It wasn't too much longer after that, we were back in the car and judging by my “through the back seat hearing” the mood was still quite heated and tense up in the front seats. Star wouldn't say a word, likely glaring out the window at the scenery as moody teenager's usually do. McClaire meanwhile was maneuvering through traffic, trying to get us out to the Speedway before dawn. I have never been to a proper race track before, and I generally had no idea what to expect. However, whatever was in my mind, hardly matched up to the scale of reality.
“Holy shit, this place is massive?” As McClaire let me out of the trunk, I was met with a colosseum in which you couldn't easily see the ends of. An enormous rectangular bowl hidden amongst the farmland of Southern California, made up the Ontario Motor Speedway. A 2.5 mile long track, as mentioned before, designed to be a copy of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, the track had opened the year before at an estimated cost of 25 million dollars. Many people expected it to be the home of motorsports in the Southern California area for years to come and was built with nearly 100,000 seats to contain the masses when they did eventually come.
I learned later that night, camping in a RV provided by the McLaren team, McClaire had raced here before, but on a different version of the track and in a different car. Earlier in the year, the Questor Grand Prix was held, an invitational race putting the US based Formula 5000 cars against the European Formula 1 cars for $250,000 cash. They ran the course backwards and used the squiggly inner bit of road that cut through the middle of the high speed bowl.
“Mario Andretti won that race in a Ferrari, and then it was Jackie, and then the guy I'm covering for tomorrow, Danny Hulmes.” McClaire explained recapping the race.
“Where did you finish?”
“I got taken out by Jackie Ickx, Mario's teammate. As you saw a couple days ago, Ferrari has a vendetta against me, and anytime I end up racing their factory team they try to take me out.” McClaire elaborated. Meanwhile, while we were talking inside, Stella was outside throwing rocks at pigeons. She still hadn't said a word since we left the LAX.
“And they hate you, because you died in one of their race cars?” I asked McClaire and she grinned.
“Enzo Ferrari, the man who runs the company, was convinced I was a spirit who came back from the dead to haunt him, for all the drivers his cars have killed throughout the years. He didn't want anything to do with me, because at that time, I had kept my curse a secret. No one knew I was immortal, until I showed up to Maranello and begged him to drive again.”
“I can sympathize, I would be freaked out too.” I admitted.
“Aren't you freaked out right now? Or are you starting to accept that's just the reality of the situation?”
“I don't know. I'm not sure if I totally believe you if I'm honest, but you keep showing me these books and newspapers, and all these people that know you… If you are a liar, you're a damn good one Stephanie McClaire.” I told her and she smiled ear to ear.
“You aren't so bad for a would be carjacker either. Tell me honestly, why did you want to come with us?”
“I didn't really have a life in Chicago, I was always a footnote in someone else's story, and normally a negative one at that. I guess I still am… But, Star showed me just how close I was flirting with the Grim Reaper, and you showed me some modicum of kindness that helped me believe there was a chance for me out there, somewhere?” I trailed off, thinking about how all the ways this little adventure I've been on the past week could have ended. What I could have been, what people would have remembered me as. Just a carjacker, a thug, a criminal. Suddenly I was given a chance to be something better, and I had to prove to myself I could do it.
“I, I just, saw a chance to restart, before I dug myself a hole I couldn't get out of. Star could have killed me that night, or you both could have left me for dead in Oklahoma and you didn't. So I owe you a debt I fear I'll never be able to repay.” I said, finishing my thought. McClaire smiled again and spoke softly.
“Turning your life around is more than enough repayment for me.” She said genuinely, but then she laughed.
“As for Star, you might have to kiss her ass a little more before she forgives you. You see how fighting her works out for Max.”
“What's the deal with that guy, If you don't mind me asking?”
“Long story short, Stella was supposed to kill him and me, but she failed to do both. She can justify losing to me, given my powers, but she cannot justify losing to Max. Instead of building their bridge back up by forgiving one another, Max and Star both torch it every chance they get in the name of revenge. I was like that once, young and stupid, I made a lot of bad decisions, but I have to get them to work together, some way, somehow. So, sorry to use you as a ginny pig, but you're the test case to see what breaks through Star's ego.”
“Oh, I see. This past week makes a lot more sense now.” I nodded before chuckling.
“You're a cunning girl, aren't you?”
“Gotta play poker a few hands ahead or you'll never win a dime!” McClaire giggled.
I slept especially well that night, feeling truly comfortable for the first time that I had made peace with at least one of the lionesses I was traveling with. But the second the sun rose the next day, the world exploded into chaos and sound.
All the teams of the USAC Championship started their cars at the same time, allowing them to warm up for what would be day 3 of a weeklong set of time trials. Like Indy, only the fastest 33 cars would start the race, meaning McClaire would have 1 day to learn the car and adjust to the track. Should she qualify, Danny Hulmes would fly in Thursday for a practice session before heading back to Wisconsin for another race. As the sun rose, McClaire got dressed for combat, putting on her racing suit. Star meanwhile was on breakfast duty again.
“Thank you, I appreciate the food.” I told her as she handed me some sort of biscuit sandwich. She just glared at me, still refusing to speak, before turning her attention to her own breakfast. McClaire meanwhile didn't eat anything.
“Okay, let's get this done.” McClaire said eventually, and together we walked over to the McLaren pits. They have 5 race cars, all wearing this gorgeous orange or yellow paint that makes them look like neon signs. Three of the cars had numbers and two did not, likely a backup car should there be a crash. As this was happening, other cars were tearing past, the motors screaming loud enough to bust my eardrums. I was surprised when I could still hear the mechanics greet McClaire.
“McClaire, right on time! Hop in the 85 and make sure Danny's seat is okay for you.” As McClaire folded herself into this… coffin with an engine bolted to the back, I started to realize how dangerous this really was. Maybe not for her, but especially for the other drivers. What a wild risk to take, and what a wild life to live.
“It's fine, I want to make some laps ASAP, I need to feel out the track.” she told the crew chief.
“Right away. Look, if you get into the top 20 we're locked in, so that's all we need!” he said, walking alongside the car as they pushed her out onto the track.
“Piece of cake, as long as it holds together this time.” McClaire replied as she joined the queue of cars waiting for their turn on the circuit. One at a time, they took off, trying to run as fast as they possibly could for four laps before ducking back into the pits so another car could go. When McClaire became the 2nd car in line, they started the engine. Now under her command the motor revved and purred, as the car rolled forward slowly towards the flagman at the end of the lane.
“Good luck McClaire.” I said, actually feeling kinda nervous.
“Trust me, she won't need it.” Star said, her voice barely auditable. As soon as the other car came off the track, the man stepped aside and McClaire stomped on the throttle, burning rubber as she fought the car up onto the track. The whole team, and several others, drivers and mechanics alike watched as the orange streak picked up speed. As she came by the starting line, the flagman dropped the green flag and the race was truly on.
“The thing about McClaire is, even if a car is misbehaving, she can still get the most out of it.” Star said as we watched her dive into the first turn.
“You drive race cars too, right? I assume that's really hard to do.”
“The car is trying to kill you the whole way through the turn. The more it fights you, the faster you're going. Some people spend hours changing the setup, perfecting how the car reacts to the track to maximize their speed. But McClaire can do that all herself, and she never lets the car scare her into a mistake. That's why she's so fast.” Star said, almost sounding like she was jealous. As McClaire came off the final corner the car was sideways, but a quick movement of her hands got it straight again as she thundered down the straightaway.
“That was a 170 mile per hour first lap ladies and gentlemen!” The man on the PA system said. I had no idea if that was fast or not, but by the second lap, she had raised that up to 175 mph. You could see McClaire was having to fight the car, it refused to obey her commands, her hands turning furiously all over the wheel. The car wiggled and bucked and stepped out sideways coming out of the turns, but somehow she kept it going and raised the speed again.
“176 miles per hour, one, seven, six, point seven, two.” People were starting to sweat down on the pit lane. Mechanics started pushing their cars back to the garages to make further changes to their car.
“If McClaire was going this fast, this early, with a car this ill handling, everyone else doesn't have a chance.” Star said, as if narrating my thoughts. As the checkered flag hug high in the sky for the fourth and final lap, McClaire came off the final corner again for a 176 mph lap speed.
“Jesus Christ that girl can drive.” Someone said beside me with a deep Texas accent. All I could do was laugh… That was fucking epic!
Comments (0)
See all