Speed Freak (4 page)

WE LEFT THE
dummy grid on the starter’s signal. Round the track in formation for the rolling lap, watching for the lights at the start/finish line. They went out — and we were racing.

I opened up the throttle. Craig appeared in my peripheral vision. I held my line, hugging the inside. He fell back.

I kept my eyes on the track ahead. The leading four off the grid were bunched up until the corner, which they took in single file, the back markers losing valuable tenths of seconds. I’d pick off the slowest on the next corner.

I caught him on the back straight, staying in his slipstream until we hit the braking zone, when I pulled out smoothly and drove into the gap. One down and a tightly bunched group of three in front.

Sometimes you get lucky. The front runner lost power on the sweeper and pulled off the track. Two left and Craig hunting me down. The two in front were new to the game. I overtook one on the straight before the hairpin, and the other as we came out of it.

For a whole half-lap I was tempted to just race. I wanted to beat Craig. I wanted to be the winner on the podium. I wanted to be the one making the dumb
speech at prize-giving. But thanks to the hammering Dangerous Damian had handed out the other night, I came to my senses in time and kept to the game plan Dad and I always used in practice. Grandad had helped us work it out. I didn’t want to have to tell him that I’d chucked it on the rubbish heap.

I settled in to testing the limits. Craig got past me in the hairpin on the fourth lap when I went for a nice little excursion over the grass caused by turning in too soon at the entry point. No worries. I had those braking points, apexes and exits fixed in my memory now — they were those from the previous lap.

By the final lap, Craig was a kart length in front. He’d be happy, and cocky.

I shut him out of my thoughts. Now for the fast lap: the lap where I put it all together, went for speed and smoothness.

Craig was doing the same. It was a two-kart race, him and me with the rest of the field way behind. I watched ahead of me, kept him in my awareness, but he wasn’t my focus. Into the corners, looking into the apex, flicking eyes ahead to the exit point. Always watching ahead of where I was on the track. Smooth, fast, focused.

The chequered flag ahead. Craig’s kart in front of me. I pulled out from his slipstream, racing side by side to the finish line.

I think he got over first. Hard to be certain.

We drove round again, slowing the speed, into the pits and across the scales.

Dad met me, his face carefully expressionless. ‘Craig won by a tenth.’

‘He did? Bummer.’

‘Everything okay?’

‘Kart’s good.’ I checked the data logger for my times. ‘Fastest lap is 45.085. That’s not too bad. Cornering is okay too.’

‘Practise the rest of the day as well,’ Dad said.

I didn’t say anything for a moment. I wanted to show Craig I was a better driver. Damn it, I just wanted to win. But — stick to the game plan, keep the focus on the main prize.

‘Yeah. Okay.’

We went back to our base. Craig poked his head in the tent. ‘Want to watch the seniors?’

‘Off you go,’ Dad said. ‘Nothing to do here.’

I had a bet with myself that it wouldn’t be long before Craig pointed out that he’d won. He was never obvious about it, always came at it from an angle.

‘How’s your kart going?’ he asked.

I had a private smile. ‘No problems. Yours?’

‘Top notch. Gary’s good. Almost worth what Dad’s paying him.’

Josh came over to join us. ‘How’s it going, Josh?’ I asked.

He didn’t look happy. ‘Awful. The engine’s all to hell and we don’t know what’s wrong.’

‘Tough,’ Craig said.

‘Come with me,’ I said to Josh. ‘We’ll see if Dad can sort it out.’

Craig caught my eye and shook his head. Well, bugger him. Josh wasn’t going to worry us for a year or so, and the two of us had been helped out often enough. It wouldn’t kill him to let Gary the Great give the kid a hand.

Josh and I hung about, listening to the men trying to work out what was wrong. They still hadn’t got it
sussed by the time our next race was called.

‘Ring Grandad,’ I said. ‘It’s just the sort of thing he loves.’

Dad pulled out his phone as we headed to our tent. ‘Come with us, Josh. If he’s got an idea, you can run back and tell your dad.’

So Josh came with us down to the dummy grid and we listened to Dad’s side of the conversation. ‘No, Dad — calm down. Archie’s fine. It’s a mate of his. Josh. The engine’s coughing. No power.’ He listened for a couple of steps. ‘No. We tried that. It’s nothing obvious. Okay. Thanks. Yes, Archie’s doing good. Nice and smooth. Okay. Bye.’ He gave the phone to Josh. ‘He’ll have a think and get back to you with an answer.’

Josh trotted off, looking hopeful.

Craig pushed his kart on to pole and ignored me. I was starting on eight, right at the back of the field now that Josh was out — for this race anyway. I was busting to race Craig, to beat him, to make him humble.
Save it for next week. Save it for when it matters. Stick to the game plan.

The game plan was to try to shave a fraction of a second off every corner. It was to practise my overtaking. To focus on smoothness and consistency.

The starter let us go. There were no surprises. Craig led for the entire race. I let him go and I shaved a hundredth of a second off the S, and another off the left-hander. I went off at the hairpin, but I’d found the limits for it.

I didn’t improve my time for the fast lap. That was a worry. It should have been two-hundredths of a second faster.
Try harder next time.

But Dad said, ‘You’re shifting your weight slightly in the left-handers. You’re not so used to the anti-clockwise
track. Could just be the difference.’

‘Come off it, Dad. I know not to shift about in the kart.’

‘Think about it, Archie. No harm done if I’m wrong.’

Which meant he knew damn well he was right. ‘Okay. Did Grandad solve Josh’s problem?’

Dad laughed. ‘You should have seen Josh’s face. He answered the phone, and apparently all the old bugger said was
Bent carby needle
and hung up.’

‘And that’s what it was?’

He gave me a look. ‘What do you think?’

I thought Josh and his dad would be stoked, even if Craig wasn’t. Although, scratch that. He’d beaten me again. He’d be very happy.

It nearly killed me to stick to our game plan, but I had work to do. I went into the next race absolutely certain I’d been keeping my body still going into those corners. But this time when we checked the data logger read-out after the race, I’d shaved the time back.

‘Okay. You were right,’ I said, disgusted with myself for making such a basic mistake.

‘You could do with more practice,’ Dad said. ‘That position needs to be automatic.’

By the time we lined up for the final, I reckoned I had it sorted — I was steady as a statue when I drove those corners.

Because the final grid positions were allocated according to placings in the heats, Craig was on pole and I was on two. I was desperate to beat him, to sneak past, take the lead and keep it. But I thought about next weekend, and I drove to improve, striving for speed, smoothness and consistency. I drove a good race and came in half a kart length behind him.

He wasn’t bothered — well, why would he be? He wouldn’t have been quite so cocky if he’d known I’d knocked a whole second off my lap times during the day.

He didn’t quite strut to the podium back in the clubhouse at prize-giving — not quite. His speech was pure Craig: ‘Thank you to the Manawatu Club for an awesome day. I’d like to thank my dad for finding me the best mechanic in the business. Thanks, Gary. And finally a big thank you to Archie Barrington for being such a worthy competitor, as always.’

‘That’s putting me in my place,’ I whispered to Dad.

‘He’s got balls, all right.’

We were packing up the trailer when Craig came to say goodbye. ‘See you next week. Your sponsors will be interested in today’s results.’

And off he went, walking cocky, looking cocky, feeling bloody pleased with himself.

Dad said, ‘We drive our own race, Archie. Those guys will know what you were doing.’

I hoped so, but Craig was the winner on the day and that’s what the sponsors liked.

WE’D BEEN ON
the road home for around half an hour before Dad said, ‘Happy with the day?’

‘Sure am.’

He shifted in the seat, a smile on his face. ‘ Thought you would be. Craig’s happy too.’

I stretched my right arm, flexing the cramping out of it. It ached a bit more than normal thanks to my little encounter with the rocks. But my whole body was sore — it always was after a day’s racing. ‘I like to make him happy,’ I said. Because when he was pumped, he got overconfident, and then he got cocky and that’s when he wasn’t quite as sharp as he needed to be.

‘Got each corner sussed?’ Dad asked.

‘I reckon. That Two Tree was real mean though. It took me four laps before I found the ideal braking point.’

More kilometres passed in silence. Around Levin, Dad sighed and said, ‘Out with it. What’s biting you?’

‘What if I can’t beat him? He’s good. He could win the extra sponsorship and the whole Challenge. Or Lewis could.’

‘Or somebody else could. Archie, all you can do is your best. Give it everything. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll know you put your heart out there.’

‘Yeah. I know.’

Dad took a hand off the wheel to flick my ear. ‘You’re a bloody good driver, son. You’ve got the smarts to win. But things can happen. You know that. So quit thinking about Europe. Stop worrying about nailing the rest of the sponsorship. Take each race as it comes.’ This time, he gave me a clip over the head. ‘How many times have I told you that?’

‘First time this year,’ I said. ‘I know you’re right. I hear you. From now on I’ll be Mr Philosophical.’ Focus. That’s what this year was going to be all about. And staying in the moment.

I spent the time between Porirua and home facing the fact that I mightn’t win the chance to race overseas. I looked it square in the eye. I’d never done that before. I’d never truly believed I wouldn’t win, that I wouldn’t go to Europe. The rest of that dream involved some race team signing me up — but none of it might happen. Bugger it! I didn’t want to be philosophical. I wanted to win.

There wouldn’t be another chance at the Challenge. We’d decided to go all out for it this year, but that would be it, win or lose. It was too expensive to try again, and Dad seemed to think Year 12 would pile me up with mountains of work and I wouldn’t have as much time to put into racing.
You can’t set your sights on a career in motor racing
was one of his regular lectures.

We were still ten minutes from home before I turned my mind to the other career that was an option if I really couldn’t race. It had sounded good last year when the careers counsellor helped us with our subject choices.

What do you want to do, Archie?

Colin jumped in with:
Formula 1 race driver.

Ms Arawa ignored him and just kept looking at me, her eyebrows up.

Engineering. I want to design engines.

Colin sat shaking his head.
Mate!

So this year I was studying subjects that would help me get into engineering at uni. It would be okay. I liked engines and I liked designing things.

I sighed.

Dad said, ‘Okay there, son?’

‘Yeah.’

He pulled to a stop a street short of our place. ‘Listen, Archie. Go out there and have fun. Enjoy it. This is going to be an all-out competitive year. But don’t forget that you’ll be doing a sport you love. Lose that, and we might as well pack up and stay home.’

I let that sink in. I had an uncomfortable feeling I hadn’t taken much notice of that particular lecture before now.

Dad had a range of lectures and I’d taken most of them on board.

Eat well.
No problem.

Keep your temper.
Again, I’d got that one under control when I was six. I’d got bumped off the track and it wasn’t fair. I should have won and I was pretty noisy about it. Dad just said, ‘I warned you, Archie. Lose your temper and you lose your kart.’ He took it away for three months. Next time, he told me, it’d be for a year.

I made damn sure not to give him any reason to think that I’d forgotten. Strangely, it wasn’t a problem now to keep my temper. Win some, lose some. Shrug and drive the next race.

The one lecture that seemed just to have scraped across the surface was the one about handling real, deep disappointment. It went along with the one about accepting that some stuff was going to be out of my
control — engine failure, the state of the track, the behaviour of other drivers.

I said, ‘Winning’s never really mattered before. Not like this. Last year — Craig beat me in the Secondary Schools Champs. I was disappointed but I wasn’t gutted.’ I stopped to sort out my thoughts.

Dad sat all relaxed, his right arm propped on the steering wheel.

I thumped the dashboard. ‘Bugger it, Dad! I want to win this year. I want to be the driver going to Europe.’

‘You don’t say!’ said my father the clown. Then he got serious. ‘What’s the game plan, then? You need to get your head around the real possibility of failing.
And
you need to drive your heart out.’ He started the engine, but left it idling. ‘Wednesday,’ he said. ‘We’ll go over your game plan then. And by the way, Erica’s at home. She said she’d have dinner ready.’

A game plan by Wednesday, and be nice to Erica and Felix tonight. She’d better be able to cook. My gut was bouncing off my backbone.

As usual, Dad let me sharpen my reversing skills by backing the trailer into the garage when we got home. Erica’s Toyota was parked on the road.

He helped me uncouple the trailer and I said, ‘Give me a hand with the kart. I’ll do the rest. You go in and talk to Erica.’
And get the kissing over with before I come in.

I STARTED ON
the usual post-race routine. I’d taken off the wheels and bodywork, and was unbolting the engine when I felt eyes watching me. Felix, looking scared as
usual. He dropped his head and examined the floor the second I noticed him.

Before I even thought what I was doing, I grabbed a rag and threw it to him. ‘Catch, Felix. I could do with a hand here. You any good at cleaning?’

He kept his head down but picked up the rag from where it had landed and crept over to the kart.

I pointed at the floor tray. ‘Can you have a go at that?’

He dabbed at the mud. It stayed where it was.

Hell. What do you say to a kid as timid as this? Nothing, I decided. I took another rag and rubbed at the nose cone. Felix tilted his head so he could watch me without being obvious about it. After a bit, he put some pressure into the job.

Together, we went over everything. I stood up. ‘Good work, buddy. There’s still stuff to check, but I reckon we deserve a feed first.’

But Felix stayed squatting on the floor. He didn’t say anything, just set to work cleaning the tyres.

‘Only the wheels, mate. We don’t touch the tyres. But you’re right, we should get these done.’

Talk about feeling stupid, cocky, dumb. I was doing it again — taking it for granted that I’d win in the weekend, that I’d beat Craig for the extra sets of tyres and that I’d be the driver going to Europe.

One thing about Felix, he didn’t fill your head up with chatter when you needed to think. I needed to think hard. I needed to work out how to keep the dream alive without letting it wreck the entire year. Craig’s parting comment about the sponsors hovered in my mind. He was right. They wouldn’t be too impressed with the results from today.

Let ’em sweat. I knew what I was doing. To hell with
Craig, too. And Lewis was welcome to try and beat me. Ollie and Josh were in with a chance. Maybe Tama as well. I’d get on the track and fight, just like I always did.

I pulled Felix to his feet. ‘One race at a time, Felix, my friend. That’s my game plan. Okay, you reckon?’

Poor kid, he looked bewildered. I took the rag from him. ‘Thanks, mate. That was a big help.’ I flicked my head in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Much hugging and kissing going down in there?’

He gave a spluttery sort of giggle.

‘Yuck.’ I screwed up my face. ‘Oh well, I guess we have to face them sooner or later. Don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Hungry enough to eat a wheel.’

Erica greeted me with a smile that I translated as
Thank you for being a kind, caring older brother,
but thank god she didn’t say anything. She didn’t go ape about him being around the kart either. But possibly she hadn’t joined those particular dots yet.

She turned out to be a good cook. We had a fancy casserole
and
she’d made a cheesecake.

Dad spoiled the moment by saying, ‘You’ll need to mow a dozen lawns to work those calories off, Archie.’

‘Worth it,’ I muttered round a mouthful of my second helping.

‘He doesn’t need to worry.’ She smiled at me. ‘Ignore him, Archie. You’re young, you’re growing and you’re lean enough that an extra kilogram or two wouldn’t hurt.’

‘Power to weight ratios,’ Dad said. ‘You don’t want to be heavier in a kart than the rules say you have to be.’

Erica’s face turned to stone. She sent a quick glance in Felix’s direction, but he still had his eyes on his plate — not that he’d eaten much.

Oops, Dad — wash your mouth out.

He did a swift direction change. ‘But I guess a cheesecake every now and then won’t hurt.’

I helped out by saying, ‘Could I have another slice, Erica? This leaves those packet ones for dead.’

It looked like we were going to have to be mighty careful about what we said when she was around. And I couldn’t see any positives to having Felix around either. Sure, he was quiet. But nobody’d asked me if I wanted to be big brother to a kid who wouldn’t utter a word unless it was ripped out of him.

Oh well, I owed him. Thanks to him I had my Wednesday game plan. Just thinking about it made all the usual excitement and sheer fun of racing surge back into my system.

Fighting mongrel with a smart edge, that was me.