"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.
"Tough field today, ain't it?" his crew chief commented as he once again became stuck behind a three-wide row.
"Mhm," he answered, suppressing his frustration.
He looked ahead. Tori was leading, and had been for some time. There hadn't been any obnoxious loose newspapers on the track when he ran his qualifying lap. At this rate, the Ford was on track to win the race.
Strip spaced out, waiting for another gap to open up. Being blockaded like this made every lap feel the same – routine and boring. He tried to think of another way through, but short of physically shoving them out of the way, there was nothing he could do.
"Want me to take care of this for you?" that familiar voice asked from behind him.
"Sammy, I thought I left you in the dust." Strip moved half a lane down, affording his friend room to move up. If he was going to be bored, he might as well have company.
"Naw," Sammy denied, joining him, "see, I thought of a good comeback after you took off. I had to come chase you down to get even."
"The moment's gone, man."
"Wanna get up there and give ol' Tor a run for his money?" Sammy asked after a brief pause, lamenting the loss of opportunity to use a not-so-quick-witted response.
"Yeah, if I could just – "
"Go low! Go low!" Strip's crew chief yelled over the radio. "Wreck in four!"
That rookie they noticed earlier had worked his way up behind Tori, but not before accidentally pushing another racer into the wall coming out of turn four.
Strip instinctively veered to his left, but not before chaos erupted around him. The car that had been pushed into the wall got t-boned by an oncoming racer on the outside, and as the second victim of the crash rolled away from the wall and down the track, the rest of the field was caught up.
In a vain attempt to keep from rear-ending the racers in front of him, Sammy braked hard and tried to swing to the left behind Strip, and though the Plymouth was already in the clear on the apron, he accidentally clipped him in the right rear fender. Sammy swore as he spun out toward the inner wall, watching one of his closest friends careen right into the heart of the commotion.
Strip lost all control the moment Sammy collided with him. His rear end swung out from under him, pointing him back toward the track. Another racer, who'd previously been skirting the accident half a lane above Strip, caught him in the side and sent him airborne toward the catch fence. Sparks flew as he collided with the mesh wiring and fell to the asphalt. A few lingering seconds of metal hitting metal and scraping pavement ended with quiet.
"Boy, you alright?" his crew chief asked in an urgent tone.
Strip looked around and regained his bearings. He'd landed shiny-side up, so that was a plus. Nothing felt broken, surprisingly. He rolled forward under his own power and found himself functional.
"I'm fine," he muttered, wincing as the dull pain from countless dents registered.
He limped his way to pit row on flat tires alongside the other injured racers that could still drive. His spoiler wobbled uncomfortably, loose and bent on its supports. That was going to have to be a special order fix. One downside of being a modified racecar was the lack of spare parts freely laying around.
"Well, wasn't expectin' today to turn out like this," the Dinoco blue truck said as Strip came to a halt in their box. "Looks mostly cosmetic, though. You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I think so." Strip sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd crashed out of a race, and it likely wouldn't be his last, but he hated starting something and being unable to finish.
"Hm," the crew chief looked down at him. "We'll get you checked out anyway. I'd put you back in if your wing didn't look like a bent paperclip."
The Dinoco crew cruised off to their sponsor tent after giving their racer a new set of wheels. As they approached, Tex met them with a look of concern.
"That ain't gonna buff out," the glittering Cadillac stated after looking his racer over. "Just ain't our week, is it?"
"It'll be alright." Strip shrugged. "We'll get 'em next week."
Lynda appeared from around the backside of the tent where they'd been watching the race. She winced as she saw her husband, but put on a soft smile for him as she approached.
"Ow," she commented. "I think that was your first time in the fence, am I right?"
"Mm-hm," he confirmed. "Not as soft as it looks."
To their left, a tow truck pulled Sammy into the onsite care clinic. The Chevy's hood resembled an accordion, all scrunched up from head-on impact with the inner wall. From the front wheels forward, the Caterpillar racer looked like a derby car that had seen better days.
"I didn't do it on purpose!" he called to them, speech slurred as if he couldn't feel his mouth. "It was an accident this time, I swear."
Team Dinoco watched on as he disappeared into the tent.
"That makes four that's gone in there," Lynda observed. "Hope they're okay."
"I'm sure they will be." Strip watched as the track's security detail blocked reporters from nearing the tent.
"I'm surprised you didn't break anythin' important," Tex looked to his racer again. "I didn't think you were gonna drive out of that one."
"Roll cage helped. I wasn't goin' that fast when I hit," Strip summarized.
"Fast enough to catch some air," Tex pointed out. "I'll call in an order for new parts. Have them send someone to check you out and put you back together before next weekend."
"Great," Strip said more sarcastically then he'd meant.
Some time ago, Tex had set up a connection with the OEM parts manager at Chrysler. With a little inside help, he was able to get the non-stock parts Strip actually needed, but this also meant he couldn't send his racer to just any garage to be fixed. Chrysler had to send down a specialized technician when repairs exceeded minor bodywork. Tex paid them handsomely, but Strip still felt it was an inconvenience.
With nearly half the field out of the race, the finish was uneventful. Tori maintained his lead. The car that caused the crash never fell further back than third, and finished second. Another middle-of-the-pack racer took third.
In Victory Lane, the media swarmed the top three finishers as they posed with their trophies, leaving the other racers with a bit of peace. Strip milled about in front of the Dinoco tent with Lynda, talking with friends and a few straggling reporters that wanted any interview they could get. Eventually, Sammy emerged from the clinic. He didn't look much better for wear, but at least he wasn't leaking brake fluid all over the ground anymore.
"Looks like you picked a fight with the wrong wall, Sammy," Lynda greeted him as he drove up to them.
"Yeah," Sammy sighed, settling into his suspension in defeat. "Maybe. I can't feel my bumper."
"Try the fence next time," Strip recommended. "It's much nicer."
"Uh huh, yeah," he returned sarcastically. "Next time I'll do that. Because I'll have a choice next time."
Strip laughed a little. "Glad to see you ain't really hurt, though."
"Same. Turns out the receiving end of these wrecks ain't quite as pleasant as dishin' 'em out."
"Just stay at the front of field. Problem solved."
Sammy rolled his eyes and gestured toward the pedestals. "Works for Tori, I guess. And you, most of the time."
Strip watched as Tori smiled for the cameras. It was a little strange, not being up there with him. The two of them usually placed next to each other.
"So, talk of the clinic just now," Sammy continued, changing the subject, "that new guy up there. Finally figured out who he is. Name's Chick Hicks. What kind of a name is that?"
"One that's easy to remember, I guess. Stage name?"
"No, that's for real his actual name," Sammy explained. "Ridiculous, right? Dude came out of nowhere with some small, local bank as his sponsor. Placed top ten twice already. You'd think someone like that would learn how to hold a line."
"He'll figure it out." Strip projected. "Best way to learn somethin' is to make a mistake."
"You a mage of wisdom, now?" Sammy eyed him suspiciously. "Don't say stuff like that. You're makin' me feel old."
Strip glanced back up at the podiums off in the distance. Tori was fully engaged in an interview from the top platform.
"I have an idea," he said as a plan formed in his mind. "Sammy, you up for somethin'?"
"Oh, no," Lynda murmured.
"I like where you're goin' with this," Sammy followed his friend's gaze toward Victory Lane. "Go on."
"You know how Tori likes his trailer all organized and clean? Be a shame if somethin' happened to it."
"I'm leavin' before y'all incriminate me by association," Lynda commented, backing away from them. "I'm gonna go talk to sensible cars, like Tex."
"Have fun bein' bored!" Sammy called after her.
Strip watched her drive away with a smile on his face. "Alright, so here's what I have in mind…"