(Last Time...) Scuderia Ferrari had brought a squad of Italy’s finest machines, all piloted by top American sports car talents. Names like Shelby, Hill, and Miles adorned the entry list, and nearing the halfway point of the race they took the lead with the intention of keeping it. Lap 10 fell to the record books at record pace.

(Continuing) Passing the pit lane coming onto the 11th lap of the race, Edsel saw Schmidt on the side of the road holding a large sign that said “PIT” on it. He gave him a thumbs up, not that Schmidt could see it out on the unilluminated track, and glanced down at the MG’s fuel gauge. It was under half a tank. Martin was looking at his fuel gauge as well, he wasn’t sure how much he could trust the Ace’s gauges, and he hadn’t gotten a single signal from the pit all race, He was starting to get nervous. He was still following Edsel and the MG as they made their way through The Complex for the eleventh time. The brand new, sleek looking Corvette, and Jaguar C type squeezed by, chasing frantically after the ferrari's as they motored onto the back straight, through the chicane, and into the woods. Martin felt something in his gut, something was about to happen that would change the race. As Edsel slowed to pull into the pits, a speck landed on Martin’s goggles, then another, and another, it was starting to rain! As Schmidt climbed aboard the MG, he too noticed the rain. They had a set of deeper treaded rain tires, but the crew didn’t have them ready to put on. Edsel, exhausted and not thinking clearly, quickly grabbed a hammer and started beating off the wingnut that held the front left wheel on.

“No, no!” Schmidt yelled, and a crew member jumped in, taking the hammer from Edsel. There was no point in changing the tires now, it would take too long. He beat the nut back tight, and waved for Schmidt to rejoin the race. McClaire was smiling ear to ear, watching from a few pit boxes away. It was time to play her game! Her team had brand new rain tires to hand, and 4 people ready to put them on. She grabbed the sign, and strolled with a certain sass roadside as Martin came around again. Despite the rain, he easily spotted McClaire’s red racing suit and the sign that read “PIT”. Martin floored the accelerator, trying to make his last lap his fastest lap of the day.

Meanwhile in the woods, Jones in the Aston Martin was battling his way back up the field again. Only one lap down now, he was fighting with an older Jaguar XK-120 and an Austin Healey, when suddenly the Jaguar’s engine exploded. The world suddenly lit up as the fire overtook the engine compartment, and the pavement became slick with oil as the car veered off the track. It disappeared from Jone’s view into the woods, only the light from the fire visible behind him. As Martin came through, yellow flags were waving violently, to the point some marshals were on the track waving down approaching vehicles. They signaled to go right, so Martin at a reasonable 70 MPH entered the Mile Long Corner. It was even darker than it was before, smoke, fog, and rain combining to nearly hide a large, red fire engine driving along the outside of the track. It pulled off into the grass, and firefighters quickly dismounted with a hose to respond to the burning car. By turns eight and nine the Ace’s headlights illuminated marshals waving green flags, so Martin picked up the pace again, bringing the car into the pits on lap 13

“There was a Nasty crash in the mile, watch yourself!” Martin warned McClaire as she climbed behind the wheel. Unlike Martin, she would have the luxury of putting on her seatbelt as the crew changed tires.

“Who was it?” She asked

“I don’t know, he was about half a mile in the woods…” Martin responded, just before one of the Ferrari’s screamed by.

“Thanks for the warning.” And with that, Stephanie McClaire pulled the Ace back onto the track and disappeared into the rain soaked night.

 Martin turned to walk away, but saw Bob Lewis’ Aston return to the pit for the second time. Jones got out, visibly shaken. Seeing what happened to the Jaguar had put the fear of God into him, and Lewis had to get back in. The pit stop was short, and they didn’t lose much time considering they needed to top off the tank again anyway, but Jones was ready to swear off race driving for good. Schmidt had also seen the crash by now, and knew from experience it wasn’t a good one. He said a prayer going past, hoping the driver had gotten out alive. The announcers didn’t have any update for the situation, other than it was “The Franklin Brickwork Racing Jaguar driven by John Steward Jr.” He was one of the many drivers without a relay in tonight’s event, and in that moment, Martin thanked his lucky stars that he accepted McClaire’s deal. Seeing the crash for herself, she shook her head, and got back to the business at hand. Accelerating hard, she chased after Schmidt.

The rain was causing chaos on other parts of the track. One of the leading Ferrari’s had tangled with a slower class Triumph, and both cars lay broken against the wall. Schmidt was struggling, his tires hydroplaning on the straights, the groves not deep enough to cut into the standing water. Worse, he couldn’t see, water kicked up by other cars was splashing onto his goggles. Bob Lewis had much the same fate, his head sticking up well past the Aston’s windshield. The only one in their element was McClaire.

After the fires had been put out and the caution flags lifted, McClaire finally showed her hand. Her time spent racing karts and junior Formula cars in Europe and the UK meant she was adept at racing in the wet, and for many it seemed the laws of physics bent to her whim. In the complex, she actually managed to temporarily pass the overall race Leader, Ken Miles in a Ferrari. He would eventually overall her on the straight, but McClaire stuck to his bumper as best as she could, leaving quite the impression. As she completed the lap the announcers screamed in disbelief…

“In the pouring rain, Stephanie McClaire just set a lap record for the class! 2:55, at 80 MPH!” In the pits, Jack Martin turned to look at the track in disbelief. There was a wall of rain that seemed to hover in the air as cars raced by, and almost all the spectators had cowered under the bleachers, Yet his teammate was out there breaking records. The race Marshalls didn’t believe it either, they arrived shortly after, demanding to inspect the car after the race. With 5 laps to go, McClaire had caught and passed Schmidt for the lead in class and 24th overall following various retirements. Now she was pressing the slowest cars of the faster class. Martin held a sign in the pit signaling she was in first, but clearly she didn’t care. They were playing her game now…

Bob Lewis, soaked to the bone and driving almost blind didn’t even realize McClaire was a slower classed car. Coming out of the tenth corner and through the chicane, he assumed the car in front had an issue, and easily overtook it into the first corner. However, it returned with vengeance, sliding effortlessly through the turn and around the slower lumbering Aston. Lewis wiped his goggles and realized it was the Ace. Even though he wasn’t sure who was driving, he couldn’t help but be impressed. Behind the wheel, McClaire was giggling, enjoying every second of torture she was putting the other drivers through. Nothing was more infuriating to the big bore drivers than spending thousands of dollars on a fast car, then being shown up by a girl in the slower class. Some even went as far as attacking McClaire as they descended into the red mist. A Mercedes, the one who blew a tire on the first lap of the race, tried to take the Ace out. He intentionally blew past his braking point for the tenth corner in a suicidal lunge. Inside the car, McClaire smiled. With a little motivation from her right foot, the rear end of the car stepped out of line, and spun around. To the casual fan it looked like she had spun out in the rain, but it was completely intentional. As the momentum carried the car backwards and just out of harm's reach, McClaire got a front row seat as the 300 came within inches of her car. It plunged off the track, nosing into the quickly forming mud hole off of turn ten. The driver tried to escape, but the car quickly buried it’s rear wheels in the mud and sank. His race was over.

McClaire playfully waved to the driver before selecting reverse to bump start her car. She accelerated and spun the wheel, the car rotating around her until it was facing the correct direction. Grabbing second gear, she powered away towards the start finish line. The Leader of the race had already taken the white flag being a few laps ahead, so as she crossed the line there was only one lap to go.

Martin stood in the pit, dumbfounded, impressed, and excited. Victory was in reach, and he wasn’t even driving the car and more good news was to follow. An announcement came over the intercom, John Steward Jr. the driver who had crashed into the woods, was in critical but stable condition in the Seattle Hospital. Soon winning Ferrari crossed the line, the almost hour long Grind was finally over. All McClaire had to do was bring the car back in one piece. Soon she appeared, and flashing her lights off and on, her and Martin took the win in the under 2000cc class and 20th of a 60 car field overall.

“Nice Job Jack!” Called Edsel a few stalls down, he held up a beer in salute and waited for Schmidt to cross the finishing line. He would come home 6th in class, 30th overall. Bob Lewis finished 22nd, stopping the car just after the finish line and climbing out. His face couldn’t take anymore, it was completely numb from the abuse the rain and wind. He could take a punch from a heavyweight and not feel it till the morning. Either way, for all the racers, it was a night they were glad was over.

Later that night at the bar, Bob Lewis was trying to drink some feeling back into his face, that or make his body just as numb. One way or another, he was a man who could hold his alcohol better than a Moonshiner’s still, so he was on his second bottle of scotch to drink the night away with. The room stank of cigar smoke and nacho cheese, making it a rather unpleasant place, but it was tolerable, and for most that was enough. Just then, it got worse as Edsel stumbled in. Slumped against the door, he saw Lewis and waved before falling on his face.

“Man, get this bozo a seat before he hurts himself.” The bartender told his associate, and he walked over to help Lewis into a nearby booth.

“You ampt krill me, Imma drivin goat!” He sputtered to the man helping him.

“Just relax here, let me get you something…”

“A SCOTCH!” Edsel demanded interrupting.

“Well you’re going to have to fight short stuff over there, he took the last bottle.” The man told Edsel, and Lewis laughed.

“Sorry Ed.”

“I’mma get you next week you son of a bitch…” Edsel muttered threateningly at the wrong person. Then he tried to stand up, collapsed, laid his head down in his arms, and seemed to fall asleep.

“I’m surprised he made it here, him and Schmidt got plastered at the hotel…” Martin said from across the room as he shuffled a deck of cards. He didn’t drink, but knew a few card tricks, good for a buck or two extra at bars. Plus he liked the soft pretzels.

“Yeah no kidding. Man’s got the brain of a billy goat when he’s not got a wrench in his hand.” Lewis said, taking a swig from the bottle.

“Yet that 10 year old MG he has could run circles around us if we let it. I wonder how many of his secrets he showed Charles tonight?” Martin asked.

“We’ll see the next race I guess, but I don’t know. I might move to the big bore cars for the rest of the season, drive for Jones and his team for a while.”

“That Aston sounded good once you got it running, but it really needs a bigger windshield if you're going to drive it.”

“No shit.” Lewis hit himself in the face with the bottle and didn’t even blink, proving just how numb his face really was. “So, what happened to McClaire?”

“You really think she would show her face in a place like this? Nah, she's probably barking orders at the poor bastards loading up her plane.” Martin laughed.

“She has a plane?” Lewis said raising an eyebrow

“Yep, how do you think she gets around with all that gear and the bodies she has? It’s some old military cargo plane or something, I had no idea until I met her at the track.”

“Damn, must be nice. Maybe she could give me a ride home?” Lewis chuckled.

“Me and you both bub… 38 hours all the way home for me. I’m half tempted to take the train if I could ship my car with me.”

“I don’t know about all that. I’m kind of afraid of trains.” Lewis admitted.

“You? I figured you bench pressed locomotives for fun?” The bartender joked, but Lewis shook his head.

“My Papa got killed by a train when I was a boy, I saw it happen. Plus in South Carolina, where I'm from, they used to make us colored folks ride in cattle cars anyway. To hell with them all, and to hell with that.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” The bartender said but Lewis waved it off.

“That was a long time ago and this world has changed a lot since then. It’s slow, but with God’s grace, we’ll get there in the end. Total Equality and a better world.”

“I’ll drink to that, to a better world, for everyone!” The bartender said, and the whole bar toasted.