Once Around the Track

Hey, Ed, Sark here. I finally made it to Daytona with Team Vagenya, and I’m taking notes like crazy. I’m beginning to think I need to write a book instead of just an article. If people don’t know racing it would be hard to cram all this information into a couple of thousand words.

Yo, Sark! You’re in Daytona already? I thought the race wasn’t until next Sunday?

It is next Sunday, but you wouldn’t believe how much we have to go through before the race. It’s not even guaranteed that we will race. First there’s qualifying, which I thought I understood. You know, cars go around the track a couple of times and whoever has the fastest lap gets the pole, and second fastest is next, and so on. Well, for the Daytona 500, they don’t qualify like that.

So, enlighten me. Basketball is my sport. What do your car boys do at Daytona? Poll the audience? Call a friend? Convene the College of Cardinals?

Nothing so simple. They do the normal two-lap time trial on the first day, but that only determines who gets the inside and outside pole positions. Everybody else is still in limbo.

Limbo, Huh? Then they call the College of Cardinals?

No, then they hold two 125-mile qualifying races on the Thursday before the race on Sunday.

Two races? How do they decide which contenders race in which race?

Do you really want to know, Ed? Try reading an IRS tax form, and if you find that riveting, then I’ll explain all the fine points of qualifying to you. Anyhow, suffice it to say that Badger is in the first qualifying race, and if he finishes in the top fourteen, he will take his place in the lineup behind the pole sitter.

That sounds dull, but coherent, anyhow.

It gets worse. There are also champion’s points, provisional entries, and God only knows what else, but anyhow, we’re not eligible for any papal dispensations or whatever you have to have to get into the race free. We have to get Badger in with a fast car, which, please God, he does not wreck during the qualifying race.

So now you’re praying for Badger? I’m touched.

Listen, a lot of talented and dedicated women have worked pretty damned hard to get him out there, and if he gets this team in the race I’d be willing to put a statue of him on my dashboard.

Sounds like he’s made a convert. And is Badger being a saint down there in NASCAR land?

He’s working his ass off. We all are. What he does on his own time, I don’t know.

Shouldn’t you be finding out? For the article, of course.

I’ll try. He has an autographing Thursday morning. Maybe I can ask him then. I’m supposed to be his minder for the afternoon, because the Dominatrix is busy (I told you about her). Maybe she has to have dialysis to change the antifreeze in her veins. Gotta go. Wish us luck.

If anyone had told Taran Stiles that she would someday spend a whole week inside the Daytona International Speedway, and that not once would she even bother to log on to the Badger’s Din, much less boast about her adventures, well, she wouldn’t have believed it. Here she was, living the dream, and she wasn’t going to tell the people who would envy her most. In fact, the week had been so hectic that she couldn’t even be bothered to read what they were saying about the forthcoming race.

Anyone who thought that stock car racing was not a team sport had better not say it to her face this week. People on Badger’s Din used to talk about racing as if it was all up to Badger, but now Taran knew for a fact that it wasn’t. Before he could go out there and qualify in one of Daytona’s preliminary races, an army of support people had to do their jobs, and he couldn’t succeed unless they were very good at their jobs, too. It was an intricate web of trust and dependency. The pit crew had to hope that the engineers and mechanics had set up the car so that it would perform well, and the engineers and mechanics had to hope that all their hard work would not go down the drain if the pit crew screwed up their part of the operation. And assuming that all of them did everything right both in the shop and in the pit, it all depended on Badger driving well and being lucky enough not to get wrecked by somebody else’s mistake on the track.

The first practice at Daytona was a nerve-wracking experience for Taran. There were a fair number of people in the stands, and enough people were milling around the infield to populate a county fair. Taran thought it was hard enough to do her newly learned job without all these strangers watching her. It unnerved her that the garages provided for the Cup teams had one glass wall, so that anyone walking by could stand there and watch what was going on. She knew that the observers were probably just interested well-meaning fans, but the idea of being observed by strangers still made her uneasy. She felt that she was too much of a klutz in general to want an audience.

She was still standing there in a daze when Kathy Erwin, the team’s front tire changer, shook her by the shoulder, and said, “Stiles, quick-before it’s Badger’s turn to practice. We forgot to bring one of the parts we might need this afternoon. We need you to go over to one of the Childress teams and see if you can borrow one. You need to hurry.”

“What part is it?” asked Taran.

The tire changer told her.

Moments later, Taran was standing at the tool wagon of the 31 car, trying to explain her errand to a harassed- looking man in orange coveralls. “We just want to borrow it, if you have an extra one.”

The wiry man leaned in closer and cupped his ear so she wouldn’t have to shout. “What was it you wanted again?”

Taran had it down pat. “A left-handed smoke shifter,” she said triumphantly. “If you can spare it.”

The guy in the orange coveralls sighed and shook his head. “We only brought the one,” he said. “But I tell you what, why don’t you go see if the 21 car has one to spare? I believe the Wood Brothers actually invented that tool. They’re bound to have an extra one, don’t you think, boys?”

Those of his fellow crew members within earshot nodded solemnly. The Wood Brothers. The 21 car. They all agreed that it was Taran’s best bet, and off she went.

She threaded her way through the crowd of crew members getting ready for their car’s turn at practice, trying to ignore the roar of engines and the people watching from the stands, all of whom were, she felt, looking directly at her. At the Wood Brothers’ garage she restated her mission to another busy man in coveralls.

“Can’t help you,” he said, and turned away.

Desperation made her bold. “But I thought you people invented the left-handed smoke shifter!” said Taran, clutching at his arm.

The crewman sighed and looked down into the face of an earnest little idiot who was on the verge of tears. Sure she was a new fish, but he figured that race week would be enough of a hassle for her as it was. And Badger was a good guy. They went way back. Old Badger had enough to contend with, what with that embarrassing sponsor of his. He didn’t need any hysterical teammates to boot. “Look, kid,” the crewman said, “there’s no such thing.”

“What?” Taran strained to hear him over the waves of sound from crowds, engines, and loudspeakers.

“I said there’s no such thing as a left-handed smoke shifter. It’s an old joke. Crews pick the most gullible new team member and send them out to borrow nonexistent tools. They’re back there laughing at you. Go back and get ready for the practice.”

It took a moment for the sense of this speech to sink in to Taran’s already panic-stricken and distracted brain, but finally the phrase they’re laughing at you hit home, and without a word, she turned away and began to trudge back to the Team Vagenya garage stall. Practical jokes were not her idea of the best way to build camaraderie within the team, but she realized that NASCAR was still a man’s world, which meant that the rules were different-and not necessarily harsher, either. The society of women had its own form of hazing, but usually they did it behind your back, and they never let you in on the joke.

Maybe the team thought she was the joke, Taran thought. Everybody knew how she felt about Badger. Oh, not the real Badger, but that ethereal creature in the firesuit that he sometimes became. Maybe that was why they had singled her out for torment.

She went back to the space allotted to the 86 car. Fortunately, everybody was busy, so they missed her arrival. She had been dreading the pointing and snickering. Then she saw why no one was paying any attention to her. A rookie’s car had got loose in Turn Four and hit the back of another car. It wasn’t Badger-always her first thought- but everyone’s attention was now focused on the track where the two cars had stopped.

Suddenly, Tuggle was at her side. “Damn rookies,” she said, nodding toward the track. “Look, go ask the guys if they brought the shrinker-stretcher from the shop. We may need it.”

Taran blinked. “Wh-what?”