Conflict

Part 2, Chapter 7

"Alright, boy. Four in a row. Let's make it five."

"Yes, sir."

Team Dinoco was on a roll. Ten races into the season and Strip had won six, the last four consecutively. Two weeks prior, he'd smashed the standing record for fastest lap by three miles per hour. The Piston Cup rumor mill sparked talk that Weathers was a true legend in the making. No one had won four races in a row since 1952, let alone done that and set new records at the same time.

Strip's crew chief stayed silent as the race began. He knew that his racer knew what to do, even in an unfavorable starting position. The day before, an incident (i.e. unexpected debris on the track) had interfered with Strip's qualifying lap and set him back to mid-field. Even though he and crew protested and demanded a rerun, the officials wouldn't let their racer have it. Apparently, windblown newspapers don't warrant second chances.

"Well, look at you, back here with the rest of us," Sammy chided as he pushed his way next to Strip. "Was a bit of newspaper too much of a match for our king of the track?"

Strip gritted his teeth. He still had a score to settle with Wayne. Somehow, that conniving Fury had rearranged his drunken spiel just enough to get Tex's approval, and the resulting commercial caught on among the public like wildfire. Strip hated it.

"Can't race if you can't see where you're goin'," Strip muttered as they started into the fiftieth lap.

Sammy laughed. "Hey, man. It happens. You get that sometimes."

"No, you really don't."

They dove into turn three side by side, Strip taking the lower groove. A row of racers were three-wide ahead of him on a track that didn't generally didn't lend itself well to anything greater than two. Until they broke apart, there was no way he'd be able to pass.

"Hey," Sammy changed the subject. "You see that rookie up there?"

"Which one? There's half a dozen of 'em."

"The one that looks like a refrigerator with too many magnets on it."

He wasn't hard for Strip to spot. Not only was the rookie an ironic shade of unlucky green and covered from roof to rocker panel in every sponsor sticker imaginable, but he was also a Grand National, one of two now on the track. The stickered-up kid was a decent racer. He'd been placing consistently thus far, and that was more than many rookies could claim.

Despite consciously recognizing that his experience with Ford's remaining combatant had no hold on the rest of the Grand Nationals, Strip still found himself unnecessarily uneasy when he passed them, and reprimanded himself every time for feeling that way. It was ridiculous. Just looking at the rookie made him feel anxious.

"Yeah, I see him."

"Watch him next time we come out of turn four," Sammy said. "It keeps throwin' him off."

The Chevelle was right. There was a slight inconsistency on this track between turns three and four that threw several of the unseasoned racers off their line. Turn four was just a smidge sharper than three, and the Buick fell away from the middle groove toward the wall. A car to the outside had to fall back to avoid collision.

"Amateur," Sammy commented. "If you're gonna push someone out of the way, do it on purpose! He's just makin' a fool of himself."

"I distinctly remember you doin' the same thing the first time we raced this track." Strip pointed out.

Before Sammy could think of a good comeback, the inside lane opened ahead of Strip. Taking the opportunity, the Dinoco racer left his friend behind and started working his way through the pack.