Once Around the Track

Badger was it.”

Tony nodded. He’d heard similar stories from fans before. “So what happened to Rob?”

Taran shrugged. “We stopped watching racing together. He said I was too emotional. I guess it’s hard to concentrate on your chart of statistics when the person beside you is alternately shrieking and crying. So that was it. I didn’t miss him, though. I had Badger.”

Tony smiled. “It must have been a thrill for you to actually meet him.”

“Oh, no,” said Taran, shuddering at the memory. “It was ghastly.”

It had been a few days after Tuggle had selected the Team Vagenya pit crew, and Badger, having finally finished giving interviews and having his picture made with the sponsors and owners, had finally come along to practice. He went down the line, shaking hands and introducing himself to his new teammates. When he got to Taran, he stuck out his hand, smiled like a movie star, and said, “How you doin’?”

And she had backed away from that outstretched hand as if it had been holding a switchblade. She had just wanted him to go away.

It certainly wasn’t how she had pictured her first meeting with her driver. Once she had been chosen for the team, she had rehearsed the moment in her mind a hundred times, in every possible variation. From “How do you do, sir? Such a pleasure to meet you,” to “I’m sorry? I didn’t catch the name,” to wordlessly throwing herself in his arms, while imaginary violins swelled to a stunning crescendo and the team practice yard dissolved into a field of wildflowers. But nowhere in her wildest imaginings had she pictured herself backing away from her beloved Badger in abject terror.

But she had.

Now why was that?

She had given it a lot of thought since then. She wasn’t sure that Badger had even noticed her confusion. As she was backing away, Reve had put her hand into the small of Taran’s back and gently pushed her forward again. She managed to croak a feeble hello, and Badger shook her hand and moved on.

Since then she had relived that moment another hundred times or so, wishing that you could get instant replays in real life. At least she’d have a second chance. They were teammates. Sooner or later she might calm down enough to actually converse with him.

She had tried to figure out exactly why she had panicked. Well, she told herself, it isn’t every day that you meet your screensaver. Badger was shorter than she’d imagined, but otherwise he looked pretty much like his photographs, so that wasn’t the reason for her dismay. Perhaps it was simply the pressure of that first meeting, because to her, anyway, it mattered so much. With most people you meet you can simply be yourself, and either you hit it off or you don’t, and it’s no big deal either way, but Badger was the SAT and an EKG rolled into one: a human exam, and if she failed it, the chance might never come again.

They had probably chatted for a minute or two, but the voice in her head was chanting “Don’tletmesayanythingstupidDon’tlet mesayanythingstupid” so loudly that she could no longer remember what either of them said.

“He was wearing the firesuit, wasn’t he?” asked Tony.

“And the sunglasses,” said Taran. “It was terrible. I wanted to run.”

“You didn’t, did you? He’s a pretty laid-back guy, you know. One of the nicest drivers in the bunch.”

“I know,” said Taran. “I’m starting to get over it. Lately when he comes around the shop for practice or just to stop by, I can talk to him a little bit without feeling faint.” She smiled to show that she was kidding-almost.

“I wonder what that feels like,” said Tony. “To be so famous that people are afraid to talk to you.”

“I don’t think he knows,” said Taran. “He never seems to notice, anyhow.”

Tony tossed his Snapple bottle into the recycle bin. “I think they want us back out there,” he said. “Reve is waving at us.”

Taran finished the last of her water. “Well, good luck with your driving. I hope you get your chance.”

“Sometimes I do some driving on a week night at the local track. Late Model Stocks. I have a friend who lets me sub for him sometimes, and I’m working on getting a couple of local sponsors so I can have my own ride. Maybe you’d like to come out sometime and watch?”

Taran nodded. “I’d like that,” she said. She was thinking, The more I learn about racing, the more small talk I’ll be able to make with Badger.

In Julie Carmichael’s office, otherwise known as Vagenya Tech, the team engineers were busy as usual, trying to stay one jump ahead of the NASCAR watchdogs.

“In the old days,” said Jay Bird, “there were a lot of tricks we could have used to modify the car.”

“Like what?” asked Rosalind.

“Lighten the roll cage. We used to replace the thick steel bars of the roll cage with lighter-weight exhaust pipe. Can’t do that these days, though. NASCAR checks the roll bar thickness with an ultrasonic tester right there in the pits.”

Julie explained to Rosalind, “They have a little handheld unit and they put a little jelly on the end of the sensor and put it up against the roll bars, and it reads the thickness on the digital display.”

Rosalind was aghast. “But you can’t lighten the roll bars, anyway!” she said. “In a wreck, that roll cage is what protects the driver. You could get Badger killed if you circumvent the safety measures.”

“Badger wants to win as bad as we do,” said Jay Bird. “I’ll bet you wouldn’t catch him complaining.”

“He might be too macho to complain,” said Julie, “but Rosalind is right. We can’t risk him getting hurt.”

Jay Bird was philosophical about it. “They’d probably catch us, anyway. What about having a little panel in the floor board that you can slide open to diffuse some of the air from underneath the car?”

“Everybody does that,” said Julie. “Like lowering the motor mounts. Done that.”

“Okay,” said Rosalind, “here’s an idea. Suppose we attach sensors to the car to transmit information back to us about the fuel mileage, the wheel revolutions per minute, and maybe the transmission gear selection? That would help.”

“It’s called telemetry,” said Julie. “It’s illegal.”

“Oh,” said Rosalind. “I’d better reread the rule book again.”

Jay Bird said, “What about traction control?”

“Now I know that’s illegal,” said Rosalind. “It’s akin to telemetry, really-installing sensors to detect the amount of wheel spin, and then regulating the amount of power being transmitted to the tire. NASCAR outlawed that, didn’t they?”

“Big time,” said Jay Bird. “Get caught with that on your car and they say they’ll ban you from the sport for life.”

Julie closed her notebook. “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” she said. “Let’s just keep on doing all the dull but legal stuff we’ve been doing to make the car better. We’ll keep fine-tuning everything.”

CHAPTER XVI

Speed Week

ENGINE NOISE

Your Online Source for NASCAR News & Views

VAGENYA SLIM?-Well, what do you think the 86 team’s chances are to make the Daytona 500? Engine Noise is betting that by race time Sunday they’ll all be back in Mooresville watching the show on television. The legendary Jay Bird Thomas is acting as the team’s godfather, but we think they’d be better off with a fairy godmother. With a magic wand. Boogity! Boogity! Boo!-Still, the team is in Daytona this week, getting ready to qualify for the Great American Race. Since they are a start-up team without a previous top 35 standing or champion’s points, they’ll have to make it in by having one of the fastest times of all the wannabees. So they’d better hope that Badger doesn’t-dare we say it?-run like a girl!