talked about in her interviews and always glossed over in her public bio. It wasn’t considered ‘bad form’ to talk about a person’s illness as far as the press was concerned when it comes to famous personalities. “Trust me, Max. Those stories about me spending half of my teenage years in a cancer ward are true.”

“Wow! And you’re a professional racecar driver now?” Max asked in wonder.

“Yup, sure am. I busted my ass to get out here racing. One of my best friends was a major fan of Formula One also.” Bobbie then told him honestly. “Lisa didn’t make it. She had a third and final relapse. I won Silverstone just for her. I had to bust my ass to beat my sister over there. Don’t let her good looks fool you. She is a mean nasty bitch behind the wheel. It doesn’t matter who she is racing she’ll never let you get away from her. There is a reason we call her the Ice Queen Fury. She’ll gnaw on your rear bumper until you make a mistake. Then she’ll drive right by you without even a second thought.”

“Wow! I would love to meet her.” Max said excitedly. It was just the opening Bobbie needed to give the sick child a real dream come true.

“BETH! SAM! JIM! Get your backsides over here. I got someone I want you to meet.” Then looking at the rest of the drivers Bobbie grinned even wider. “Bring the rest of those mugs with you!”

The gather drivers all shrugged their shoulders when the MRI drivers broke out in smiles. Beth turned to the other five drivers that had gather around Bobbie’s car. “Come on people. Time to see what truly drives my sister.”

As they approached Bobbie stood up smiling. “Max I would like for you to meet some of the best drivers in the ISA. Starting off on the far right we have the rest of my team. Beth McGuire-Towers, Sam Hurley, and James or as we call him Jim Fields. Next up from team Reynolds Racing, are the jokers in the crowd George Baker and Oscar Johnson. Those two ugly mugs over there in back is team King Night’s, Hitarashi Sukejuro, and Kuno Junzo. Now these lovely ladies up front are Rokossovsky Aleskeevich from team Red Star and Alexa Peters from Horn Thomas.”

Max chuckled at the insulting descriptions for the men and laughed at the way Bobbie had the women blushing. Each one of the drivers held out a signed ballcap for the young boy. It wasn’t long before Max had every driver on pit road coming by and dropping off a signed ballcap. Bobbie just faded away into the background letting the other drivers show the kid a good time. More than a few of them want to take Max out for a few laps around the track in the specially built NASCAR Experience car. If not for the IV in Max’s arm it would have happened.

Back at her car signing autographs Bobbie just smiled as Max had the time of his young life. Bobbie got Chief Hailee to setup a spot for Max on top of his pit box. As the last of the fans were called away Bobbie stepped back over to the pit wall. “Miss McGrath will you please take Max over to my pit box? I believe that my Chief has something important to show Max.”

“Really Miss McGuire, you have already done enough.” McGrath whispered.

“Trust me just do it.” Bobbie said with a smile. Then leaned in close to the woman. “This is nothing. When it comes to kids like Max, I go the extra mile.”

With that Bobbie turned and returned to her car. Beth watched the whole exchange. She wasn’t alone. Jim and Sam both had seen the interaction. As they all signed their last autographs the drivers around them asked what Bobbie had done. It was left up to Beth to explain.

“I know that most of you guys have heard the story about my sister being a cancer survivor. What most people don’t know is how close she came to dying during her last round of chemo. When she gets out there on the track and starts to drive. She is no longer racing us. She’s trying to out race the Devil’s Bounty Hunter. Most people just call him Death. Something Bobbie became all too familiar with before she turned sixteen.” Beth turned to sadly look over at her younger sister. “She’ll never say this outload. She’ll never talk about it in front of public ears. When it comes to kids like Max over there. Then she’ll take her car beyond its limits. She is about to turn that car of hers into a three-thousand-pound sledgehammer. Do yourselves a favor. Don’t get in her way.”

“Why do you say that Beth-san?” Kuno asked her quickly.

“Because every time there is a child suffering from cancer in the crowd. Bobbie becomes the very personification of speed. The personal envoy of Mercury and Hermes. The messengers of the gods all find themselves wondering at her control. The Ghostrider, Hell’s Black Dog, the Devil’s Bounty Hunter all turn down contracts concerning her when she drives in front of sick kids. She becomes a force of nature that only few can compete against.” Beth told them all as she watched Bobbie getting into the headspace she would need for racing. “Ladies and gentlemen this race just became very personal for my kid sister.”

The sounds of a trumpet sounded signaling for the driver to enter their cars and the fans to leave the pit road. Beth was slightly surprised to see her father instead of Chief Marks come out to help her into the car. She could tell by the look in her father’s eyes that he was worried about something. And it concerned her kid sister. Looking down the line at Bobbie’s car Beth saw her mother there to help her sister strap into her car.

“Tell me something Beth. How do you see this race shacking out now?” Her dad asked.

“Now that Bobbie knows she’s racing in front of a fellow cancer patient all bets are off. The first half may go down the way she briefed us during our team bitch session this morning. After that she’ll take the lead and never look back. That is unless there is a major wreck in the first two-hundred and fifty miles. If that happens it’ll be all I can do to keep up with her. The rest of the field can just kiss her ass goodbye and stay the fuck out of her way.” Beth told her dad as she pulled on her gloves and stopped just before pulling on her helmet. “Dad it’s in her eyes. Bobbie is going to run the edge no matter what today.”

“Don’t worry sweet-pea. Your mother saw it and is having a talk with her. We know how the first half is going to go down anyway. Those clowns over at Les Ailes de Justice and Prototype Outcasts made the mistake of going for the top eight pole positions. The second that green flag drops everyone from nineth on back are going to split them. For the first eight rows were are going to end up three wide. The last eight rows will be two wide. Perfect for draft racing.” Bob told her as he raised her window netting after slapping her helmet. “Run your race kiddo.”

“Yes, sir.” Beth answered as she waited for the call to start engines.

Bobbie’s car

I was surprised when mom showed up to help me into my car. Normally she stays in the team pit box area. “What’s up mom?”

“You tell me, Speedy?” Mom asked with a little worry in her voice.

“Don’t worry mom. I got this. My head is in the game.” I told her as I inserted my earbuds. “I know what is at stake here. I also know that one mistake can led to an early grave. This race is going to be nasty once we pass the first stage. The problems will start popping up around lap fifty-five to sixty. If we stick to our fuel and tire management strategy the race is ours.”

“Bobbie just how sure are you of this strategy?” Mom asked me.

“Enough to place a month’s pay on the outcome. Why?” I asked her as I stop halfway into the car. There was something in her voice that had my undivided attention.

“Les Ailes de Justice and Prototype Outcasts are going to do everything in their power to block the rest of the field. How sure are you of them getting boxed in the first ten laps?” Mom asked me.

“They made a mistake last night mom. Both teams got to running their mouths the drunker they got. They went and pissed off the other seven teams. Trust me mom.” I said as I looked up and down the rest of the field. I couldn’t help and started to chuckle. “There are way too many egos around here to let something like that stand.”

Mom quickly joined me as she handed my helmet before tightening down my straps. She patted my helmet gave me a thumbs up and raised the netting. I reached up and started my playlist. I knew that I had to get my head in the game for the race. The only thing that I hated about the pit road track walk was it cut into my time before the race for this. I let my mind fall away as the opening sounds of Jimmy Buffett’s Southern Cross fill my ears and mind.

As the song ended, I heard those four words in racing ring out across the stands. “DRIVERS! START! YOUR! ENGINES!”

I flip the two battery switches and smash down on the starter button. The roar of the V-8 demon of speed and fury fills my cockpit. I reach over and grab the shifter smiling behind my helmet. As I shift into first gear, I know that today is going to be a real challenge. As it is, I’m starting off on the inside of row thirteen. Pole position 27th with Sam on the outside in 28th. Jim and Beth are right behind us. With the rest of the field made of nothing but Stockcar drivers. All the F-one and another drivers are in front of us. Sixteen of the world’s best drivers. All facing 450mls of deceptive concrete track.

As we roll out onto the track, I already feel the change from yesterday during practice and qualifying. Thanks to last night’s track cleaning, better known as rain, the track is greener than new grass. I key my mike before we even run the first warmup lap. “Kathy pass the word. Change in pit stop order.”

“What’s up Bobbie?”

“The track has gotten greener than we expected. She’s going to be eating tires left and right for the first twenty laps. We can also throw out our fuel strategy for the first half of the race. Between the wear on our tires and the increase in traction it will kill our performance big time.” I told her as we rounded turn 2 for the second warmup lap. Beth must have spotted the change as well.

“She’s right Kathy. We got whole new ballgame on our hands.” Beth called out over the team radio net. “We’re going to be chasing the handling of our cars all day.”

“You can beat your backside on that. My rear end is already sliding out on me.” Sam bitched as we rounded turn 3.

“All of you knock it off! Get your damned heads in the game! You got one more warmup lap before we go racing.” Chief Hailee yelled over the radio at us.

We all did as ordered and got our heads in the game. I let my music fill me with each lap. When the green flag flew over the start/finish line I smiled. The opening guitar riffs followed by the hammering beat of drums of Metallica’s signature song Enter Sandman blasted out of my earbuds.

I don’t know what the hell happened but everyone from the third row going back had to checkup. It didn’t take long though before the reason showed itself as I thundered pass the Peugeot 508. Thanks to the paint job I knew it belonged to Gerino Rosetta. I could also tell the reason for his sudden drop to the rear of the pack. The man had blown his engine on the start. The damned fool overrevved his engine then when he shifted gears everything let go at once.

“Bobbie they’re going to throw the yellow once everyone is clear. They’re keeping pit road close for now.” Kathy called over the radio. “Bobbie with the acceptation of Rosetta the field hasn’t changed.”

“I figured as much. I knew that it would take more than a few laps before the rest of the field started to shack out the way I expected.” I told her honestly.

We took four more laps around the track before the green flag dropped again. I wanted to be proud of how I predicted the shakeout of the field. Yet for some reason I just couldn’t. Even as the sounds of AC/DC’s Demon Fire blared in my earbuds. Not even the driving guitar riffs of Angus Young and Stevie Young, can calm me. The pounding beats of Phil Rudd’s drums or Cliff Williams driving bass guitar, hold nothing but excitement for me today. Brian Johnson’s howling vocals once brought me comfort today bring me nothing. As the green flag drops the field takes off. It doesn’t take long though before Les Ailes de Justice and Prototype Outcasts are boxed in. Just like I said they would be. I grin as the two outside lines shuffle the teams to the back of the field.

When the competition yellow came out on lap 25, I followed everyone else onto pit road. I had already called for 4 tires, and 2 cans of fuel with a tearaway. My guys came over the wall the second I came to a stop in my pit, 14.24 seconds later I was down and gone. As I rolled off pit road, I found myself in a race with Mori Unkei. I’m not really surprised the gal can fucking drive. As we pulled onto the track, I notice that I actually pulled into the number 12 spot. That was one massive leap.

“DAMN GOOD STOP GUYS! From twenty-seven to twelfth. That is fifteen positions. One of your best stops ever!” I called out over the radio.

“Bobbie listen up! We had to drop the pressure in your right-side tires by three pounds to easy up on the wear and tear. It should also give you another three to four laps on your fuel mileage.” Chief Hailee told me as we rounded turn 2 before the restart. Yet there was something in his voice.

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

“It’s the tires we took off your left side Bobbie. To be exact the left rear. If you start to hear anything from the rear or start to smell something get off the throttle. We got a weird wear pattern showing already.” Hailee said.

“How weird?” I asked him as we entered turn 4.

“Enough to worry me.” He answered honestly. Which was enough of an answer for me.

“Copy that.” I answered back as the green flag dropped restarting the race. I shifted from 3rd to 4th and never looked back. The sounds of Nickback’s Burn it to the Ground pounded through my earbuds. I let my mind go. I let the nagging fear fall away as I dove for the inside of turns 1 and 2. I drove passed the 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, and 11th, positions before they realized I was even there. I could feel Beth, Jim, and Sam snapping at my rear bumper as I powered out of turn 2 down the back straightaway. I knew they were there. They had to be. They were the only ones crazy enough to run the draft with me on a track like this.

“Bobbie just a heads up. Beth, Jim and Sam have formed a train on your ass.” Kathy warned me as we powered down the straightaway. Only when we reached turn 3 Kathy called out. “GO LOW AND STAY THERE! HUG THE DAMNED YELLOW LINE!”

I didn’t even think twice about what Kathy want me to do. I went low to the inside as close to the apron as I could get and stayed there. I hugged that yellow warning line all the way around. To my surprise the three cars in front of me pulled up towards the outside of the track along with the outer line of cars. We were going three wide into turn 4 at full throttle. I don’t know what our speed is, but I have a feeling it is well over 200mph. We come of the exit onto the front straightaway like that. The field powered down the front straightaway three-wide and no one was letting up on the throttle.

The V-8 demons chained under our hoods howled with an uncontrollable rage at being tamed by us mere mortals. Nothing was going to hold them back with the exception of the drivers. We were the ones in control. I should say we were the ones with the illusion of control. Like my t-shirt at home says. ‘If everything seems under control, you’re not going fast enough.’ We hit the entrance to turn 1 when the inside lane wavers for the first time.

I slide upward taking my line with me. The car in outside line slides downward bringing his line with him. Between the two of us we force the middle line of cars to checkup and fall back. One that has a ripple effect throughout the field. It is not long before the last 8 rows are the only ones running three wide. The next 4 rows a double file while the last 8 cars are running single file. With me in 3rd place and the rest of MRI going back from there to 6th place.

For the next 23 laps we run like that when the green/white checkered comes out for the stage win on lap 50. As we were rounding turn 2 onto the back straightaway Chief Hailee calls out over the radio. “Bobbie how is the handling holding out?”

“Keep everything the way it is Chief. Just give me four fresh tires, two cans of fuel, and a clear tearaway. That and the fastest pit time on record.” I said.

I was surprised to see that Siegmund Kühne took the stage win for Thunder Valley while Violet Knight took second place for Horn Thomas. As I pulled to a stop in my pit box my crew was over the wall once more like the pros they were. I felt my car’s right-side bounce into the air, as the air guns screamed. When they rounded to the left-side, I knew that they were going to turn a record time again. I don’t know what he said to them, but they were cranking out the speed. That or he slipped them something extra in their water bottles. Not that I would condone such a thing.

When Danny dropped the jack on the right side I took off. It was a drag race off pit road. As the guys from Les Ailes de Justice and Prototype Outcasts were just getting their left side tires, I was clearing the exit to pit road. Right behind Siegmund Kühne. I went up one position in the poles. Not a lot but enough to challenge for the lead. With the rest of MRI behind me and the draft we had this next stage won. It didn’t matter what happened. Unless there was a major wreck, we had this stage. All we need is for this stage to go green all the way.

We rounded turn 4 on lap 52 headed for the front straightaway and the restart of the race when I saw it. High up on the outside of the straightaway just before the start/finish. “Kathy get the track cleaners out. There is a massive chunk of rubber up against the outer wall.”

“They already heard about it, Bobbie. They’ll be holding the restart for two more laps. Stay away from that thing Bobbie. It’s not rubber. It’s a piece of break pad. It came off one of the Les Ailes de Justice, cars.” Kathy told me.

“Who lost the pad?” I asked her.

“Christen Dior, she’s the only one still on pit road. The officials are giving her until the flag drops to get back on the track. If she can’t they’re pulling her.”

“Damn it looks our friends over at Les Ailes de Justice are having a bad day.” I chuckled as we round turn 2. “How is the rest of the field shaking out?”

“About the way you guessed with one or two exceptions. All of the Stockcar drivers have worked their way up to the front half of the pack. Only Nathan Watson and Oscar Johnson are still deep in the pack. I don’t expect that to remain that way for long though. They’re both middle race drivers. They’ll start to working their way up through in about fifteen to twenty laps. I figure by the time we start our first round of green flag pit stops. They’ll be right there with us.”

We finished the two extra laps for the restart I knew that it was time to turn up the heat. As we crossed the start/finish line, and the green flag dropped the sounds of Sabaton’s Bismarck howled in my ears. I grabbed the shifter and pushed in the clutch. I was in 4th gear and going for broke on the outside. Siegmund Kühne may have had the inside but I had something going for me on the outside. Thanks to the rain last night the normal buildup that should be there was half of what it would have been today. Hell, it wasn’t even a quarter.

One of the things I had learned about this track was the fastest way around. Wasn’t on the inside but on the outside. It didn’t take long before the rest of MRI lined up behind me. Jim was right on my ass, followed by Sam, then Beth. As I came down onto the back straightaway, I felt something at the back of my head. It was a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time. The last time I felt this way as two years ago at Silverstone. Then it hit me there was an unfamiliar voice on the radio. It was the voice of a young boy cheering me and the others to push our cars to the limits. At first, I thought it was Lisa then remembered that she was watching with the Angels looking down at us poor dumb asses.

I keyed my privet radio channel for Kathy. “Looks like Max is having one hell of a fun time. Who suggested the headset?”

“Your dad.” Kathy turned soft with her voice. “You did a really good thing here today Bobbie. Did you know that his visit was for the Make a Wish foundation?”

“Saw the signs, Kathy. That is something that never leaves the back of your head when you’ve survived it.” I told her as I powered around turns 3 and 4 heading for the front straightaway. I lived with the fear of death for longer than any kid should. I remember the endless trips to the bathroom to empty my stomach. The endless days of staring at blank hospital walls. The painfilled days and nights fallowing a surgery. All of the shit that came with being a survivor of cancer. As I powered down the track headed for turn 1 those memories fueled my resolve. This race wasn’t for me. It was for Max.

Kathy must have picked up on my thoughts. “Stay high on the turns Bobbie. It’s the fastest way around the track right now.”

I started to open up the throttle when she called back. “Hold back on your throttle for another twenty laps Bobbie. Save the meat for the last stage.”

On lap 79 I lead MRI down pit road for our green flag pit stops. I called for 4 tires, 2 cans of fuel, and a tearaway again. Again, our crews turned in record pit stops, all four just over 14 seconds. We down and gone before the first of the other teams started filing in. It took a few laps before everyone had filed through for their pit stops. From there on the race remained green. I was beginning to wonder if this track was going to live up to its possible nickname. On lap 100 I crossed the start/finish line taking the stage 2 win.

Once again, the pit crews were flying over the walls. Pit road was organized chaos. A ballet of graceful insanity consisting of 6 highly trained individuals. Each with their own piece of skin in the race. There’s the Jackman, Fueler, Front Tire Changer, Front Tire Changer, Rear Tire Carrier, and Front Tire Carrier. There is a saying used in NASCAR. ‘Races are won or lost in the pits.’ A driver may be the dipshit hanging it all out on the track, but it is the dedication of these 6 team members that can make or break a Stockcar driver. The only two other members that have more of an impact are the Crew Chief and the Spotter for the driver. Kathy has been with me from the start and is one of the best. With only her mom being better.

I roll off pit road with Beth, Sam, and Jim right on my bumper. As we line up, I let Beth have the inside lane. I know that I’ll only have the advantage for one maybe two laps. I need to get out in front and stay there. The green flag drops and we go back to racing as Judas Priest’s Hell Patrol blare in my ears.

For the next 3 laps I let that song take me away. With that song I drag the rest of MRI around with me. I leave nothing off the track. I pull on every ounce of rat racer still deep in my soul. I call on the blood of moonshiners and rumrunners turned Stockcar racers. The outlaws of my sport’s roots. When the next song comes, I couldn’t have been in a better mindset. I couldn’t have asked for a better song as Steve Earl’s Copperhead road blasts away.

Only a few drivers out here would understand the true meaning behind these words. These were the men who gave birth to sport that would sweep a nation. It spoke to the very heart of Stockcar racing. How a bunch of rowdy moonshine runners defying the law lead to the birth of legends. It also talk of the price those early drivers paid for giving birth to my sport.

We’d had a total of 8 yellow flags throughout the race. Four of them for blown tires. One for running out of fuel just before a pit stop. Two last blown engines one on the back straightaway and the real surprise was the car in turn 3. The reason for the surprise was the team the car was part of. Team Thunder Valley had the most solid build cars behind ours. The last one was for a car spinning out in turn 1. Still, they were able to recover. Then again Murphy likes to play with Fate’s dice.

On lap 125 we came down for our last green flag stop. When we rolled off pit road, we were lined up the way we came of the track. Once everyone had cycled through it was lap 128. That is when Beth pulled in behind me and started pushing. I felt it when Jim started pushing her. When Sam joined in the freight train, I felt the draft take hold. We were gone, with a lead that resembled what we had at Daytona.

“Speedy I need you to hold something back for me kiddo.” Chief Hailee called out over the radio as we rounded turn 4 on lap 129.

“Chief I got at least another full quarter of the throttle to go yet. I got a feeling that Beth, Jim, and Sam have that much if not more.” I radioed back.

“BULLSHIT!” Chief Hailee called back. “You have to that pedal buried.”

“Nowhere near it Chief.” I called back not thinking about our speeds.

“OH SHIT! YOU’RE RUNNING WITHOUT RESTRICTOR PLATES!” Chief Marks called over the team net explaining the problem.

“What does that mean?” Jim asked.

“YOUR SPEEDS KIDS! YOU’RE TOPPING TWO-THIRTY-SIX ON THE STRAIGHTAWAYS AND TWO-THIRTY-FOUR IN THE TURNS!” Marks called out the insane speeds we were putting down.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Chief Marks and Hailee were two of the best. If they were said we were doing 236mph on the straightaways and 234mph in the turns. Then that was what we were doing. Now I was really worried. The big one had happened yet, and we still had another 31 laps to go. More than 93 miles of the unknown.

On lap 137 it finally happened. I barely heard Kathy’s warning in time to react. We coming of the exit to the back straightaway when she screamed. “GO! HIGH! NOW! LOW! BACK UP TOP! FLOOR IT!”

I weaved my way through a cloud of inky white smoke and flying pieces of rubber. The screams of tearing and crumpling metal sounded all around me. As I cleared the smoke, I could still hear the sounds of dying cars behind me. The yellow flag came out before I crossed the start/finish line. I knew it was bad when I entered turn 1 and they red flag was out. “Bobbie, they want you to roll to a stop at the entrance to turn three and shut it down. They’ll send out the pace car once pit road is cleaned up and the wreckage is cleared away.”

“Shit! Were any of the pit crew members were hurt?” I asked in a panic.

“That is the good news. Everyone is walking away unscratched. The bad news is the last six pit-boxes along with most of their tools have been severely damaged. They’re going to need their backups if they want to finish the race.” Kathy said.

“Wow! That is bad. Any word about how the drivers are, yet?” I asked.

“All drivers are out and walking around. Though a few of them are kind of pissed off. Yup there goes another helmet! Damn! If I didn’t know that we were in England I could swear I watching the Bristol stomp out there.” Kathy chuckled. “Yup there go the short track tempers. Fists are flying over at the entrance to pit road.”

“Oh shit. Who’s getting into it?” I asked her.

“Koychev Fyodorovich and Abdulov Germanovich for Red Star on one side. On the other Caleb McLean and Joseph Lachman for Bisbee Snider. Damn those Russians sure can fight dirty. Ouch that is going to leave a mark. Caleb just clocked Koychev across the mouth with solid right cross.” Kathy said with real laughter. “Oh damn. They’re sending out ISA Officials to break the fight up. You know this is going to be the replay button favorite of the week.”

“So long as no drivers were hurt, and the ISA officials don’t get the shit beat out of them from breaking up the fight. I’m happy to let people rewind all they want.” I told her honestly. Then chuckled. “Though there are a few of those chuckle nuts I wouldn’t mind seeing them get the shit pounded out of them.”

“Okay they got the hotheads under control. Looks like this will be a short red flag. The good thing is most of the debris is in turn four. Yup the officials are already pulling all damaged cars off the track and pit road. Looks like out of the thirty-three drivers before the wreck when we return to racing, we’re down to twenty-one drivers. Of the twelve wrecked cars only one isn’t headed for the scrapyard or recyclers. Even that one is only good for spare parts.” Kathy chuckled.

“Talk about an uproar at the Circus Maximus.” I laughed.

“Bobbie we’re going to back to racing. Fire up your engine.” I did as I was told.

It didn’t take long before we were rolling once more around the track. As we rounded turn 4 on lap 141, I wondered if they were going to open pit road. If the ISA officials kept it closed the better off for us. I knew that we had the fuel to go the distance as if was now. So, long as we remained green for the rest of the race. One yellow flag will stretch things. One Green/White/Checker beyond that and all bets are off. One of us is going to need fuel.

“Bobbie they’re opening pit road for a final stop. Get in there girl.” Kathy ordered me. I didn’t want to but followed her orders. There must have been something about the track that she saw that I didn’t for me to give up track position for fuel. My crew gave me two fresh tires on the right side and a can of fuel. On lap 144 the green flag dropped, and I dropped the hammer.

The next three laps were side-by-side racing then it happened. Two cars halfway back in the field spun out on the front straightaway collecting a few others with them. We were back under yellow. Then came the word we were going into to over time. Green/white/checker race to the finish. “What the hell Kathy?”

“Oil slick across the track. Listen Bobbie. If you got a special song you have been holding onto now it the time to use it. This is going to be a run for the money and Beth isn’t going to let you go. Other than that Bobbie, all I can say is good luck.”

“And God’s speed.” I finished for her. I slipped my hand inside my leathers’ top breast left pocket. I thumbed through my list until I came to the song I wanted. I hit the delay button then slipped it back into my pocket. We rounded turn 3 on lap 149 and the green flag flew in the air. I hit the play button through my leathers and grabbed the shifter. I was jamming gears before the first drumroll of Sammy Haggar’s I can’t drive 55 filled my ears.

I could hear Kathy laughing her ass off as I powered past Beth and Jim. I was dragging Sam behind me. The two of us dropped own in front of Beth going to the inside of the track in turn 1. We came out of the exit onto the back straightaway and I heard more than just Kathy’s laughter. Mom must have turned Max’s headset to the one I share with Kathy. That was all I need to hear. I shoved the throttle to the floor. Damned everything else I want this win for him.

We rounded turn 4 and the white flag was in the air. One lap to go and my lead was increasing. As I entered turn 1 for the final lap, I had a 6-car lead on the rest of the field. I looked down at my gages and began to worry. “Come on baby just three more turns. Hold it together, girl. Please just a little longer baby.”

I hit my marks one after another. With each one I felt as if Lisa was sitting next to me as we rounded turns 3 and 4, I knew the race was over. I also knew that I had just set a record at this track. A record that would stand for a long time to come. One that I could be proud of. As I pass under the waving black and white checker flag, I can’t help myself. “You’re still looking over my shoulder, Lisa.”

-----tbc-----