Reboot

I woke up early and met with my team for coffee and a light breakfast to discuss procedure leading up to the start of the race. Outside it was pandemonium. People everywhere.

William and Dutch knew my car very well. We had built it together. They’d be there waiting in case I needed them. They could help Tony and Rudy with changing tires for example. The course was calculated to only need one tank of fuel so a pit stop wasn’t supposed to be necessary, but it was possible if the need for assistance occurred. We didn’t want our first race to be too complicated.

As we sat around the table in William’s house having breakfast. He’d found some bacon. The mood was somber but tense as we discussed the preliminaries and other things…

“So how are you feeling kid?” asked Dutch.

“Nervous. Obviously.” I was twitching around and my knee was bouncing up and down. “Did you see all the people out there? There’s so many.”

“Yes,” said William. “This is important. No question about it. It’s the first time they all get together like this. Other gatherings will always compare themselves to this one, so I hope we get it right.”

I wasn’t hungry. Hardly touched my food, but I felt good. This was historic. A simple race would lead to crucial exchange between the various towns in that area. Relationships would be created. Plans would be made. Policy decided. I wondered if society had been conceived after such competitive endeavors. Maybe two guys decided to race to the drinking hole and next thing you know, rules were writ and the IAAF (International Association of Athletics Federations) was established.

“It’s time,” yelled Rudy. And we all headed out of the house.

The race was two hundred and fifty miles and should take about two and a half hours. Our max size for the fuel tank was twenty-five gallons. Size of engine, four hundred and forty cubic inches. It just doesn’t sound as much fun in centimeters.

The track was a mix of straightaways and hard corners. Basically, an oval but with sharpish corners around the stadium.

When we approached the stadium we saw thousands of people milling around. Some were handing out pamphlets, others offering food and drink. I took one of the pamphlets. It read: “ELECTIONS NOW! SIGN THIS PETITION TO BRING MOONEY TO JUSTICE.”

I had forgotten.

This was the reason we did this in the first place. Getting people together to get them talking about Mooney. I was just too invested in my driving and I’d lost the real focus. It was jarring.

All seven cars were lined up next to each other, about three meters of empty space between each. We would start from inside the arena, do three turns around it and then head out to the track that surrounded it. People were everywhere. The noise was impressive and the mood was hopeful, happy. The sidelines were black with excited, screaming people. This was the first organized sports competition since the war. Not football, not basketball, car race. Fans were sitting on top of messed up cars that had been piled up along the course to mark the limits and to provide seating for the thousands of people who’d shown up to watch. I had stage fright.

“So hey, Robert, are you ready?” asked William as he was leaning on my windowsill.

“Never been so scared in my life. I’d rather go back to the pirates.” I was sweating.

Dutch bounced over all smiles and said, “hey Luke, use the force,” and buggered off laughing.

“You’ll be fine. I’m not worried,” continued William. “I’ll have a burger waiting for you if, I mean when you hit that finish line.”

“I wish.” Real burgers weren’t allowed of course. Cows were a luxury, but William did make a passable veggie burger. I shook that thought away. I hadn’t eaten anything. Didn’t want to feel bloated in the car. Or have any other pressing needs during the ride.

While practicing, I’d been alone. I mean there were no other cars. I knew how fast I’d have to go, but I had no idea what it would be like with six other cars buzzing around me.

“Good luck Robert. Um, don’t crash!” He shook the bar that was supposed to protect my neck if I up-ended the thing and walked off looking unsure.

Useful advice, I thought.

I looked left and right. I could see all the other drivers. They all seemed as worried as I was. Except for Rourke who looked almost sleepy. Must’ve been a tactic. No way he could be that calm. I was in the middle so there were three cars on each side of me. My tactic was to let others take the lead at first and gauge their talent before making a move. I thought I’d rather chase than be chased. And this wasn’t formula one. There’d be plenty of opportunities to pass other cars.

The starter was a cute young girl with freckles who stood right in front between my car and my neighbor´s. She had a big green flag. Why break from tradition. There weren’t many left. We waited for the start. At the first wave, we turned on the engines. Then she’d wave it again and that would be it.

I had a passing thought for the people who had worked on this event. It was very well organized. We were even on the radio. Apparently, people were going to hear a commentary about the race for about two hundred miles in every direction, certainly more because such an event would surely be rebroadcast. The commentators were sitting on top of the highest part of the arena so they could see the entire race.

One of the major worries was keeping people off the track, so we had volunteers all along the road watching and making sure no one got hurt. Where we could, we had concrete walls, and in dangerous corners we put piles of hay or tires. When everything was ok, the girl would get the signal and she would then wave the first flag. While we waited, I sat there, tapping my thumbs against the steering wheel, thinking about the path that had led me to this spot, in a race car, in a destroyed world, hunted by the government; Joanna, William and Dutch, Rourke… my wonderful friends, family really, on Tetepare.

The first flag went down signifying we should all start our engines. I turned on my engine and it roared to life. The noise a very pleasant but loud “bombadabombombadabombombom…badabadabadabom bom..” And the crowd went wild.

Then I heard nothing. Time stopped. I felt a drop of sweat tear itself away from my nose. All I could see was the girl moving her flag in slow motion. Down it went for the second time. The race was on.

No one moved. The crowd went silent. Was there a problem? A mistake?

We’d all had the same idea. So no one took the first step. There was a millisecond of general confusion. We all looked at each other, startled smiles all around… I laughed and hit the floor. Rourke came with me and everyone else followed. I screamed a cowboy ‘woohooo’ and let myself feel the car around the track. I was in first place… for now anyway.

I’d told myself to try and simply enjoy myself without taking the race too seriously. No use getting killed over a race. But now that I was in it, it was life and death. Nothing else mattered. You can’t do a race half way. It’s like eating half a jellybean.

So maybe Dutch was right. I am a stubborn idiot.

I roared out of the arena ahead of Rourke and four others. One driver stalled and never got going again. So we were six. I was familiar with the track, it wasn’t very difficult. We had to slow down for the rather harsh corners and then accelerate as fast as possible down the straightaways. For an amateur like me, it was a challenge just to keep the tires from spinning. Spinning was the best way to end up in the hay. The best way to pass was to cut someone off on the inside before a turn, or to pass on either side down the straights.

The road was cracked asphalt. What you’d expect after a couple of years of neglect. We’d chosen tires that were able to take it. Basically heavy winter tires. Maximum speed was up around a hundred and forty miles an hour. Quite respectable for a bumper car race built by amateurs.

I managed to hold on to first place for three whole turns around the track before Rourke passed me. He tapped me in the behind, just a little nudge before swinging to the left and blocking me out of the next turn. A tricky maneuver, but he managed it like a pro. Scared the crap out of me though. The others were close behind, but I only saw three cars. Maybe we’d lost another competitor.

I was sweating profusely and immediately thirsty, but I wasn’t nervous anymore, in fact I was smiling to myself. This was fun.

I chased Rourke for five turns around the track before I saw an opportunity. He must have missed a gear on a straightaway and I easily jumped ahead of him. I waved as I passed. He was smiling too, I saw; tight-lipped though.

I also saw people all along the track waving and screaming, but I heard nothing. My car was too loud. As the race progressed, it became harder to concentrate. Sweat was constantly dripping in my eyes and my arms grew tired. Focus, focus, focus. Rourke and I battled for many turns unopposed. But when there were just a few turns left to go, a third driver joined in the fun. It was Peter Jenkins driving his own car. He’d worked on it with his family and was a crowd favorite because he was from around here.

He passed me smoothly on the outside and I watched as he made a move on Rourke on the inside. I tensed up as they touched. They were side by side and tapping each other at ninety miles an hour. We only had two laps to go and suddenly the other drivers all decided it was time to make a move. I was passed by another driver on the right and one more on the left. Damn. They’d done exactly what I had planned to do, wait patiently until the right moment and take advantage of a lull. All this was going on as Rourke and Peter were playing tag.

I forgot about them for a while and tried to reclaim my lead over the others. I fought hard for the next turn and pushed the car as much as I dared. I think my previous dueling with Rourke paid off because I now had more experience with kissing steel and I used it to get back in front of the two cars who’d jumped me. And there were Peter and Rourke again hogging the road. I couldn’t pass them because they were side by side. So I sat close by and waited for an opening.

Suddenly, I saw Peter hit Rourke’s front left tire and there was a screech. The tire blew out and both cars separated leaving a space for me to take advantage of. I felt exhilarated. Time for a last second move to propel me in first place and an exciting finish.

But there was something wrong. Peter slowed down and I passed him, but Rourke was all over the road. I’d thought he’d just slow down and stop with a blown tire but he seemed out of control. I saw him frantically turn the wheel to battle a pull to the left that came from having lost a tire. He was barreling down the straight with only three wheels and obviously no brakes. He looked worried. I understood that somehow he had lost control completely and the car was going to crash. If I did nothing, he might bounce harmlessly onto one of the parked cars around the track, but then again he might crash and die. So I made my decision and I nudged him to keep him facing forward. I stuck my car right next to his and we locked together. I kept him going straight and tried to slow down… But his brakes were gone and the throttle open. I knew what I had to do. His car had to be squished against the wall before we came to a corner to decrease his speed. And that corner was coming fast…

We were going a hundred miles an hour, metal screeching and bending as I was trying to slow him down. I slammed him into the wall on his side. As softly as is possible to slam anything. We slowed down as the metal crunched against the concrete.

It worked…

The other cars passed us.

We slowed down some more, finally reaching ten miles an hour just before the arena. By now we were stuck together anyway so where he went, I went. I decided that we should finish the race. Rourke’s car had finally died. So I kept us both on the road. I pushed us inside the arena for the final lap and when the crowd saw us, they all stood up and cheered.

Peter had already won, but we sure made an entrance. We crossed the finish line locked together side by side. I looked over to the other car and saw Rourke smiling back at me. I sat back and breathed out in relief. Damn. What a ride.

A crowd quickly surrounded us, took us both out of our cars and we were hoisted up on top to be paraded around the track. When Rourke got close enough, he said: “I owe you one”, and he punched me in the shoulder. “Good man to have in your corner”, I thought to myself.

Oh and I finished the race, so Dutch lost his bet. HA!