Just as I stood, the phone rang. It was Riley. “I’m going racing!” I yelled. “I just got off the phone from booking it.”
There was a pause. “That’s great, Dad,” she said, her voice melancholy.
Ice water coursed through my veins. “I won’t go then,” I blurted.
“No,” she sniffled, “you have to. And that’s the point, isn’t it?”
“It’ll be okay,” I whispered, but that wasn’t completely true. The hourglass was emptying and there were no words powerful enough to freeze time. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Rather than wait for me alone in some motel for three days, Bella insisted it would be better if she sat out this adventure at home. “You don’t want me beating you on that track, anyway,” she said. “It would be embarrassing.”
I packed, swung by the pharmacy to pick up two refills Dr. Rice had called in, and headed home to try to get at least some sleep.
I awoke even earlier than usual. I didn’t want to waste a moment.
On the flight, I reminisced about growing up feeding my need for speed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
We were fourteen years old when Dewey and I took the old man’s Cadillac. It was supposed to be a joy ride; only a childhood prank, but it turned into a nightmare.
With me behind the wheel, we headed down the road and took a right toward a private lane that ran the length of the pond. I punched the gas, squealing the tires, throwing up rocks and barreling down the narrow lane. As we turned around, we saw that a mob of unhappy neighbors had gathered at the beginning of the road to meet us. “Oh, crap!” I said, but drove back to face the jury.
I rolled the window down a bit. A man with bulging eyes approached. Although his anger was understandable, the rage in his voice seemed inappropriate. I was terrified, but stayed calm. The man placed both of his massive hands into the window. “Get out of the car…NOW!” he barked. “We’re going to call the police.”
“Go ahead and call,” I told him, “but we’re not getting out.”
The man freaked out, screaming, “GET OUT!” His huge hands pulled on the window, trying to break it in half.
I punched the gas, but the man never let go. We dragged him over several bushes before he was thrown from the car. I panicked, took a quick right and started for his back yard. We looked back. By now, he was up and running. “The whole neighborhood’s after us!” Dewey screamed.
I had my foot to the floor when we hit the soft lawn and began to sink. As the car began carving a tank trench into the angry man’s yard, grass and mud flew up from the rear wheels. Just when it looked like we were goners, the car swayed right, then left, then right again until it bucked itself free. I aimed for the road.
The mob was now screaming for blood. Dewey yelled “ROCK!” and took cover. A small boulder crashed through the rear window and landed on the back seat. We looked up. The giant was smiling. He could have competed at shot put in the Olympics, I thought.
We got to the end of the road, bailed out and ran for home. For once, my dad’s snarling face, or even a talk with the police, seemed like child’s play. We needed protection.
From the look on my dad’s face after he saw the rock sitting on the Cadillac’s back seat, I suspected my punishment was nothing compared to what he’d dole out to Mr. Bulging Eyes.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
One freezing November afternoon, my speed addiction also found Dewey and me out in a cornfield. It was an old Chevy and I was trying my hand at the art of the reverse donut. Essentially, I’d drive the car as fast as I could in reverse. Just before I lost control, I’d spin the wheel hard and go for the ride. As we rode the amusement park ride for the price of a gallon of gas, Dewey yelled in delight, watching the trees whip by his window. It was all about the thrill of feeling out of control.
On our last spin down the field, I put my foot to the floor. The car swayed to and fro, threatening to unhand the reins from me before I made the decision to give them up. At the last second, I turned the wheel and the car whipped into a violent spin. Suddenly, the driver’s side door flew open. It felt like some invisible force plucked me from the interior of the vehicle, my foot still wedged under the dashboard. As gravity summoned us in the opposite direction, Dewey struggled to the window on the driver’s side. He was just in time to see my body being dragged, while the front wheel missed my head by inches. My eyes were open, but I wasn’t enjoying the ride. Shock had set in. Dewey finally grabbed the wheel and straightened out the car, managing his foot onto the brake. He waited to hear my groan and then burst into laughter.
I wiggled my foot free and gradually got to my feet. I felt sick. Without a word, I reclaimed my seat, slammed the door and turned the car around. “Let’s try that again,” I told him and tried to slam my foot right through the floor. Dewey held on. It was one of those ‘back on the horse’ kind-of-things.
As frightening as it was, it was still easier than staying home with Dad and Joseph.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After a long flight delay and a lively discussion with an arrogant customer service representative at the rental car desk, it was nearly dusk by the time I reached Charlotte, North Carolina. Right away, the southern heat smacked me and reminded me of Vietnam. Instinctively, I waited for the heart palpitations and shortness of breath that always came with such reminders, but they never came. My body felt calm. I was completely relaxed. I really have healed, I finally decided, and I have Bella to thank for it!
Grateful and exhilarated, I checked into the motel and made a call home. I told Bella about my recent revelation and she was thrilled to hear it. She then silenced my guilt of being away from the family, saying, “You’ve put everyone before yourself for years. Right now…this time is about you. Now go enjoy it!”
I thanked her, hung up and took the rental car over to Lowe’s Motor Speedway just off of Highway 29 in Harrisburg. The first class wasn’t scheduled to start until the morning, but I couldn’t wait to see it.
With the majority of NASCAR teams located within a short drive from Charlotte, Lowe’s served as a home track for many of the stars. This 1.5-mile quad-oval was the showpiece of the Speedway Motor sports portfolio. It was also the annual site of NASCAR’s longest race, the Coca-Cola 600 hosted on Memorial Day weekend, holding a capacity crowd of one hundred thousand screaming fans. With turns banked at twenty-four degrees and the straightaways banked at five degrees, Lowe’s was one of the faster super-speedways.
As I circled the place in the dying light, I noticed there were rows of condominiums perched above Turn 1, the best place to watch the action. What a cool place to live, I thought.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I was up with the birds. I ate a banana and some granola, swallowed two pills, and took my time getting to the track. When I arrived, I was surprised to find a heavyset guy with sandy blonde hair and a pair of brown eyes already waiting. I extended my hand. “Mornin,’ I’m Don DiMarco.”
“Billy Hutchins,” he said and shook my hand. “Good mornin’.” He looked me over a few times. “So how long you been teaching us speed addicts?”
“Not all that long,” I answered and laughed. “I’m a student.”
He did a quick double take. “I’m sorry, you looked…”
“Old?”
He shrugged. “Nah…like a teacher.”
We spent the next few minutes getting acquainted. Billy Hutchins was from Huntersville, North Carolina, and was wise beyond his years. He’d raced short tracks throughout the south where he won Pro Stock Rookie of the Year and the coveted Sportsmanship Trophy. As more people joined our circle, Billy greeted his friend before introducing us. He said, “Ev, this is Teacher.” He then looked at me and smiled. “Teacher, this is my buddy, Evan Jacobs.”
I shook the kid’s hand and laughed at the new nickname. He wiped his brow and said, “It’s hotter than two mice going at it in a wool sock in August.”
“I bet,” Evan said and looked up to find Maia Julius, the only female student in the class, signing in. “Damn,” he muttered, “a girl.”
I chuckled again. “Good for her,” I said.
We were greeted by an enthusiastic crew of three men; a student to instructor ratio of five to one. Jeff Bolduc, the head instructor, was no more than twenty-five years old – which down south equated to more than fifteen years of racing experience. He was squared-away, much like an army drill instructor, but with a more friendly temperament. “Our mission here at Checkered Flag Racing is to give you the individual attention you need,” he began. “When racing, you will be in constant radio communication with your instructors, allowing us to correct mistakes as they happen, give advice and offer encouragement. I promise you’ll get maximum seat time and obtain faster speeds each time out.”
We were escorted into a classroom located a stone’s throw from the pit lane area. Registration took place first, waivers were signed and we were invited to purchase a photo package produced by the photographer on site for the day. Bella would have been ticked had she known, but I passed and took a seat at the front of the classroom.
Once Maia and the other thirteen students settled in, Jeff got started. “The first thing we’re going to learn at Checkered Flag is to look ahead,” he said. “It’s all about paying attention to the track ahead, which isn’t easy when you’re inches away from another car or a concrete wall, traveling at one hundred fifty miles per hour or more. Believe me, there’s little a driver can do about things that happen within a hundred feet of the car and nothing he can do within fifty feet. The trick is to develop a constant scanning pattern, using your peripheral vision to note what’s happening on the sides of your car, while constantly scanning your mirrors, the car’s instruments and the track in front of you.”
Though I didn’t take many notes, I was impressed by our young instructor. He was informative and well spoken. The rest of the morning was spent on accident avoidance. “To finish first, you must first finish,” Jeff explained. “Whenever a racer is driving wheel-to-wheel or nose-to-tail with another car, whenever he is about to pass another car or is being passed, some portion of his mind should be considering accident avoidance. ‘Where will I go if…..? ‘What will I do if….?’”
I nodded and looked back at my classmates. Most of the guys, to include Maia, were anxious to get behind the wheel and weren’t paying complete attention. I found it disturbing.
“Accidents are avoided in the driver’s head, not in his driving skills and techniques,” Jeff went on. “It’s imperative to look well ahead of the car and be aware of your surroundings at all times. It’s about anticipating dangerous situations and responding to each of them, as needed. And remember, guys, the single most important element of accident avoidance is space.”
The morning instruction didn’t seem long enough. We were dismissed for lunch – which was comical considering that it was delivered to us in the form of a stainless steel roach coach. “Get whatever you want,” one of the other instructors announced. “It’s on us.”
“Yeah…with the help of our three thousand dollar tuitions,” one of the students called out.
The guy smiled and walked away to eat his sandwich.
As I picked at a veggie wheat wrap, I took a seat near Billy and Evan.
“What the hell…it’s only money,” Evan said. “We only go around once.”
I started to nod in agreement when Billy drove the message home. “You got that right! We gotta drive this thing until the wheels come off and we head into victory lane out of gas, all banged up…the doors torn right off it.”
I finished the nod and laughed to myself. Though I missed Bella and the kids, I realized my wife was right – as usual. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The afternoon was spent on learning how to properly corner, braking to slow and braking to stop. When we wrapped up for the day, Jeff said, “Life is not a spectator sport, people. Starting tomorrow we’re going to prove why.”
Everyone stood and stretched. Billy approached me. “Me and some of the guys are heading out on the town tonight. You’re welcome to come with us, if you want?”
I looked up to find Maia and a few of the boys waiting for my answer. “I appreciate it, but I’m really beat. I think I’m just going to head back to the motel and get caught up on my beauty sleep.”
“So you’ll be sliding into a coma then?”
I laughed.
He patted my back. “See you in the morning, Teacher.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I bought a tuna fish sandwich from a convenience store near the motel, ate one bite and threw it up. For the next half hour, I sat on the toilet and tried to push out the pain in my guts. But nothing would come out – not even the usual pencil stools. Great, I thought, constipation should be a real hoot.
I then called Bella. We talked for most of the night like teenagers. The fact that all I’d done was sit in a classroom all day took nothing away from the excitement for either of us. Bella wanted every detail and I offered each one twice.
“The kids okay?” I asked. “Riley?”
“Everyone’s fine,” she said. “Stop worrying.”
I chuckled. “That’s something…you telling me to stop worrying.”
“I know.” She laughed. “I guess I’m trying to remind myself, too?”
“I love you, Bell,” I whispered.
“I know. I can feel it.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As expected, Maia and most of the guys looked like they’d prayed for death the next morning. They were hung-over, the whole lot of them.
The morning briefing covered safety issues. Once completed, we left the classroom for the garage area where Jeff and his partners explained the controls, gauges and features of the Winston Cup style racecars. Each car was exactly how I’d imagined it – beautiful. They were designed to accommodate different student heights and weights, so we had to try out a few until seating became comfortable.
Once fitted properly, we took a track orientation ride in a long, white van. As we puttered around the track, Jeff explained the meaning of the orange cones as specific slowing areas. He went over establishing the correct racing line, as well as other reference points “to assist you in maximizing your track time.” He then covered the rpm limits that would be used throughout the course. This took some time. Three of the four turns had different degrees of banking, while the front straightaway seemed to go on forever. We returned to the garage for another lunch on wheels.
As we ate, Evan turned to me. “Why are you here?” he asked. “I mean, aren’t you a few years late to be trying out for the circuit?”
“It’s never too late to try anything,” I told him, “and if you ever get too old to think this way, then you’re only waiting to die.”
Billy listened attentively and grinned. “I guess it’s not really about where we came from, but where we’re heading that counts, right?”
As I nodded, the hair on my neck prickled up. I was going to respond when Jeff came back into the garage and announced, “It’s time to draw your racing suits and helmets. Please make sure you find your right size.”
In the early summer sun, the driving suit was warmer than I’d imagined. We stood around one of the racecars for a final explanation of the switches and fire suppression system. “Okay, people,” Jeff concluded, “let’s go have some fun!”
With all the classroom instruction behind us, we were finally ready to take our seats behind the wheel. My stomach turned once, but it had nothing to do with cancer or the medicine that sometimes numbed its pain. This was from nerve
s and it was astounding. The cars had already been warmed up by the mechanics and were ready to go. The exhaust fumes gave off the sweetest smell.
I jumped into my assigned car and headed out behind Jeff’s lead car into the bright afternoon sun. My heart pounded hard in my ears. I’d never felt so alive.
The first session started out slow. We went around the gigantic track at no more than 140 mph which didn’t feel all that fast in a professional racecar. By the time the second lap session was done, we’d already reached our top speed for the day. As we pulled into the pit, I realized that the practice was done. Tomorrow’s the big day.
Before dismissing us for the night, Jeff explained, “Although everybody races under the same sun, not everybody enjoys the same horizon. If you’re willing to learn, grow and overcome any obstacle in your path, the sky is the limit. It’s just a matter of pulling it down and driving it home.”
Everyone applauded and headed for the parking lot.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Maia and the boys went out to drink whatever they couldn’t finish the night before. Once again, I decided to stay in. Between the exhaustion and crippling constipation caused by the medication, I wouldn’t have lasted another hour on my feet. Bella and I talked for hours. “Sweet dreams,” she finally said.
“I’m living one of them, babe,” I told her and could feel the warmth of her smile.
After we hung up, I laid in bed for the next hour, thinking about what I’d already experienced since receiving the devastating news – an unforgettable trip to Martha’s Vineyard, our engagement and wedding; making dinner for Bella and peace with Vietnam – and not even the worst physical torment could have wiped the smile from my face. I can’t wait to experience whatever lies ahead, I thought, and dozed off excited about the immediate future.
Twelve Months Page 10