The Team // A Formula One AU

Lance

The flight goes quite quickly while I sleep, but after the halfway point Weird Old Phil starts coming round and prodding us awake, saying we need to adjust to American time. Esteban does not take kindly to this, and neither does Daniel who's been through about thirteen time zones in the past two weeks. Yuki, as usual, is showing no signs of becoming tired.

"We're almost there!" He cries as the Canadian mainland comes into view.

"We're almost there!" He shrieks, jolting me from sleep, but in reality there was a glitch in the map on his screen.

"We're almost-"

"Shut up Yuki!" Esteban yells and the whole cabin goes quiet, causing the Frenchman to glance around and hunch down embarrassedly into his seat.

"We really are though," Yuki tells me quietly, reaching across me to point at the edge of one of the Great Lakes. "Can't you feel it? We're already going down."

It actually turns out that he's right this time. That's very good news for me because I couldn't last another hour in the middle seat between the grouchy Valtteri and the hyperactive Yuki. I started the flight with Nikita on my aisle side though, so I guess this is an improvement from that. I stifle a grin as the ground gets closer and closer, everyone wide awake now we've finally made it. Round one. Indianapolis.

Once landed, it takes an age for all our bags to be gathered up and dragged through the terminal. It feels strange to me, almost like being back home after a two week holiday, but of course this isn't Canada and my parents didn't arrange to come and see me race until Los Angeles. I hope to god I improve my form by then.

Low chatter fills the air was we walk outside into the freezing cold. This feels almost as bad as England, though the saving grace is that it isn't nearly as wet. We walk a long way before coming to the correct parking lot.

"Is this our bus?" Max asks, mouth hanging wide open.

"That's what it says on the map..." Tom replies, though he doesn't seem to sure himself. Standing below the decrepit old trees is a school bus. The yellow paint is aged and cracking away, the windows are foggy with dirt and it's smaller than usual, meaning we might not have space to fit all of our bags. Tom tries his key in the lock and the door opens creakily. He deflates a little.

"This is our bus."

"Everyone make yourselves at home," Erik grins.

"Wait, can we put our bags in the luggage compartment?" George asks. Erik pulls the handle but it's fused shut from years of rust and lack of use. Tom tries his best not to look irritated.

"We'll fix that."

Mick is the first to climb aboard, dragging his heavy suitcase behind him. Valtteri pushes through to get on next and I follow in his wake. Regardless of the vehicle, it's still important to find a good seat.

"It's freezing..." Charles complains as he follows me, despite being bundled in every sweater he owns.

"Hopefully it'll warm up when the engine is turned on."

"If the engine even works..."

"This window doesn't close properly, that's why it's so cold."

"I hope Tom spent more budget on our karts."

We slot into the bus like Tetris bricks, piling as many bags as we can into the empty rows. It takes four blasts on the ignition before it churns to life, vibrating beneath us so there's no point thinking about napping. It's only eleven in the morning here so I know I should stay awake, but actually I'm pretty alert anyway. Despite all of us being starving after our disgusting plane meals, everyone is excited to have arrived.

"Is everyone here?" Tom calls. He points at each of us in turn as he counts to twenty and calls over to Peter to start driving. I'm not sure I trust the youngest of the adults behind the wheel, but I suppose they plan to take turns. The bus lurches forward and I'm perturbed to find there are no seatbelts.

"What do you think the rooms will be like?" I ask Valtteri who once again has the window seat beside me.

"Cheap," he replies. I stare at him for a couple of seconds before realising that's all he has to say.

We actually make it to the hotel without a hitch, despite being crammed in like sardines and struggling to breathe over the scent of Esteban reapplying his hairspray after hours of sleep on the plane. My luggage gets wedged in the aisle as I try to drag it off the bus but eventually we all gather outside on a street that really looks like it doesn't get many visitors. A flickering sign above a taped-over glass door reads 'Youth Hostel'.

"This can't be it..." Max looks from the door and back to Tom, wide eyed. It's clear he's accustomed to a higher level of hospitality when he travels, and so am I. Here I was thinking sharing a room with five other people was temporary.

"This is it!" Tom beams as if it's exactly what he envisaged. Erik returns from the inside with a clutch of keys.

"Max, Valtteri and Nico, please come and collect the keys to your rooms."

"There's only one key per room?" I ask.

"Look at this place," Kimi replies, "do you think they can afford to cut many keys?"

With Valtteri as our designated room leader we quickly discover there is no lift to the third floor. Most people decide to carry one bag at a time up the narrow staircase but I copy Val and take one of mine in each hand. Bad idea.

"Will you hurry up, Lance? I really need the toilet..." Lewis whines behind me and I feel Esteban shove me in the back. I turn around to give him a dirty look and continue at my own pace. The last thing I want to do is crack my skull before I've even visited the first track.

The room is smaller than before, the door on one wall, a bunk bed against each of the others and a tiny skylight in the ceiling which will let sunlight stream directly onto one unlucky top-bunker's face every morning. I claim a nicer spot and lie down on my bed for a few moments of much-needed rest after such a long journey. Valtteri takes the bottom bunk opposite and shoots me a satisfied grin as the others turn around for their second bags.

"Well, we made it," he says.

"Yeah... Looks like did."

Day one. It's time for the championship to begin.