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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 18
Texas Motor Speedway, Texas, USA
Long Horn Sizzling 450; 12:00 Sunday

Like everyone else from the good old USA I was happy as hell to back home the States. Even if it was in Fort Worth, Texas. I would rather be back home in Darlington. Still, it was nice to be home. Kelly flew in with the kids on Wednesday. I was surprised to meet our nanny. I had expected some 50 something old bat. Not the 25-year-old Clemson College student with blonde hair and green eyes that was Julie’s niece. Sue was bright, charming, and good looking. Kelly, the twins, and Sue really brightened my month.

The biggest reason most of the US drivers were happy to be home was the race in Paris. The Charles de Gaulle 450 was a total nightmare. One-hundred-eighty laps of nonstop white-knuckle driving over 2.5 miles of the worse laid asphalt in the history of mankind. Not even the roads in Cincinnati were as bad as that track. It eat tires, developed potholes near the edges, the infield was a soggy mess of ankle-deep grass. The pit road was so damned narrow that the crews had to keep one eye over their shoulders just to do their jobs.

Luckily, none of our pit crew members were hurt but there was more than a few close calls. The jack man for Ben Baldwin of Horn Thomas wasn’t so lucky. He got clipped by Jules Grinda of Les Ailes de Justice and was taken to the hospital with a broken leg. I have to give Jules this much. The man is a real gentleman. He climbed out of his car and ran back to check on Ben’s jack man. Jules took the disqualification with grace and dignity. Jules even offered to paid the jack man’s hospital bill. That wasn’t the only accident.

Out of one-hundred-eighty laps we ran forty of those under caution thanks to blown tires, and drivers hitting the potholes on the inside edge of the track apron. The potholes didn’t starting showing up until around lap eighty. When the first pothole appeared, no one saw it until it was too late. That wreck took three cars out of the race. By the end of the race no one was running near the inside track apron and a full third of the cars were either off the track in the garage or headed for the scrapyard from wrecks. There wasn’t one car without a bent right front fender.

Those bent finders led to more than one colorful exchange of words fallowed by the ever-popular serving of knuckle wrapped croissants with espresso a la ass kicking. Not all of those fights happened on the infield of the track between drivers. More than a few of them went down between the pit crews on pit road. The worse fight was between the pit crews for Violet Knight and Alexa Peters. If it hadn’t been for Sam and Jim’s crews that fight won’t have been broken up. As it was more than a few black eyes, bloody noses, and fat lips were handed out.

“Thinking about Paris, honey?” Kelly asked as she stepped out the bedroom of the tour bus. Before I could say something, she place her finger to her lips. The simple reminder that the babies were napping brought a smile to my face. “Isn’t it about time for you to head out for the pit walk?”

“I got a few more minutes, Kelly.” I yawned then stretched as I stood up. “I was kind of hoping to miss the walk today.”

“You know better than that, Roberta.” Kelly scolded me. Then tapped me on the nose. “Just think about the fans. Besides what could be so bad that you would want to miss the pit walk?”

“Skye Day.” Was all I had to say. Kelly’s sunny smile disappeared to be replaced with barely controlled rage.

“They still haven’t fired that bitch!” Kelly snarled. “What does she have to fucking do before the network gets rid of her? Rape someone.”

“From what I understand you’re not the only ones pissed at the woman.” Sue chuckled from the dinette table. “I don’t think there isn’t one driver on the circuit she hasn’t pissed off at one time or the other.”

“Sue, if the ISA were to hold a raffle among the drivers with her as the grand prize. The ISA would lose money.” Kelly chuckled. “That bubbleheaded sable haired skank has broken more than a few journalistic ethics in her pursuit for a headline.”

“That’s a fucking understate of the god damned century. Last year I caught the bitch sneaking into my car hauler. She was trying to get pictures of my car’s power plant. If Chief Hailee and Marks hadn’t stopped me. The bitch would have had a torque wrench sticking out of her forehead.” I snarled.

“Wait a minute here boss lady. Are you saying Skye Day actually broke into a car hauler and still has her damned job?” Sue asked us both in disbelief.

“That is just one of the stunts she’s pulled in the last few years. Skye Day has jumped a cross so many lines that her nickname is hopscotch. We can even begin to count the number of times that woman has been caught in off limits areas.” Kelly grumbled. “Sadly, she’s not the only reporter and commentator that we know who has pushed the bounds of common decency.”

“I swear if I didn’t know better. That bitch fuck her station owner to get her position.” I grumbled then had to explain my comment for Sue. “Skye is the second biggest out lesbian on TV. Only Ellen DeGeneres is any bigger.”

“I get it now. Seeing as you’re the only ‘out’ lesbians in professional racing she believes that she should unlimited access to your personal life.” Sue sighed and shook her head. “I knew of a few journalism students like that back in school. A lot of what the Journalism Professor taught them was about pushing the limits to get their story. Doing whatever it takes. No matter who gets hurt. Even if it means fucking the boss to get the promotion.”

“Exactly. Skye puts on this nice bright sunshiny front for all the world to see. When the truth is she is the biggest rattlesnake in the viper pit known as the media press corps.” Kelly snarled. “When I had the twins, the rest of the press corps stayed the hell away. Not that bitch. If it hadn’t been for Amy Stow and the Pink Porsche Posse that bitch would have been taking pictures of our babies and posting them on station’s website.”

“Who and what are the Pink Porsche Posse?” Sue asked trying not to laugh.

“You remember those eight pink sports cars saw you outside Billy’s Big Barn?” Kelly asked Sue with a grin as I cringed at the mention of those 8 sins against the natural order of the universe. I mean how could any sane individual paint a 1984 through 1989, 911 3.2 Carrera, neon pink with metal flake underlayment. “You know ones that you said were cute looking.”

“OH! You meant those cars. Are they some model of Porsche?” Sue asked smiling. “They were awfully cute. I mean I could see me behind the wheel of one. In a few years. As it is they look expensive.”

“Kelly when you get Sue home. You will spend time EDUCATING our nanny in the finer points of Darlington Car Culture.” I breathed out between clenched teeth. “You said you gave her a thorough interview, Kelly. How could miss such a glaring discrepancy in her education?”

Sue’s face turned white as I asked this of Kelly. She must have thought I was going to fire her. “But darling she came with such impeccable references. I would never have believed that her aunt would have sent us such an underqualified nanny. I am so sorry dear. Don’t worry I’ll correct the problem once we get home.”

“Am I getting fired?” Sue asked us with real fear in her voice.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer and started to laugh. Kelly just smiled as she chuckled. “Oh man. You are just too cute for your own good, Sue. No, you’re not being fired. My lovely wife is just being her usual pain in the ass self.”

“Okay what am I missing?” Sue asked with real confusion.

“I’ll explain once I’ve gotten Bobbie out the door.” Kelly told her with a smile. “Though you can expect to have homework.”

“On what?” Sue asked in true confusion.

“Classic Cars and the culture that surrounds them.” I called back over my shoulder as Kelly shoved me out the door to my bus. To Kelly I grumbled. “I’m going already.”

“Just get your ass out there already.” Kelly said with a firm push. “And no, I’m not joining you this time. If I see that bitch, I might gut her.”

I just chuckled as the door to the tour bus closed behind me. As I walked through the infield towards pit road, I signed a few autographs for the fans that had HOT passes. I smile as two teenage girls ran up to me and asked to take a selfie. After they moved on, I was approached by another group of teenage girls. Only these young ladies were all wearing school uniforms. After I signed their autograph books and ballcaps their teacher took a group photo for the girls. As I moved on from them, I was surprised that an all-girls privet school from South Carolina would bring their students to a professional Stockcar race in Texas.

As I joined the other drivers behind the grandstand used for driver introductions Beth, Sam and Jim walked up smiling. Beth was the first to say anything. “I saw that you gave the students from Akin Equestrian Girls Schools a personal interview. They’re a rather unique group of young ladies.”

“You can say that again. They caught me and Jim outside our garages.” Sam chuckled. “For a bunch of privet school princesses, they sure don’t act like it.”

“I think it might have something to do with those tracking anklets.” Beth smirked. “I got a feeling that there is more to their story than their teacher or they were willing to let on.”

“Not our circus, not our monkeys, guys. As far as we’re concerned. Those kids are here to see a race and meet a few of the drivers.” I told the three of them. “We need to get our heads in the game. This may not be our home track, but the locals are looking for us to bring home a win. Especially after last weekend’s screwball showing in Paris. I don’t even want to think about that race ever again.”

“Bobbie’s right guys. We’re on American soil. We’re the only All-American team. Our manufacturer may be a German owned, but the production model for our cars are built stateside. One of those planets is not too far from here.” Beth told our teammates. “More than few of the fans in the stands today are going to be workers in that factory. We got to put on a real show for them.”

“More than that Beth. We have to place in the top ten today.” I told them honestly as I thought about the fans in the stands. “Because today’s and next week’s race are going to be all about National Pride.”

“Damn never thought about it like that.” Jim grunted then looked me in the eye. “When did you figure this angel out Bobbie?”

“Wednesday night at the sponsors’ meet and greet.” This time I didn’t try to hold back the laugh. “You guys would have spotted the signs as well. If you had been trying to make up for lost time with your SO’s.”

“What signs?” All three asked as one.

“Bill Kayhill, Dale Spicer, Jim Thorp, from the Big Three were all there at the party Wednesday night. They’ve been trying to deal their way into the ISA sense the beginning of the season. They cornered Wilfried Herwig and Irina Stumpfegger halfway through the party. They’re pushing for them to allow Ford, Chevy, and Chrysler to compete.” I explained as the first driver names were called out. We had time because the Commissioners were starting at the back of the field.

“They have NASCAR sown up. What do they want with the ISA?” Jim asked.

“They’re argument is pretty simple. For the ISA to truly be International that all car manufacturers should be represented.” Beth huffed. “It’s really all about equal advertising. Especially in the countries they been allowed to export.”

“Do they even have cars that can be considered ‘saloon sports’?” Sam asked. “I mean the production models for all of our cars fall into that category.”

“Depends on who you ask, Sam. Then again with just minor adjustments any of the Big Three cars can easily fall into the saloon sports car category.” Beth answered.

“That’s not the problem. If they get approval to join the ISA that will mean three more teams to deal with on the track. That’s twelve more cars and drivers. Unlike the rest of the teams. They can pull directly from NASCAR for their drivers and pit crews. They’ll have major advantage in more ways than that. Think about all that experience those teams can draw on. They have had NASCAR programs going for decades.” I pointed out the harsh truth. “We’re the only team will can compete on that level.”

“Damn I hadn’t thought about that. They can pull from Sprint, Cup, and Truck for their drivers with ease. They’ll use the ISA as a minor league for all three.” Jim bitched as he took out his snuff.

“That’s not the only problem if they get into the ISA, Jim. Nationalist pride will become part of our races. We ran into that crap in Italy and France. Just think about how bad it’ll get if we have four All-American teams besides us in the mix. The bumping, and rubbing, will get out of hand. You got to remember that for a lot of our drivers there’s more on the line just professional pride when we race in their home countries. There’s also national pride.” I explained just before Nazarova Grigorievna from Red Star racing joined us.

“Bobbie is telling truth, comrades. A great many of our fellow drivers are under great pressure to bring home wins for their motherland.” Nazarova’s accent may have been thick but we could still understand him. “Rome and Paris are only beginning.”

The names of Nazarova’s teammates were called in order which surprised us. “Da. We were able to post near identical times. They should be calling me soon.”

“Damn that is impressive. How did you do?” Sam asked with respect.

“For some reason I placed higher than my comrades. Not sure how. I had the same setup but got better performance.” Nazarova as he shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s racing for you Naz. It’s like the old saying goes. Sometimes you’re the tiger. Sometimes you’re the tiger’s meal. There is one thing I’ve learn in Stockcar racing that has held true every race. No one is guaranteed to win.” Sam chuckled as he slapped Nazarova on the shoulder. “I started off on the poll more than once and ended up limping across the finish line dead last. All it takes is one mistake and you go from number one with an insurmountable lead to dead last.”

“Say where did you place on the grid?” Beth asked him with a sly smile.

“I have the pleasure of starting between the McGuire Furies, and their two teammates.” He chuckled then pointed at Mori Unkei from King Knight. “The beautiful Mori is to be my partner on row four.”

We stood there joking around as the next eight drivers were called. When Sam and Jim were called Nazarona followed them with Mori right behind them. Beth gave me a strange look. “Okay Bobbie. Now that it’s just you and me. What is bugging you about the Big Three wanting to horn in on the ISA? I know you spotted something else during that party. You would have made the comment about national pride without a damned good fucking reason.”

“This stays between us Beth. Those fuck nuts will use a loss today by us and the other American drivers as away to force their way into the ISA. They’ll say that if we had American made cars we would have won.” As I explained the situation for Beth, she began to grinned her teeth in anger. “The ratings for NASCAR have been falling off over the last few years. Thanks to mismanagement by the France family and the PC bullshit that has been pulled by certain teams. The ISA is new and untapped territory for advertising.”

“Damn. That means we need to either win the race, or finish near the front with an American driver taking first place.” Beth sighed. “Who do we push across the finish lines if it’s not one of us?”

“Kuno Junzo, Ben Baldwin, Caleb McLean, or Rufus Graham. Anyone of them will take the wind out of the Big Three’s sails.” I saw Navarona and Mori step out onto the stage as their names were called. “Okay sis, time to play to the crowd.”

“Quite your bitching. You love it and you know it.” Beth chuckled as she slapped my ass. “Let’s put on a real show. Time to shack what mamma gave us.”

With mile-wide grins we stepped out onto the stage waving to the fans. Instead of just walking down the runway to the pickup that would takes us around the track. Beth joined me in doing the electric slide. As we danced our way down the runway the crowd roared with laughter. As we climbed into the bed of the pickup the announcer called out the names for the two drivers. After a quick ride around the track, we were dropped off on pit road near our cars.

After all the drivers were introduced, the fans were allowed to walk along pit road and met the drivers. As the clocked ticked down towards start time the reporters swarmed our cars scrambling for prerace interviews. I talked with most of them. Only Skye Day got the cold shoulder from me and the rest of the MRI family. Well, she did get more than a cold shoulder at Sam’s car. I had to run over and hold him back. I don’t know what she asked, but Sam was going to break the camera over her head. Thankfully, this time an ISA Commissioner was near enough to hear who started the confrontation. Skye Day was ejected from pit road and the race. Not that I gave a shit. I wasn’t the only driver to clap as track security escorted her and her cameraman from the speedway.

For the next twenty minutes we signed autographs for the fans before they were asked to clear the infield and pit road. The national anthem was played. We mounted our cars and waited for those famous words. The Grand Marshal for today’s was race was the CEO for Long Horn Steakhouse. “DRIVERS! START! YOUR! ENGINES!”

I hit the play button on my iPod. Flipped the battery switches and mashed the starter button. As the monstrous V-8 fired over I felt more than heard the rumble of the superheated exhaust for the enslaved demon of speed. We rolled off pit road to the dove set tones of Bonnie Tyler singing her classic Holding Out For A Hero. That one song told me that is was dad who uploaded my race mix today. Kathy was already on the radio giving me a breakdown on the field as we rounded turn 1 for the warmup laps. As usual she had me chuckling with her description and prediction for how the field would shack out once the green flag dropped.

As we worked our way around the track, I went over what I knew about it. The Texas Motor Speedway is located in the northernmost portion of Fort Worth, Texas, the portion located in Denton County, Texas. It built in 1995 and originally names the Texas International Raceway. The first race was in 1996. The track surface is asphalt. Its length is 1.5 miles in a quad-oval design, where the front straightaway juts outward slightly. The track layout is similar to Atlanta Motor Speedway and Charlotte Motor Speedway. The little lady has for 4 turns with variable banking. Turns 1 and 2 are sit at 20° with turns 3-4 at 24°. The race lap record is 0:22.542 held by Paul Tracy, Team Green, from the CART FedEx Championship Series in 2001. Of all the tracks that we would race at stateside only Talladega, and Atlanta held any mysteries for me. I knew exactly how I was going to attack this track.

I wasn’t the only one who knew how to tackle this track. There were another 12 Stockcar drivers who knew this track. The kick in the ass is they were spread out among the rest of the teams. Of the 40 drivers that made up the ISA league only 16 could truly be called Stockcar drivers. The other 24 came from other fields and were still learning the sport. That gap is has been closing with each race. By the end of today’s that gap will be almost gone. After five warmup laps as we rounded turn 4 onto the front straightaway the pace car dropped off the track. I grabbed my safety straps pulled them tight one more time and grabbed the shifter. As we neared the start/finish line the green flag dropped. The race was on.

The field split and let one of the poll cars pass down the center. I ignored the car as I went to the inside passing him. “Put the hammer down Bobbie. Oscar Johnson is out of the race. He dropped his transmission at the start.”

“Well, damn. Look’s like Oscar Johnson doesn’t have the same luck as his cousin in the great State of Texas.” I chuckled as we rounded turn 2 and came under yellow flag conditions. “Oscar must have really blown that transmission if they’re sending out the wrecker to drag him back to the garage.”

“There’s transmission fluid all over the front straightaway, Bobbie. It’s going to take the clean up crews at least seven to ten laps to get that mess off the track. On the bright side. You were able to move up to sixth place.”

“Better than dropping back in the field. These yellow flag laps will also extend our fuel mileage for the first stage.” I quickly told her.

“Not enough to make much of an impact Bobbie. We still got seventy-four laps to go in this stage out of three-hundred total laps. Remember that this one is going to come down to the final stage and those last twenty laps.”

With those words of warning from my spotter I got back down to the business of racing. Just like Kathy guessed it took the cleanup crews 9 laps to cleanup the transmission fluid. When we restarted the race on lap 11 the whole field surged forward as one through the tri-oval are of the front straightaway. It took 12 more laps for the field to settle down into race form. By the time we hit lap 30 I knew that I would be making a green flag pit stop long before the end of stage 1. I wasn’t the only one who spotted the fast-approaching need for fuel and tires. On lap 46 the first 12 drivers dropped off the track for those much-needed pit stops. At the end of lap 48 I was pulling into my pit stall. At the end of 14.3 seconds, I was down and away. I had four fresh tires, a full tank of fuel, and a clear windshield. It took me a full lap to get back up to full speed. By lap 50 everyone had cycled through their pit stops and the field was back to pack racing.

The first wreck came on lap 74 in turn 3. The upside it was a single car crash. We crossed the start/finish line ending the first stage under yellow. I hit pit road with the rest of the field calling for 4 fresh tires, 2 cans of fuel, and a half a turn down on the track bar. During that first stage I learned the longer I ran the tighter my car became. By the end of the first run I was fighting for control in the turns. I was hoping that half turn down on the track bar will loosen me up for the longer runs. Even with the additional time it took for the track bar adjustment my guys still turned in a 14.7 second pit stop.

When we lined back up for the start of stage two, I found myself in sixteenth place. I had dropped outside of the top ten positions. I wasn’t worried. We had 225 laps left in the race. More than enough to work my way back to the front. On lap 78 the green flag was dropped, and we were back to racing. I crossed the starting line to Pat Benatar’s Invincible. This time nobody missed a shift or dropped a gear. At lap 98 things changed. The poll position car blew a tire at the entrance to turn 1 taking the second-place car with them into the outside wall. The two cars spun back down into the field hitting three more cars. Thanks to Kathy I was able to miss the wreck. Beth and Jim weren’t as lucky. The yellow flag was out as I exited turn 2 onto the back straightaway.

By the time the field had shaken out over the next lap. I found myself in seventh place. On lap 101 pit road opened and everyone was dropping down for fresh tires and fuel. The second I stopped Dave and the rest of my pit crew were over the wall. Once again, I marveled at the ballet that was a Stockcar pit stop. They performed their dance to the music of my engine’s rumble, and the scream of their air guns. There was no wasted movement on their part.

Each member performed their assigned tasks and moved onto the next. All in under 15 seconds. When the left side of my car hit the ground, I was gone. I passed two of the lead cars on my way off pit road. This was one time that having a fast pit crew made all the difference. As I lined up in fifth place Kathy gave me the bad news. I had thought that only Beth and Jim were damaged in the wreck. I was wrong.

“Bobbie, Sam is going behind the wall. He collected a piece of debris from the wreck. His radiator has an eight-to-ten-inch piece of break rotor sticking out of it. I hate to tell you this, but you’re on your own for the rest of the race.”

“Shit. Not good. Not good at all.” I said to myself and the empty air of my car. “Kathy I’m going to need you to step up your game girlfriend. We both know that I got a great big target on my rear bumper.”

“Don’t worry love. She’s not alone. You just run your race. Kathy will read the track.” The sound of Kelly’s voice calmed my sudden case of nerves. “AND I’ll be looking for the unfriendlies wanting to take you down.”

“Kathy who’s in front of me?” I needed to know who was in front of me to decide my next moves in this race. I learned at the beginning of my racing career that no two drivers approached a track the same way. Especially when out front. Some only raced the field, while others only the track, then there were the few that did a combination of the two. Those were the ones I worried about. Because you could never tell which way the race would go with them out front.

“Good news, bad news, on that front Bobbie.” Kathy told me before giving me the rundown. The good news was Ben Baldwin, and Caleb McLean were first and second. The bad news was the two chuckleheads in third and fourth. Siegmund Kühne and Marc Wimmer from Prototype Outcast. That whole team has been pushing hard to climb up the Manufactures’ Championship Race sense the Daytona race. The penalties levied against the team after what happened in Rome hasn’t helped with their attitudes.

When the green flag dropped, Kühne and Wimmer split Baldwin and McLean. This forced me to make a choice that I wasn’t ready for. Either push Baldwin or fallow Kühne. I chose to push Baldwin. It turned out to be the right choice. As we entered turn 1 going four wide at 160mph plus the restart was a hairy-scary-white-knuckled ride. With Kühne and Wimmer on the outside without backup they both quickly fell back towards the middle of the pack. We exited turn 2 on the back straightaway and pushed our speeds towards the 180mph mark. I was thanking the gods of speed that Kühne and Wimmer didn’t cause a wreck with their stunt on the front straightaway.

For the rest of the stage the race remained under green flag conditions. Baldwin took the stage win with McLean just four-one-hundredths of a second behind him. We hit pit road for fresh tires, and fuel on lap 151. That’s when everything to shit. Danny’s jack jammed as he was lifting the right side. After getting the car down he switched to a new jack on the left side, but Sherry’s air gun blew its seals then. If it could go wrong on this pit stop it did. By the time I finally rolled off pit road I had dropped from third all the way back to eighteenth. As much as I wanted to raise hell with Danny and the guys on the pit crew I knew better. Murphy loves fucking with pit crews in the middle of hot running race. That didn’t mean I couldn’t pound the shit out of my steering wheel in frustration.

“Bobbie, I know that your up set right now. So please don’t take this out on me, I’m just the messenger. You need to pull out of line and drop to the end of the inside line. The Marshals say you were speeding coming off pit road.” The second Kathy told me I had to drop all the way to the back of the pack. I blew my stack. Kathy let me vent for ten to fifteen seconds before reminding me that I needed to fall back to the rear of the pack.

I kept up my one-woman bitch fest as I pulled out of line and dropped to the rear. I would have continued my bitching if Kathy hadn’t reminded me that we still had 148 laps to go. I may have been the last man standing for MRI without any friends, but I still had one of the fastest hotrods on the track. With this in mind I gritted my teeth and tightened my safety harness straps. I had 222 miles of racing to get back to the front. I just had to work my way around 34 drivers.

“Listen up, baby girl. You can do this. Time to change your play list.” Mom’s voice over the radio did the one thing that Kathy couldn’t at that time. Calm me down enough to think. “Break it out. It’s under Bounty Hunter. You got time.”

I pulled out my iPod and scrolled down to the listing called Bounty Hunter. I hit the play button and snarled as the green flag dropped on lap 154. I pulled to the outside line of the track and hugged the wall. “Fill your hands you son of bitches.”

I was passing cars to the opening notes of Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries remix. By the time I hit turn 1 I had the throttle wide open and not looking back. For 3:06 minutes I let my soul feed on the driving force of the classical remix as it guides my hands, and feet. Kathy must have been listen in on my iPod feed because the girl never missed a beat with her calls. Little V Pacific Rim ‘Epic Rock’ theme took over for Wagner he calls became even more precise. I became lost to the world around me. There was only me, and the pissed off demon come straight out of hell that was under my hood.

I first put this mix together almost four years ago. I did it for one reason. To bring down a pack of assholes who thought they owned the streets and roads of Darlington Country. The night that I played this mix I was behind the wheel of Judge. That night I let my anger fuel my driving as I turned my Judge into an Executioner. I put an end to the Darlington Knight’s reign of drunken hell raising. That was the only time I ever played this race mix. Today it was taking on a whole new meaning. I was still the Huntress. Only now I was hunting something other than vengeance for a friend. Today my prey was nothing less then total domination over a 1.5-mile racetrack and a field of 35 drivers.

I pulled alongside the twelfth-place car to the sounds of Uptown Funk. This was the first of twelve songs that I had downloaded from anime remixes. As I powered by them on the back straightaway Immortals replaced Uptown Funk. It had taken me fifteen laps to work my way this far through the field and I wasn’t slowing down. After Immortals came Midway and Look up the sky is falling. On lap 180 Kenny Loggins Highway to the danger zone took me to a whole new level. They say racing three-wide at certain tracks a certain type of driver. They’re either braver than all the Saints and Angles put together or totally bat fucking shit crazy. As I power my way around the track continually hugging the outside wall, I realize that people are wrong. There’s a third type of driver. They got balls of steel, skills unheard of, and are crazy than any bat on high grade meth. In short, a driver who had nothing to lose by running on the radge edge of insanity and pushing their skill to the limit. Someone like me right now.

On lap 190 Chief called for a pit stop. It took me two more laps to work my way to the inside so I could make the entrance to pit road. I was braking the second I pulled onto pit road. I wasn’t going to get nailed with a second speeding penalty if I could help it. As I pulled to a stop in my pit stall Danny led the crew over the wall. They must have been beyond pissed for the last stop. Because 13.45 seconds later I was down off the jack heading for the exit of pit road with four fresh tires, and two cans of fuel. Once I was back out on the track I didn’t play around. I knew that the rest of the field were already cycling through for green flag stops. This was my chance at making up some ground and positions. With AC/DC’s Thunderstruck pounding in my ears I drive for position.

By the time, the first ten cars realized they were in danger of losing position it was too late. I was reeling them in one at a time. I was on a roll and nothing was going to stop me. Or so I thought. I had worked my way up to fifth place when then green/white checkered flag signaled the end to the third stage on lap 225. Kathy was cheering me for moving back up to fifth place. Only I wasn’t done. I had one stage left. Just 75 more laps to pull off a miracle.

As I slide to a stop in my pit stall Danny and the others were clearing the wall. I started counting down the seconds as had become my habit. The scream of the girls’ air guns filled the air as Danny raised the right side. By the time I reached 6 Danny was dropped the right side and was rounding the front end. At 8 he had the left side in the air and Greg was slamming home the second can of fuel. When I reach 13 Danny dropped the car. That was my signal to leave. As I rolled down pit road, I watched my tachometer like a hawk. I wasn’t surprised that I passed fourth and third place while they were still being serviced. Not with the time my pit crew just turned in for my servicing.

Not too many pit crews turn in 13.54 second pit spots. Then again, my guys spent two years turning in 1.8 to 2 second pit spots in Formula One. They were also doing everything under the sun to make up for that FUBAR back on lap 151. As I lined up behind Marc Wimmer and Joel Franz in third place for the start of the last stage of the race Kathy gave me some good news.

“You’re not going to believe this Bobbie. Joel Franz has to do a drive through and line up at the back of the pack. The dumbass pitted so far back in his box he was outside of his box blocking Joseph Lachman from exiting his pit box.”

“That’s an old Indy car trick. The tactic is legal but there is a trick to pulling it off correctly. You have to know just how far back in the box to stop. Too far back and you’re outside of the box. Too far forward and the other driver can slide around you. Trust me it’s not easy to do.” I chuckled as Franz pulled out of line and let the field roll by on the back straightaway. I pulled into second place on the inside while Wimmer took the outside line. “If he thinks taking the outside line away from you is going to get him the win. He’s in for a nasty surprise.”

“You can say that again Kathy. The outside line is fast, but you have to hug the wall.” I radio back chuckling. “The really fast lane is down by the apron.”

“Yeah. You also have to be half crazy to run up against the wall. Then again look who I’m talking too?”

“Hold on there Kathy. My lovely wife is not half crazy.” Kelly said hotly over the radio then chuckled. “She’s totally nuts.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny Kelly.” I sighed then chuckled myself. “The sad part is you’re telling the truth. Who’s behind me that I need to worry about?”

“Just four drivers and they’re all from the same team. Red Star Racing’s Nazarova Grigorievna, Koychev Fyodorovich, Abdulov Germanovich, and Rokossovsky Aleskeevich. Their teamwork is second only to ours. If they can close in on you. They’ll pull a team bump-n-run at the exit of turns two and four. They’re currently in fifth through eighth position. They won’t be there for long though. Not if they get a solid run-on Ronan Bain and Alexa Peters just behind you.” Kelly’s analysis of the situation was as usual spot on. “After you get by Wimmer you’ll need to dive in the rearview mirror for the rest of the race.”

“Well, damn. And here I was hoping for a nice quiet Sunday drive.” I joked.

Only to have mom jump dead in my ass with both feet. “Roberta Linn McGuire you pull your head out your fourth point of contact and get it back in the game. The race ain’t over for another seventy-four laps. You got to run that all without backup.”

“Yes ma’am. Any idea of why they’re holding up the restart?” I asked as we made a second lap around the track.

“Something about the scoring at the end of last stage. You really screwed up the field with that wild drive to the front. They’re having problems with sorting out the back third of the field.” Kathy answered quickly. “Nobody expected that kind of a drive from the back to the front like that Bobbie.”

“Not my fault. If they can’t keep track of who is where out here, then they need to get new score keepers.” I bitched but tightened my straps just a little tighter. I knew the second that the green flag dropped for the final stage. All hell was going to break lose and I had a great big target on my ass. Not that, that was anything new. It’s just that this is the first I was on my own. Until now I had the rest of MRI either blocking for me, or I was blocking for them. This was going to be a one man show or I should one woman show of driving skill and tenacity.

The green flag dropped on lap 228, and I couldn’t help myself. I hit the button for my mike. “Time to channel my inner Intimidator boys and girls.”

“DROP THE HAMMER SPEEDY!” Chief Hailee called out the radio laughing. I shifted gears and shoved the throttle to the floor. I powered past Wimmer and never looked back. For the next 30 laps we ran under green flag conditions. Then it happened on lap 259 three cars about midway back in the pack got tangled up in turn 4 going three wide through the turn. They collected six other cars bringing out the caution flag. I was already entering turn 1 with a four-car led on the field. I pulled in behind the pace car as it entered the track with its lights flashing.

“Chief Hailee when they open pit road, I want four fresh tires, two cans of fuel, a tear away, and no changes. The car is handling just fine. Even better now that I’m out front in clear air. It’s like she’s rocket sled on rails.” As I described how the car was handling for me, I heard Chief Hailee grunt. “What’s up Chief?”

“What’s the engine sound like Bobbie? Is it growling or rumbling?” He asked.

“There’s a slight growl when I shift gears going over the tunnel turns. Why?” Now I was worried that something was wrong with the car this late in the race.

“You’ve been pushing your engine harder than any other driver out there. You might be getting ready to drop a cylinder. Maybe even a gear in the transmission. Either way you’ll be out of the race.” The more Chief Hailee told me about his worries the more I wanted to punch someone. I was so close. I just need to finish the last 39 laps. It was time to roll the dice.

“Chief are we using the same car next week at Indy?” I asked him.

“Nope. We’re bring in one of the superspeedway cars for that monster. Why?”

“Then let’s roll the dice. If the engine blows, the engine blows. That’s racing.” My quip must have stroke a cord with Chief Hailee. The belly laugh was all I needed to hear to know that he would back my play.

After 6 laps they finally opened pit road. I lead the field down off the track and hit my pit stall. Once again, my pit crew turned in a near record setting time of 13.12 seconds. Their fastest time of the day. I don’t know why but so far only a few teams have gambled with taking just two tires this season. Even then those few teams had regular Stockcar racers for drivers. Yet even now this close to the end of the race no one went with two tires trying to gain position on the track. The only thing I can put that down to is they all know this could be the last stop. Better to have four fresh tires and two cans of fuel then gamble on position. Not when the meanest bitch on the track was sitting in first place.

As we lined up for the restart, I took the inside line again. Wimmer still running in second place pulled up on the outside line. I knew that this was going to be a 45-lap countdown of bump and grind. On lap 155 the green flag dropped, and I dropped the hammer one more time to the driving beat of Iron Maiden’s Run to the Hills. Sabaton’s Aces In Exile and Midway were next between the three songs I drove away from the rest of the field. I wasn’t going to go down with a fight. If Bill Kayhill, Dale Spicer, and Jim Thorp want to use National Pride as a reason for muscling their Racing Divisions into the ISA. Then they’ll have to get by me first.

They want National Pride. I’ll give them National Pride in fucking spades. As I ram it down their throats. As the laps ticked down my lead over the rest of the field increased. As did the annoying growl from my engine. “Come on baby hold it together. Just twenty more laps. That’s all I’m asking.”

I hit the radio button. “Chief I got a feeling that she’s not going to last.”

“Keep the petal to the metal Speedy. Like you said. If she blows, she blows. We both knew it was a gamble when you rolled off pit road.” Chief Hailee answered.

“Screw that crap! I built that engine Bobbie. She’ll hold. Just don’t let up. Keep pushing it to the limit sweetheart.” Dad called out over the radio. I fallowed his orders and keep my foot in the gas. If he wanted me to melt down the engine block. Then I was going to turn it into slag. If he wanted me to drain the tank. I would turn the inside into the Sahara. If dad wanted me to cross the finish line on the roof. Then I would flip the damned car and slide across the finish line scarping off the paint as I went leaving a trail down the front straightaway.

With each lap the growl grow. Dad wanted me to push the engine to its limits. That was exactly what I was doing. I stay just short of the red line on the tachometer. I was pushing my car so hard that I was lapping the cars at the back of the pack. it had taken me 285 laps to get to this point. I wasn’t about to let up now. All I could was trust in dad’s engine design and pray my luck held out. I passed under the white flag on lap 299 with an eight-car lead when it happened. I dropped a cylinder. “Ah shit. Come on baby just one last lap. You can do it.”

That dropped cylinder throw my handling and power out the window. This last lap was going to be run on nothing but luck and prayer. I exited turn 2 onto the back straightaway headed for turn 3. “Bobbie please tell me that’s not smoke I’m seeing?”

“Sorry Chief Hailee, but I cannot tell a lie. I dropped a cylinder going into turn one. This baby is running on hope, luck, and prayer.” I was at least being honest.

“Keep rolling those bones Speedy. You still have a four-car lead on the rest of the field. Don’t give up yet.” Kathy called out. “Quick go to the outside line and stay there. Wimmer is trying to make a run from there.”

I pulled to the outside line and stayed as I entered turn 3. Thanks to Bobby Parker and Oscar Johnson blocking the inside. Wimmer was trapped behind me on the outside. There are times in racing that you get an unexpected helping hand. My luck and engine held out until I crossed the finish line. I barely reached turn 1 when my engine finally gave out and blew completely. I hit my brakes as smoke poured out from under the hood in a bellowing oily gray cloud. I had oil spraying over my windshield and roof. I got my car down to the inside and into the infield grass before thing else could happen. Thankfully, I didn’t take anyone with me.

Once stopped I dropped my window net first thing. With it down I radioed Chief Hailee. “Send the wrecker. She’s done Chief. Cooked well done with a side order of fries and coleslaw. The only thing missing is an ice-cold beer.”

“The wrecker is on the way, Speedy. As for the beer you’ll have to make do with cheap champagne in the winner’s circle.” Chief Hailee chuckled.

“I better get a steak with that crap at least.” I answered back as I climbed out of the car. As I took off my helmet and gloves, I patted the hot hood of my car. “You did girl. You gave it your all. Thank you.”

I looked towards the wrecker as it pulled off the apron. With it was the ambulance. My ride back to the winners circle. As the wrecker crew was hooking up to my car, I stopped them. “You treat her real nice boys. She’s a winner.”

“We’ll treat her like the lady she is, Miss.” With that I left the wrecker crew to do their job and climbed into the ambulance for my ride back to the winner’s circle.

“This is a real first for us. We’ve never delivered a driver to the winner’s circle. We’re normally dropping you off at the infield care center like a bunch of pizza delivery guys. Though we’re happy any time you can climb in and out on your own.” The EMT in back said as he held out a clipboard. “Would you mind signing this?”

I chuckled and signed my autograph. Only this time I did more than just put down my name. I quickly wrote out 1 large, pepperoni, mushroom, sausage, thin curst, side order of bread sticks, 2ltr of Coke, total $29.75, then signed my name below. As I handed the clipboard back, I chuckled. “I’ll have to go get my wallet.”

“We’ll put it on your tab.” He chuckled. “By the way that was one hell of a show you put on out there today, Miss. I should know. Me and Johnny have been working these races since two-thousand and Little E’s DirecTV five-hundred win. That’s been over twenty-three years now.”

“At least he was able to drive his car to victory circle. They got to drag mine in on the hook.” I bitched as he chuckled.

“There is a bright side to this, Bobbie. You may not be doing victory doughnuts on the front straightaway.” The driver called back with a chuckle. “But how many drivers do you know of that claim they were chauffeured to the winner’s circle?”

-----tbc-----

P.S. I would like to say thank you to everyone who send their well wishes during my illness. I will be back to my normal posting schedule soon as possible. (ducks as pillow is thrown at head) If my daughter lets me. I still have a long way to go before I'm full recovered.