Saturday June 25, 2011
Winchester Speedway
Winchester, Inidana
9:31 PM Local Time
“Come on, Daddy!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle softly to myself as Theresa shrieked jumping up and down as Terrence’s car roared by for the ninety-eighth time. At the beginning of the race, Theresa had gone into a near-frenzy cheering every time Terrence’s #38 Taco Bell Ford flew by- which happened every twenty-five seconds or so under green flag conditions. Such exertion was tiring- even for a seemingly endlessly energetic four-year old, and Theresa’s cheering had slowed down, to the point where she was now only screaming every five laps or so.
About 100 miles east-northeast of Indianapolis, Winchester Speedway was proudly touted as the ‘world’s fastest half-mile’- a claim it certainly had a valid reason for making, given the insane 38-degree banking of its turns. But despite the track’s reputation for fast and exciting racing, Winchester was hardly a marquee event on the ARCA schedule. The track’s grandstand could only seat 4,000- a huge drop considering the past three events had been at Chicagoland, Pocono, and Michigan, all top level tracks with the seating capacity well over 75,000. It was the auto-racing equivalent to going from wrestling in a massive metropolitan arena to a high school gymnasium.
But the last three races, ARCA had simply been the undercard to the more prestigious NASCAR tours. Tonight, it was the main event, and while the packed crowd was comparitively small, it was every bit as rabid and enthusiastic tonight as could be at any race- or wrestling show for that matter.
And so far, it had been an exciting race, especially for Terrence, who had crept his way up into third place after starting sixteenth. It had been over forty laps since the last caution- a rarity for a short track such as this, and the field was spread all over the small oval- a blessing since Terrence seemed to be running a lot better in the open than he had been in traffic. Already he was turning in the fastest laps of anyone in the race, and he was right on the second place car’s bumper.
“Patience, Terry,” I whispered, as the cars roared by onto the front stretch again. The Winchester 200 hadn’t even hit the halfway point yet- there was plenty of time left. I turned to watch the cars enter the back stretch- my perch atop the Diamond Motorsports Taco Bell Racing pit box gave Theresa and I an excellent view of the action, although from the infield, we were slowly turning in circles ourselves to follow the action. I hoped neither Theresa nor I would be dizzy by the end of the event.
“There he goes!” My daughter howled, pointing to turn 2. Sure enough, Terrence had swung to the outside, trying to make a pass down the back stretch. My heart skipped a beat, but then I shook my head. He didn’t have the momentum to make the pass by the next turn. But to my surprise, Terrence didnt’ back off, but drove high into the turn, and my heart caught in my throat, afraid my husband was going to lose control. But he kept both his line and his speed, and when he came out, he easily outpaced the other car, the crowd erupting as he went under the flagman holding up the green and white flags in a cross- the halfway point, and Terrence Thompson was in second!
I cheered as well, although I stopped abruptly to massage my jaw. It still smart from where Crystal Hilton had kicked me just a couple of days ago at Velocity. In truth, I was sore all over after that match, especially in my arms, where I had taken a cross-armbreaker on each simultaneously. I was proud of myself for that- even though things had looked bleak, I had managed to hang on, although I certainly was paying for it now. But it was a payment I was more than glad to tender- my resilience had bought me a ticket into the finals for the Chase!
But my jaw was another matter. It wasn’t a burning symbol of pride in my endurance and heart- it was an annoying pain that reminded me of the annoying actions of an annoying woman who wanted to show me up in my own hometown. It hadn’t even changed the outcome of the match- either way, it was Hilton and I for the finals. But, typical of Crystal, any moment the spotlight wasn’t shining on her was a waste, so she kicked me out of the way, and took the pin for herself.
Whatever. If getting the pinfall in the second round meant that much to her, then she could have it. Because I wasn’t going to let that irritating narcissistic excuse for an actress beat me when it mattered the most. In truth, I had been biting my tongue where Crystal Hilton was concerned from almost day one. There was confidence, there was cockiness, and then there was being a flat out irritating attention-craver, and Crystal easily fell into that last category. But for the sake of team unity, I had kept my mouth shut, even when Crystal had begun firing cheap shots at me.
Speaking of team unity...
My eyes narrowed as I snapped my attention back to the track. Terrence was gaining on the leader, a shiny, almost sinister looking black car with the #13 in metallic silver on the side. Matthew Bronson, who also led the points standings. I had met Bronson only once- he seemed like a nice enough guy, although he drove with a take-no-prisoner’s attitude that befit his paint scheme, especially when out front. It was a tough pass.
But my gaze was more focused on the green and gold #47 Ford just in front of Bronson. Wesley Hamilton, Terrence’s so-called teammate. Wesley had not been having a good night thus far- he was plagued by handling problems early, then caught in traffic through much of the night. He was currently running sixteenth- but with Bronson gaining behind him, he was in danger of going a lap down. Wesley didn’t seem to be too eager to yield it, but Bronson ducked inside him coming down the straightaway, forcing him high, and easily completed the pass, putting Hamilton a lap down. With Terrence not far behind, Wesley would likely stay high, and let my husband by as well, allowing him to pursue Bronson.
Again, my thoughts gravitated back to two nights ago, at Velocity. I hadn’t exactly been furious about the outcome, but I had gone to bed in a fairly irritated mood. My one consolation was that soon, the next Velocity lineup would be posted, and I’d officially have two weeks until Crystal and I met one-on-one. Some small, deep, sinister part of me was already relishing the horrified expression that would be on her face after I ended her ‘perfection’ in front of the world.
I should have known that FFW management was going to toss a curve ball.
When the Velocity lineup for the seventh came out, I wasn’t facing Crystal- that match inevitably held off until the final Breaking Point before Unstoppable, on the sixteenth. Instead, I had been shocked to find my name across from another woman’s- one of that last people I’d figured I’d put into a match against at this point in my FFW career.
Kaitlynn Stryfe.
FFW’s self-appointed Sinner. Valerie Belmont’s foil. The winner of one of the greatest, most intense, physical matches I had ever seen. And now, as of two nights ago, one of the six women who would be competing for the FFW Championship at Unstoppable.
In short, the exact sort of woman I had come to FFW to wrestle against.
Thank God the match was still twelve days away, because at that moment, I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do. I had watched her match against Valerie, of course, but more as a fan, not as a scouting opportunity. Luckily, I knew how to prepare for a match, and by the time July 7th came around, I was confident that I’d be ready to take on the legendary Kitty-Mac. But between this match, and the finals of the Chase nine days later, I was going to be one busy bee preparing!
Ah, well... what else was new?
“Wes, what the hell are you doing?”
The voice of Terrence’s crew chief caused me to jump, and I broke from my thoughts again, looking up, my eyes narrowing. Contrary to what I had expected (and every little bit of racing ettiquette that I knew), Wesley hadn’t let Terrence by. Instead, he had pulled in front of him, and was intent on racing him as hard as he could, and even though Terrence had the faster car, he couldn’t find the proper line to get around his teammate. I was in disbelief- either Wes was trying to get even with Terrence for the crash at Pocono, or he was embarassed that Bronson had taken him so easily, or something.
The two cars roared across the finish line, the flagman holding a blue flag with an orange stripe on it- the command for cars not on the lead lap to yield to the leaders. But Hamilton held his line, and again, Terrence couldn’t get by. I looked around for Bronson- he was pulling away. Already he was the length of a full turn ahead, the lead increasing every second, while the third place car was gaining on Terence, the rest of the pack not far behind.
“Let him by!” I pleaded, my words carried away on the light breeze blowing across the racetrack. Theresa cheered as the cars came onto the front stretch again, not entirely following what was going on. Again, the blue and orange flag waved, and again, Wesley ignored it. I glanced over at the crew chief. Jimbo didn’t look happy, but he wasn’t exactly bellowing at the ARCA officials to do something about Hamilton. The cars swung onto the backstretch again- and Terrence made his move.
Again, Terrence came out of the turn outside, looking to pass down the backstretch. Again, he didn’t make it, but went high into the turn. It was the exact same outside pass he had used to take second, and Wes wasn’t going as fast as the other car had been. Despite having a longer distance to go through the turn, Terrence was steadily gaining ground, pulling ahead of Hamilton’s car. It would be a clean pass, and Terrence would be free to chase down Bronson.
Suddenly, the green and gold 47 jumped up the track, its front bumper catching Terrence in the rear quarterpanel. Terrence fishtailed, a plume of smoke coming from his tires, as he fought to remain in control. For a brief millisecond, I exhaled, thinking he had saved it.
Then his car turned to the inside, across Hamilton’s bumper.
“NO!”
Hamilton’s car pushed Terrence’s out of the way, going so high on the track he nearly hit the wall, but he kept it safe as he entered the front stretch. Terrence, smoke now billowing from his tires, spun a full 270 degrees, right in the middle of the track. With the yellow lights of the caution flashing, the rest of the field scrambled to get around Terrence’s car. I exhaled in relief as all the cars passed him with no further incident. Terrence’s car stayed stopped onto the race track, waiting until all the other cars had passed, then slowly, he began rolling again, although as he drove by, I could see his left-rear tire had gone flat from the spin.
“Is Daddy okay?”
I looked down at my daughter, who was ghost white, staring at Terrence’s car. I could tell she was torn- like any four year old, Theresa loved the crashes, watching the cars banging into each other. But she knew her father was in that car, and she didn’t want him hurt.
I smiled as best I could. “He’s fine. He just got turned around. I don’t think he even hit anything. But he’s no longer in second- he’s fallen to fifteenth.”
Theresa nodded, and grinned. “He’ll come back, Mommy!”
I nodded, more to reassure her than myself. “I hope so.”
I looked over at Jimbo, who was barking at my husband on the radio. “Yer fine, man! Just git in ‘ere, we’ll git you new tires, n’ have you back out there! Yer still in this!”
I waited until Jimbo was done, then took a step forward, raising my voice over the rumbling noise. “Is ARCA going to do anything about Hamilton?”
In response, Jimbo looked at me like I was crazy. “Nuttin’ to do, ma’am. Wuz jus’ racin’.”
“The heck it was! Wesley turned into-” my protest faded away as Jimbo turned away, ignoring me, and bellowing at the pit crew.
“Ai’ght boys! He comin’ in! I wan’ it fast, and I wan’t it right! Git ‘im back out there!”
Annoyed at Jimbo’s brush-off, I turned away and watched the field as it slowly crawled onto the front stretch. My stomach lurched in anger as Wesley pulled out of the line of cars, and sped up, passing them all, including the pace car. ARCA rules permitted the first car a lap down to get its lap back on each caution, and this time, Hamilton was the “lucky dog”.
I glanced to my left, to the next pitbox over- the Diamond Motorsports John Deere Racing Team. Andrea stood watching her husband make his way around the track, a smile of approval on her face. She seemed to sense that I was looking at her, and she turned to regard me. She broke into a grin, and tauntingly raised a finger at me, wagging it back and forth. My face burning, I turned away, looking back down at Terrence’s car, being worked on. With an angry squeal of tires, Terrence pulled out of the pits, and returned to the track, speeding up to rejoin the rest of the field as the last car remaining on the lead lap- behind Wesley Hamilton.
It couldn’t have been a coincidence.
====================================
Saturday June 25, 2011
Winchester Speedway- Outside Pit Area
Winchester, Indiana
11:31 PM Local Time
The Winchester ARCA 200 was over.
After Terrence’s spin-out, he just didn’t seem to run the same. His car was slower, and the confidence he had shown for the first part of the race was diminished through the final laps, and while he had come in a respectable eleventh, two laps down, there was a definite disappointing sense about what could have been.
On the flip side, Wesley had spun his race around much like he had done Terrence’s car. Back on the lead lap, he clawed his way through the field during the remaining laps, ending up in fourth place when all was said and done. That hadn’t sat well with me.
It sat even less well with me that Terrence had categorically refuted any claim I had that Wes had driven him dirty. It was, for the most part, why I was in such a foul mood, and storming through the garage area with my husband trying to keep up.
As was common with small, half-mile local raceways, the garage area at Winchester was actually outside of the tracks walls, in a large dirt lot just behind the third and fourth turns. The maze of haulers and tarp covered awnings was a far cry from the permanent, concrete and steel garages that larger tracks had, but the pit area was as bustling with post-race activity as it was anywhere else. I shoved my way through the crowds of people, making a straight line for the Diamond Motorsport Haulers.
“Wendy, what the hell! Will you slow down?”
I didn’t even turn my head as Terrence came jogging up beside me, panting slightly. He was still in his racesuit, and reeked of sweat, gasoline, and oil. I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose- if he even THOUGHT about getting into bed tonight without showering first...
“Why won’t you listen to me?” I demanded, shooting a sidelong glance.
“I am listening to you!” Terrence protested. “I’m just telling you that there’s nothing to it!”
Race teams that fielded multiple cars generally kept their garages close, for the convenience of the executives, and today was no exception. Already, the John Deere team- Wes Hamilton’s crew- had loaded up his car, and were busy packing up the last of their equipment. Terrence’s car still sat outside the hauler, waiting to be loaded up. I marched up to the car, pointing at his left-rear quarterpanel, which had a sizeable dent in it.
“There, Terrence!” I demanded, with the accusatory tone of a woman who had just found lipstick on her husband’s collar. “You got clipped right there, and it spun you out!”
Terrence looked at the dent, then to me, then back at the dent again, before finally shrugging. “Wendy, I just raced 200 laps on a short track. I thought you’d been around enough to know that cars get pretty beat up like this.”
I bristled. In truth, Terrence was right- the quarterpanel was hardly the only damage to the car. But still.. “Don’t you dare play me for an idiot, Terrence Thompson!” I snarled. “I know what I saw!”
Terrence paused, and scratched his head. “I thought your period was last we-”
“WHAT?!!!”
Terrence immediately took a step back, and nervously tugged the collar of his racesuit. “I, uh... really did not mean to say that...”
“Whatever,” I snarled again, shaking my head, trying to remain focused. “Terry, why can’t you just admit that dirty bastard took you out because he’s too stupid to realize the Pocono crash was his fault?”
I knew my voice was too loud the moment I said it, and the reaction was immediate. While the members of Terrence’s crew continued to work, pretending like they hadn’t heard anything, our neighbors reacted a little different. I glanced over. Several of the pit crew were glowering at my accusation, and I could see Andrea, her face livid, looking as if she was about to storm over, and take me on herself.
A small part of me really wished she would.
But Wes was behind her, and he had put a restraining hand on his wife’s shoulder. Terrence looked nervously over at Hamilton’s crew, then back to his, and chuckled. Then he turned to his crew chief, who had been glaring at me, biting his lower lip and shaking his head.
“So, uh, Jimbo. I think I’m gonna take off now- try and get back to Indy tonight. I’ll call you Tuesday? Great! I’ll see you guys at Berlin in a couple weeks! Have a good fourth! Okay, Wendy, let’s go.”
I found my arm being grabbed, and I was gently- yet firmly- dragged away from the haulers, towards the exit to the parking lot. After we had gone a good fifty feet, I shrugged off Terrence’s hand. “Okay, I get it, we’re going,”
“Just keep walking,” my husband muttered.
We got into the parking lot, the crowds around us thinning. Instead of heading to our RV, however, Terrence grabbed my arm again, and steered me to our right. We walked to the end of the row of cars, near a large copse of trees. Terrence released my arm, and I turned to face him.
“What the fuck were you doing back there?” Terrence hissed, looking around to make sure we were alone.
“Well, you weren’t listening to me, so I-”
“No, Wendy, I heard you perfectly fine the first eighteen times you accused Wes of taking me out. Thanks for making sure the whole damn team heard the nineteenth!”
I closed my eyes, bit my lip, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that there. I just was frustrated that you didn’t believe-’
“I believe you. I was in the fucking car, Wendy. Hamilton turned into me, and spun me around. I’m not an idiot.”
“Then why-”
“Because there’s no point.” Terrence responded with a shrug.
“No point?” I was incredulous.
“What am I going to do, run crying to ARCA because I got spun out? The team has to make the complaint, Wendy, and the team isn’t going to make a complaint against itself. I just have to deal with it.”
I chuckled helplessly, and looked over at the copse, watching a few glowing fireflies flitting through the trees. “You would never have stood for this kind of treatment when you were wrestling.”
“Yeah, well I’m not in wrestling anymore,” Terrence responded matter-of-factly. “I’m the number two driver on a two car team. I know my place, and you’d do well to remember yours.”
“Excuse me?”
Terrence grimaced at his poor choice of words, but he didn’t offer an apology. “How would you feel if I went around the FFW locker room accusing everyone of cheating? Or if I started telling you how you should deal with your colleagues?”
I opened my mouth, but the words had died in my throat.
Terrence’s voice was softer, but still firm, as he spread his arms out, gesturing to the race track. “This is my world, Wendy, just as wrestling is yours. So just... chill out, okay? I don’t like office politics anymore than you do, but we all have to deal with it. But the absolute last thing I need is to be thought of as the guy who’s wife wears the firesuit.”
My eyes narrowed at the term, and I angrily crossed my arms over my chest. Terrence again didn’t apologize. “Look, I know you’re upset, okay, but you have to trust me. I’m not stupid, I know what’s going on, and I know how to handle it. Just. TRUST. Me. Okay? “
I was still glowering, but I finally nodded. “Fine. I just hope the next time that jerk decides he wants to bully you, you can keep it off the wall again.”
Terrence took the barb stoically, then shrugged. “I’m going back to the RV, tuck Theresa in, shower, and get us ready to go back to Indy. Just... stay out here and calm down, okay? It’ll be alright.”
He stepped forward, grabbed me gently, and kissed me on the forehead. Then he turned, and walked away, leaving me alone. I took a few deep breaths, looking up at the starry sky, then down on the ground, noticing a dandelion just a couple feet away. Disgruntled, I kicked out at it, watching the head fly a few feet before bouncing gently on the ground. It was about all I could do at the moment.
I hated that feeling.
Winchester Speedway
Winchester, Inidana
9:31 PM Local Time
“Come on, Daddy!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle softly to myself as Theresa shrieked jumping up and down as Terrence’s car roared by for the ninety-eighth time. At the beginning of the race, Theresa had gone into a near-frenzy cheering every time Terrence’s #38 Taco Bell Ford flew by- which happened every twenty-five seconds or so under green flag conditions. Such exertion was tiring- even for a seemingly endlessly energetic four-year old, and Theresa’s cheering had slowed down, to the point where she was now only screaming every five laps or so.
About 100 miles east-northeast of Indianapolis, Winchester Speedway was proudly touted as the ‘world’s fastest half-mile’- a claim it certainly had a valid reason for making, given the insane 38-degree banking of its turns. But despite the track’s reputation for fast and exciting racing, Winchester was hardly a marquee event on the ARCA schedule. The track’s grandstand could only seat 4,000- a huge drop considering the past three events had been at Chicagoland, Pocono, and Michigan, all top level tracks with the seating capacity well over 75,000. It was the auto-racing equivalent to going from wrestling in a massive metropolitan arena to a high school gymnasium.
But the last three races, ARCA had simply been the undercard to the more prestigious NASCAR tours. Tonight, it was the main event, and while the packed crowd was comparitively small, it was every bit as rabid and enthusiastic tonight as could be at any race- or wrestling show for that matter.
And so far, it had been an exciting race, especially for Terrence, who had crept his way up into third place after starting sixteenth. It had been over forty laps since the last caution- a rarity for a short track such as this, and the field was spread all over the small oval- a blessing since Terrence seemed to be running a lot better in the open than he had been in traffic. Already he was turning in the fastest laps of anyone in the race, and he was right on the second place car’s bumper.
“Patience, Terry,” I whispered, as the cars roared by onto the front stretch again. The Winchester 200 hadn’t even hit the halfway point yet- there was plenty of time left. I turned to watch the cars enter the back stretch- my perch atop the Diamond Motorsports Taco Bell Racing pit box gave Theresa and I an excellent view of the action, although from the infield, we were slowly turning in circles ourselves to follow the action. I hoped neither Theresa nor I would be dizzy by the end of the event.
“There he goes!” My daughter howled, pointing to turn 2. Sure enough, Terrence had swung to the outside, trying to make a pass down the back stretch. My heart skipped a beat, but then I shook my head. He didn’t have the momentum to make the pass by the next turn. But to my surprise, Terrence didnt’ back off, but drove high into the turn, and my heart caught in my throat, afraid my husband was going to lose control. But he kept both his line and his speed, and when he came out, he easily outpaced the other car, the crowd erupting as he went under the flagman holding up the green and white flags in a cross- the halfway point, and Terrence Thompson was in second!
I cheered as well, although I stopped abruptly to massage my jaw. It still smart from where Crystal Hilton had kicked me just a couple of days ago at Velocity. In truth, I was sore all over after that match, especially in my arms, where I had taken a cross-armbreaker on each simultaneously. I was proud of myself for that- even though things had looked bleak, I had managed to hang on, although I certainly was paying for it now. But it was a payment I was more than glad to tender- my resilience had bought me a ticket into the finals for the Chase!
But my jaw was another matter. It wasn’t a burning symbol of pride in my endurance and heart- it was an annoying pain that reminded me of the annoying actions of an annoying woman who wanted to show me up in my own hometown. It hadn’t even changed the outcome of the match- either way, it was Hilton and I for the finals. But, typical of Crystal, any moment the spotlight wasn’t shining on her was a waste, so she kicked me out of the way, and took the pin for herself.
Whatever. If getting the pinfall in the second round meant that much to her, then she could have it. Because I wasn’t going to let that irritating narcissistic excuse for an actress beat me when it mattered the most. In truth, I had been biting my tongue where Crystal Hilton was concerned from almost day one. There was confidence, there was cockiness, and then there was being a flat out irritating attention-craver, and Crystal easily fell into that last category. But for the sake of team unity, I had kept my mouth shut, even when Crystal had begun firing cheap shots at me.
Speaking of team unity...
My eyes narrowed as I snapped my attention back to the track. Terrence was gaining on the leader, a shiny, almost sinister looking black car with the #13 in metallic silver on the side. Matthew Bronson, who also led the points standings. I had met Bronson only once- he seemed like a nice enough guy, although he drove with a take-no-prisoner’s attitude that befit his paint scheme, especially when out front. It was a tough pass.
But my gaze was more focused on the green and gold #47 Ford just in front of Bronson. Wesley Hamilton, Terrence’s so-called teammate. Wesley had not been having a good night thus far- he was plagued by handling problems early, then caught in traffic through much of the night. He was currently running sixteenth- but with Bronson gaining behind him, he was in danger of going a lap down. Wesley didn’t seem to be too eager to yield it, but Bronson ducked inside him coming down the straightaway, forcing him high, and easily completed the pass, putting Hamilton a lap down. With Terrence not far behind, Wesley would likely stay high, and let my husband by as well, allowing him to pursue Bronson.
Again, my thoughts gravitated back to two nights ago, at Velocity. I hadn’t exactly been furious about the outcome, but I had gone to bed in a fairly irritated mood. My one consolation was that soon, the next Velocity lineup would be posted, and I’d officially have two weeks until Crystal and I met one-on-one. Some small, deep, sinister part of me was already relishing the horrified expression that would be on her face after I ended her ‘perfection’ in front of the world.
I should have known that FFW management was going to toss a curve ball.
When the Velocity lineup for the seventh came out, I wasn’t facing Crystal- that match inevitably held off until the final Breaking Point before Unstoppable, on the sixteenth. Instead, I had been shocked to find my name across from another woman’s- one of that last people I’d figured I’d put into a match against at this point in my FFW career.
Kaitlynn Stryfe.
FFW’s self-appointed Sinner. Valerie Belmont’s foil. The winner of one of the greatest, most intense, physical matches I had ever seen. And now, as of two nights ago, one of the six women who would be competing for the FFW Championship at Unstoppable.
In short, the exact sort of woman I had come to FFW to wrestle against.
Thank God the match was still twelve days away, because at that moment, I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do. I had watched her match against Valerie, of course, but more as a fan, not as a scouting opportunity. Luckily, I knew how to prepare for a match, and by the time July 7th came around, I was confident that I’d be ready to take on the legendary Kitty-Mac. But between this match, and the finals of the Chase nine days later, I was going to be one busy bee preparing!
Ah, well... what else was new?
“Wes, what the hell are you doing?”
The voice of Terrence’s crew chief caused me to jump, and I broke from my thoughts again, looking up, my eyes narrowing. Contrary to what I had expected (and every little bit of racing ettiquette that I knew), Wesley hadn’t let Terrence by. Instead, he had pulled in front of him, and was intent on racing him as hard as he could, and even though Terrence had the faster car, he couldn’t find the proper line to get around his teammate. I was in disbelief- either Wes was trying to get even with Terrence for the crash at Pocono, or he was embarassed that Bronson had taken him so easily, or something.
The two cars roared across the finish line, the flagman holding a blue flag with an orange stripe on it- the command for cars not on the lead lap to yield to the leaders. But Hamilton held his line, and again, Terrence couldn’t get by. I looked around for Bronson- he was pulling away. Already he was the length of a full turn ahead, the lead increasing every second, while the third place car was gaining on Terence, the rest of the pack not far behind.
“Let him by!” I pleaded, my words carried away on the light breeze blowing across the racetrack. Theresa cheered as the cars came onto the front stretch again, not entirely following what was going on. Again, the blue and orange flag waved, and again, Wesley ignored it. I glanced over at the crew chief. Jimbo didn’t look happy, but he wasn’t exactly bellowing at the ARCA officials to do something about Hamilton. The cars swung onto the backstretch again- and Terrence made his move.
Again, Terrence came out of the turn outside, looking to pass down the backstretch. Again, he didn’t make it, but went high into the turn. It was the exact same outside pass he had used to take second, and Wes wasn’t going as fast as the other car had been. Despite having a longer distance to go through the turn, Terrence was steadily gaining ground, pulling ahead of Hamilton’s car. It would be a clean pass, and Terrence would be free to chase down Bronson.
Suddenly, the green and gold 47 jumped up the track, its front bumper catching Terrence in the rear quarterpanel. Terrence fishtailed, a plume of smoke coming from his tires, as he fought to remain in control. For a brief millisecond, I exhaled, thinking he had saved it.
Then his car turned to the inside, across Hamilton’s bumper.
“NO!”
Hamilton’s car pushed Terrence’s out of the way, going so high on the track he nearly hit the wall, but he kept it safe as he entered the front stretch. Terrence, smoke now billowing from his tires, spun a full 270 degrees, right in the middle of the track. With the yellow lights of the caution flashing, the rest of the field scrambled to get around Terrence’s car. I exhaled in relief as all the cars passed him with no further incident. Terrence’s car stayed stopped onto the race track, waiting until all the other cars had passed, then slowly, he began rolling again, although as he drove by, I could see his left-rear tire had gone flat from the spin.
“Is Daddy okay?”
I looked down at my daughter, who was ghost white, staring at Terrence’s car. I could tell she was torn- like any four year old, Theresa loved the crashes, watching the cars banging into each other. But she knew her father was in that car, and she didn’t want him hurt.
I smiled as best I could. “He’s fine. He just got turned around. I don’t think he even hit anything. But he’s no longer in second- he’s fallen to fifteenth.”
Theresa nodded, and grinned. “He’ll come back, Mommy!”
I nodded, more to reassure her than myself. “I hope so.”
I looked over at Jimbo, who was barking at my husband on the radio. “Yer fine, man! Just git in ‘ere, we’ll git you new tires, n’ have you back out there! Yer still in this!”
I waited until Jimbo was done, then took a step forward, raising my voice over the rumbling noise. “Is ARCA going to do anything about Hamilton?”
In response, Jimbo looked at me like I was crazy. “Nuttin’ to do, ma’am. Wuz jus’ racin’.”
“The heck it was! Wesley turned into-” my protest faded away as Jimbo turned away, ignoring me, and bellowing at the pit crew.
“Ai’ght boys! He comin’ in! I wan’ it fast, and I wan’t it right! Git ‘im back out there!”
Annoyed at Jimbo’s brush-off, I turned away and watched the field as it slowly crawled onto the front stretch. My stomach lurched in anger as Wesley pulled out of the line of cars, and sped up, passing them all, including the pace car. ARCA rules permitted the first car a lap down to get its lap back on each caution, and this time, Hamilton was the “lucky dog”.
I glanced to my left, to the next pitbox over- the Diamond Motorsports John Deere Racing Team. Andrea stood watching her husband make his way around the track, a smile of approval on her face. She seemed to sense that I was looking at her, and she turned to regard me. She broke into a grin, and tauntingly raised a finger at me, wagging it back and forth. My face burning, I turned away, looking back down at Terrence’s car, being worked on. With an angry squeal of tires, Terrence pulled out of the pits, and returned to the track, speeding up to rejoin the rest of the field as the last car remaining on the lead lap- behind Wesley Hamilton.
It couldn’t have been a coincidence.
====================================
Saturday June 25, 2011
Winchester Speedway- Outside Pit Area
Winchester, Indiana
11:31 PM Local Time
The Winchester ARCA 200 was over.
After Terrence’s spin-out, he just didn’t seem to run the same. His car was slower, and the confidence he had shown for the first part of the race was diminished through the final laps, and while he had come in a respectable eleventh, two laps down, there was a definite disappointing sense about what could have been.
On the flip side, Wesley had spun his race around much like he had done Terrence’s car. Back on the lead lap, he clawed his way through the field during the remaining laps, ending up in fourth place when all was said and done. That hadn’t sat well with me.
It sat even less well with me that Terrence had categorically refuted any claim I had that Wes had driven him dirty. It was, for the most part, why I was in such a foul mood, and storming through the garage area with my husband trying to keep up.
As was common with small, half-mile local raceways, the garage area at Winchester was actually outside of the tracks walls, in a large dirt lot just behind the third and fourth turns. The maze of haulers and tarp covered awnings was a far cry from the permanent, concrete and steel garages that larger tracks had, but the pit area was as bustling with post-race activity as it was anywhere else. I shoved my way through the crowds of people, making a straight line for the Diamond Motorsport Haulers.
“Wendy, what the hell! Will you slow down?”
I didn’t even turn my head as Terrence came jogging up beside me, panting slightly. He was still in his racesuit, and reeked of sweat, gasoline, and oil. I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose- if he even THOUGHT about getting into bed tonight without showering first...
“Why won’t you listen to me?” I demanded, shooting a sidelong glance.
“I am listening to you!” Terrence protested. “I’m just telling you that there’s nothing to it!”
Race teams that fielded multiple cars generally kept their garages close, for the convenience of the executives, and today was no exception. Already, the John Deere team- Wes Hamilton’s crew- had loaded up his car, and were busy packing up the last of their equipment. Terrence’s car still sat outside the hauler, waiting to be loaded up. I marched up to the car, pointing at his left-rear quarterpanel, which had a sizeable dent in it.
“There, Terrence!” I demanded, with the accusatory tone of a woman who had just found lipstick on her husband’s collar. “You got clipped right there, and it spun you out!”
Terrence looked at the dent, then to me, then back at the dent again, before finally shrugging. “Wendy, I just raced 200 laps on a short track. I thought you’d been around enough to know that cars get pretty beat up like this.”
I bristled. In truth, Terrence was right- the quarterpanel was hardly the only damage to the car. But still.. “Don’t you dare play me for an idiot, Terrence Thompson!” I snarled. “I know what I saw!”
Terrence paused, and scratched his head. “I thought your period was last we-”
“WHAT?!!!”
Terrence immediately took a step back, and nervously tugged the collar of his racesuit. “I, uh... really did not mean to say that...”
“Whatever,” I snarled again, shaking my head, trying to remain focused. “Terry, why can’t you just admit that dirty bastard took you out because he’s too stupid to realize the Pocono crash was his fault?”
I knew my voice was too loud the moment I said it, and the reaction was immediate. While the members of Terrence’s crew continued to work, pretending like they hadn’t heard anything, our neighbors reacted a little different. I glanced over. Several of the pit crew were glowering at my accusation, and I could see Andrea, her face livid, looking as if she was about to storm over, and take me on herself.
A small part of me really wished she would.
But Wes was behind her, and he had put a restraining hand on his wife’s shoulder. Terrence looked nervously over at Hamilton’s crew, then back to his, and chuckled. Then he turned to his crew chief, who had been glaring at me, biting his lower lip and shaking his head.
“So, uh, Jimbo. I think I’m gonna take off now- try and get back to Indy tonight. I’ll call you Tuesday? Great! I’ll see you guys at Berlin in a couple weeks! Have a good fourth! Okay, Wendy, let’s go.”
I found my arm being grabbed, and I was gently- yet firmly- dragged away from the haulers, towards the exit to the parking lot. After we had gone a good fifty feet, I shrugged off Terrence’s hand. “Okay, I get it, we’re going,”
“Just keep walking,” my husband muttered.
We got into the parking lot, the crowds around us thinning. Instead of heading to our RV, however, Terrence grabbed my arm again, and steered me to our right. We walked to the end of the row of cars, near a large copse of trees. Terrence released my arm, and I turned to face him.
“What the fuck were you doing back there?” Terrence hissed, looking around to make sure we were alone.
“Well, you weren’t listening to me, so I-”
“No, Wendy, I heard you perfectly fine the first eighteen times you accused Wes of taking me out. Thanks for making sure the whole damn team heard the nineteenth!”
I closed my eyes, bit my lip, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that there. I just was frustrated that you didn’t believe-’
“I believe you. I was in the fucking car, Wendy. Hamilton turned into me, and spun me around. I’m not an idiot.”
“Then why-”
“Because there’s no point.” Terrence responded with a shrug.
“No point?” I was incredulous.
“What am I going to do, run crying to ARCA because I got spun out? The team has to make the complaint, Wendy, and the team isn’t going to make a complaint against itself. I just have to deal with it.”
I chuckled helplessly, and looked over at the copse, watching a few glowing fireflies flitting through the trees. “You would never have stood for this kind of treatment when you were wrestling.”
“Yeah, well I’m not in wrestling anymore,” Terrence responded matter-of-factly. “I’m the number two driver on a two car team. I know my place, and you’d do well to remember yours.”
“Excuse me?”
Terrence grimaced at his poor choice of words, but he didn’t offer an apology. “How would you feel if I went around the FFW locker room accusing everyone of cheating? Or if I started telling you how you should deal with your colleagues?”
I opened my mouth, but the words had died in my throat.
Terrence’s voice was softer, but still firm, as he spread his arms out, gesturing to the race track. “This is my world, Wendy, just as wrestling is yours. So just... chill out, okay? I don’t like office politics anymore than you do, but we all have to deal with it. But the absolute last thing I need is to be thought of as the guy who’s wife wears the firesuit.”
My eyes narrowed at the term, and I angrily crossed my arms over my chest. Terrence again didn’t apologize. “Look, I know you’re upset, okay, but you have to trust me. I’m not stupid, I know what’s going on, and I know how to handle it. Just. TRUST. Me. Okay? “
I was still glowering, but I finally nodded. “Fine. I just hope the next time that jerk decides he wants to bully you, you can keep it off the wall again.”
Terrence took the barb stoically, then shrugged. “I’m going back to the RV, tuck Theresa in, shower, and get us ready to go back to Indy. Just... stay out here and calm down, okay? It’ll be alright.”
He stepped forward, grabbed me gently, and kissed me on the forehead. Then he turned, and walked away, leaving me alone. I took a few deep breaths, looking up at the starry sky, then down on the ground, noticing a dandelion just a couple feet away. Disgruntled, I kicked out at it, watching the head fly a few feet before bouncing gently on the ground. It was about all I could do at the moment.
I hated that feeling.
