assistant, but she had graciously volunteered to look after the other two drivers as well. Her job this afternoon was to hand out fresh bottles of water and new Sharpie markers for autographing, and to retrieve more autograph cards if anyone ran out.
The blue-eyed young man on the left side of the table had the longest line, mostly female fans, armed with cameras. Many of them wore the emblems of Cup drivers, but they were shopping for new talent, because, hey, nobody stays out there forever.
“They say he’s a natural,” said one dishwater blonde in a red #8 tank top to her frizzy-haired friend.
“Did you hear that he has a Busch ride next year? Grace Tuggle has just been named as his crew chief.”
Taran smiled at the fan. This rumor was true. Tony had finally got his chance in NASCAR.
“I like the shape of his face,” said an older woman. “He’s got that cute cleft chin, and his haircut is really hot. Is he married?” They weren’t bothering to lower their voices. Perhaps they thought that drivers weren’t quite “real,” that he was at most a robot or an animated poster with no life beyond his public persona.
Taran, who was handing out more marker pens, heard them, though. “Tony is engaged,” she said sharply. She paused for a moment, letting the afternoon light catch the sparkle of the very small diamond on her third finger. She and Tony glanced at each other and shared a brief smile. Then it was back to the business at hand.
At the front of the line a dark-haired girl in a white sweatsuit handed her camera to the driver’s minder. “Would you take my picture with Tony?” she said. “I’ve been following his career ever since he started driving around Mooresville. I swear I’m his biggest fan. Does he have a fan club?”
“He has a Web site,” said Taran, trying to sound pleasant, or at least civil. These were Tony’s fans, and he would need fans in order to succeed in racing. “The address is on the autograph card.”
“He’s gonna be a big star one of the days,” said the fan.
“We hope so,” said Taran. She lifted the camera and motioned for the dark-haired girl to pose with Tony.
Flashing a triumphant smile at the rest of the long line, the dark-haired girl walked around the signing table, leaned down to show off her cleavage to its best advantage, and snuggled up close to Tony Lafon, whose wary eyes would not match his public smile. Taran took the picture.
As the girl retrieved her camera, she smiled again at Tony, and said, “Would you like me to send you a copy of the picture? I will, if you give me your address.”
“Just e-mail it to the Web site,” said Taran briskly. “Who’s next?”
The wispy young woman who was next in line was shaking. “I’m next,” she said, barely speaking above a whisper. “I think you’re wonderful, Tony.”
Badger would have smiled and drawled, “Waal, thank you,” but Tony Lafon was not yet accustomed to the kindness of strangers. He reddened and squirmed in his seat, and finally said, “I’m just lucky to be here.”
Her pale eyes blinked at Tony through thick glasses, and she looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. Tony smiled up at her reassuringly, scrawled his name across the autograph card, and held it up to her. She looked like a boiled rabbit.
“Thanks for coming out today,” he told her.
Tears coursed down the woman’s pale cheeks. “I love you, Tony, “she whispered.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
To the uninitiated, NASCAR looks like a solitary sport: one driver competing against forty-two opponents. In reality, racing is very much a team effort, with the driver occupying a place on the team analogous to that of the pitcher or the quarterback-an important, glamorous symbol for the team, but by no means its only contributor to the win.
Being a writer can be like that, too. I had to think up the plot, devise the characters, and spend many laps at the keyboard of my word processor to make this book happen, but it was by no means a solitary effort. I was blessed with a volunteer “pit crew” of the most generous, knowledgeable, and enthusiastic advisors that any writer ever had.
2002 Daytona 500 winner Ward Burton, who was “my driver” in NASCAR before he became my friend, is the soul of this book. Without him the novel would not exist. He swears that he does not remember receiving an offer to drive for an all-female team, but that is where this story began-not as a formal book project, but as a
If you are going to write a novel with a Cup driver as a major character, it helps to have one on speed dial. During the writing of this novel, Ward has been remarkably patient and generous with his time and knowledge, telling me exactly how to drive the difficult track at Darlington, and sharing his racing expertise with me. It is because of Ward that I understand how people feel about their drivers, whether they are fans or friends or colleagues. In the novel Badger’s kindness to fans and his rapport with children are traits he “inherited” from Ward Burton. Not only did Ward answer my questions about the life of a NASCAR driver, he also played the part of “Badger” in the movie in my head. Biographically, they are not alike, but in the sense that Harrison Ford is “Indiana Jones”
My friend and fellow Virginia Tech grad, Adam Edwards, who has managed a Busch team, driven both Pure Stock and in the NASCAR Weekly Racing Series, and teaches for the FastTrack School of Racing, was my chief engineer, devising the 86 car’s winning edge and his keen instinct for making the action scenes come alive for me was a key part of the narrative. In December 2005, Adam and I lived the scene in which Taran takes photos of Tony Lafon in his firesuit in Victory Lane at Daytona, and in July of 2006, he gave me my first ride-along in a race car at Lowe’s Motor Speedway. In research, no matter how long it took or how complex the question, Adam always tried to make sure that I understood and got it right.
Jamie Bishop, former gasman for NASCAR legend Cale Yarborough and for other teams, was a wonderful literary crew chief. He helped set up my fictional pit crew, and he kept me straight on such technical matters as pit stop practice, ignition box changing, and the day-to-day operation of a Cup team.
My thanks to Lisa Kipps-Brown, site manager of www.ward burton.com, who answered the phone one day laughing so hard that she couldn’t talk, and so began the train of thought that led to this book.
Tennessee author Jane Hicks, my NASCAR mentor from the outset, served as the sounding board for this story, keeping me focused and helping me work through the intricacies of a NASCAR story.
In the earliest stages of researching this novel, when I was trying to figure out how to engineer a winning race car, Austin Petty took me on a tour of the Petty Enterprises Race Shop and conspired with me about templates and air dams, and he was a great help in getting me started. Other engineering expertise was provided by Mike Mitchell and Dennis Duchene of NASCAR Tech in Mooresville and by Dr. Robert Sexton.
Many people generously shared with me their memories and expertise on the subject of stock car racing past and present, and I thank them all, especially Cathy Earnhardt Watkins, Martha Earnhardt, Danny “Chocolate” Myers, Forrest Reynolds, Kate Lee, Ed Burton, and Brian and Judith Burton. I’m grateful for the assistance of Tabitha Burton, whose memories of coping with an injured driver formed the basis of the hospital scene in Chapter 22.
My thanks to H. A. “Humpy” Wheeler, for his encouragement and for his hospitality at the 2005 All-Star race at Lowe’s Motor Speedway, to Mike Smith of the Martinsville Speedway, and to Jeff Byrd and Bruton Smith of the Bristol Motor Speedway for their kindness and hospitality.
For the information on the rescue of Badger’s turtle, I am grateful to Carolina Wildlife Care (www.carolinawildlife.org), a nonprofit organization in Columbia, South Carolina, dedicated to the preservation of native wildlife and its natural habitat through rehabilitation, education, and environmental conservation. Carolina Wildlife Care rehabilitates sick, injured, and orphaned wildlife to return to its natural environment.
And Ricky Rudd.
