Debutant. Chapter 9. Fork. Part 2

This novel is fictional; there is no need to look for intersections with historical events. This is a continuation of “Debutant” by Nikita Savelyev, the first readers of which were readers of F1News.ru…

Chapter 9. Fork. Part two

It may not be evening, but training has clearly shown that it is not dawn. Everything went wrong. As often happens in Europe, the track passed through the territory of a former military airfield and caused many problems for the racers. The cars vibrated mercilessly on the rough joints of the concrete slabs lining the circuit, the tires wore beyond belief and the suspension seemed about to crumble at the first serious impact.

The resources of large teams were, of course, enough to adapt to difficult conditions by correctly setting up the car, which cannot be said about Baker. Just after lunch Henry suffered serious damage to the bottom and they spent the rest of the day making repairs. On Saturday there was a strong wind along the highway; for many, Fridays were the best times. Frustrated, Henry made several mistakes, caught the hay bales, but, as if under a spell, continued to make endless circles, stubbornly striving for the result that separated him from the coveted place at the start. But everything is in vain. Half a second wasn’t enough. And it is clear that there were no initial payments; the organizers had saved quite a bit of money on the losers who did not participate in the Sunday spectacle.

Henry woke up in the middle of the night. On the left came Teddy’s powerful snoring, on the right came Adam’s monotonous snoring. In the cramped space of the trailer hung a suspension of fumes, sweat, unwashed clothing, machine grease and oil. Generally not a princely palace. Henry tried to turn to the other side and then back, but there was no sleep in either eye. But it seemed that within a few months of the alarming flight from America my nerves had returned to normal. During the day you get so tired on the race track that you fall asleep without hind legs.

When Henry began to make out the outlines of objects in the pitch blackness, he jumped up from his narrow bed and climbed into the street. He slammed the door too hard, but his neighbors didn’t move. After the stuffy car, the cool night air is a real pleasure. There are the same caravans nearby, a little further a series of team boxes, one-story administration houses, rickety outbuildings, canvas tents, empty parking lots. Dim lanterns burn every other. Not a sound is heard – the small racing town sees its tenth dream. Everyone prepares for the big day of the race, no one parties too much, and even the ubiquitous dogs keep quiet. A kind of surrealism. The race party continues tomorrow, but Henry can already go home. If only that house was there.

But he is a stranger here – Henry was struck by a sad thought. They all don’t care about him. Walk down the steps of the trailer, walk to the edge of the paddock and disappear into the cool of the night. Who will stop him? And if you find an empty bed in the morning, no one will grieve either. The mechanics will be somewhat surprised, Mr. Baker will sigh about the strange man, and Georges will blurt out something sarcastic. And maybe that’s all.

The post-race excitement around the casino was gone. What if Sandra is right: this was his only chance all season? And he missed it ingloriously. The circuit in the principality is unique, there will be no second like it, and you will not be able to get to the starting line with just your ears. What has he forgotten here? Yes, he is a racer through and through and has to fight against all conditions. But is it worth getting into an unequal battle? After all, there are walls you can’t break through with your forehead. And doesn’t one of them start the race in Baker’s car?

Henry was struggling to suppress the urge to run at this moment. To be honest, he moved from his place not so much for sporting motives, but for banal cowardice – well, where will he go now, in an unknown country, without a penny in his pocket, and here there is some kind, but established well-being. Henry admired the unimpressive view of the nighttime paddock and retreated to the caravan.

But the next morning there was no trace of the passing weakness. Missing the starting line is bad, but not fatal. After all, he performed in just three stages. Very few people succeed the first time. If you don’t have enough talent, you have to be patient. And also approach the issue from a scientific perspective. Henry dressed warmly (despite the fact that it was windy in the open space in June) and headed for the most dangerous corner on the track. There he unceremoniously slipped through the dense crowd of spectators and took a seat directly behind the fence in the form of an invariable bale of hay. I hung motionless for over two hours until the finish. He was interested in the way the championship’s best drivers took turns. What if there is a secret?

As a result, Henry was thoroughly frozen, barked at his neighbors who rudely pressed him, and experienced a few unpleasant moments when one of the cars flew off the road and, with the speed of a stone fired from a slingshot, quickly flew straight away. in the bales where they had taken refuge. How the spectators rushed – you have to see, they would have set a record in the 100-meter race. However, there is nothing to brag about; Henry himself flew away like a fleet-footed doe. By the way, no one was injured.

What about useful information? Of course, both Murphy and Rinaldo have their own unique styles; somewhere in a wide bend they found the missing seconds thanks to their skill, making them the best of the peloton, even among riders with equally fast equipment. That’s right, fast technology. Confidence in the power of their own car allowed them to reach the maximum on the straights, brake late into a corner or, conversely, go out very early, play with the accelerator, choose different trajectories. What does Henry have at his disposal? His engine from last year lost at least thirty horses due to this year’s lowest power modification. And the once so fast chassis was built according to already outdated principles.

It seems that the leaders’ lightning-fast cars are dogs and greyhounds, beautiful and graceful, and his little car is a tired, overweight setter, whose best times are in the past and is no longer able to tackle the wild with the same enthusiasm to chase.

One thing is clear: his current rivals are not superhumans. Gone are the days of the long-standing aristocrats who dominated motorsport fashion in the 1930s and 1950s. Motorsport is becoming increasingly British. For most islanders, there are huge and quite affordable small car competitions available. It was thanks to them that a new generation of drivers and, most importantly, designers entered the racing world.

Few of today’s leaders have bathed in luxury, slept on silk sheets and eaten black caviar since childhood. Murphy comes from the village, Spencer comes from the family of a poor merchant, Dubois is the son of a middle civil servant, Rinaldo usually started as a mechanic. These guys represented the pinnacle of a driver’s career. How did they achieve all this without having a lot of money and serious connections? Were you in the right place at the right time and did you showcase your talent in the right way? What’s worse than Henry?

In the race, Murphy started in first place, Rinaldo in second place, but already on the second lap they switched places. Rinaldo delivered a hard attack on his competitor, allowing him to take the lead and thus strengthening his leadership in the overall championship. Otherwise, the race proved rich in retirements and gave many outsiders a chance: only nine drivers saw the checkered flag and the drivers who took fifth and sixth places received credits for the first time this season. Maybe Georges could have been there too, but he ended the race in gravel after half the distance. And once again the championship standings did not include the Baker team.

== To be continued…