Never the Same #67 Mid-Season Meltdown

The Mid-Season Championship always proved a big time for competitors and spectators alike, but then there’s poor Kirk…

 

Cue: “Big Time” https://youtu.be/PBAl9cchQac?si=jf9Ii7zyLNpubSkV        

 

            The economy at this time struggled under inflation, though the higher prices didn’t affect Kirk all that much seeing he had that good steady job as the “Rock Handler” at the Georgia-Pacific drywall plant and had no great expenses except of course his stock car. Well yeah, he also had to pay rent to his father.          

            In news of the USA, the House Committee started proceedings to determine if President Nixon had illegally stepped outside his authority according to the Watergate Tapes Scandal even though he announced, “I am not a crook,” which would live on in infamy for this particular year. For Kirk, out of sight, out of mind so these country-altering issues didn’t bother him at all because it was time for the all-important Stock Car Mid-Season Championships! 

***

            The NASCAR Mid-Season Championship was a big time for sure. Big crowds showed up for these longer, more intense, big races that Kirk had looked forward to with gusto. Of course, he didn’t qualify for the championship his first season, but he was bound and determined to make qualification this season. The tracks even brought out the pace car to start the races for this crowd-pleasing event. Everyone was stoked!

            Kirk thought that the remaining evidence of his preseason crash had gotten enough exposure, so he took the time to erase the damages. Remember that he had hastily repaired the dents to the body and had applied primer to them, while where Jon and he had applied the heat wrench (torch), Kirk had slapped on a nice thick coat of black paint. On the primer side of the body, he just lightly sanded the damaged area that had copious amounts of Bondo applied and tapered the sanding into the green. On the other side where the black tire marks resided, he lightly sanded it off and a little beyond. He mixed up some green paint and sprayed it on. The paint went on nicely, but not perfectly, but what the heck? It was a stock car. Kirk deemed the repairs good enough for winning shots now seeing that the pictures of him holding the checkered flag up to this point had showed the damage quite vividly. Now the car was acceptable for Mid-Season Championships, not that Kirk had any kind of grand envisioning that in another alternate universe he could ever win. Not likely. Not probable. Not possible. Out of the question!

 

***

            During the week, Kirk often relived races in the evening’s quietness of his garage recalling the acceleration, braking, the hard left turns with knuckles whitened as he clenched the wheel in a death grip; hearing in his memory the rising and falling of screaming racing engines, the heat, the smells of rich fuel-air mixtures and hot rubber. He recalled the close calls, the bumps, shoves, spin outs, and ill-fated DNFs. Sitting there inert, the car retained the strong, masculine bouquet of exhaust, rubber, oil, and hot metal. All these prompted memories as Kirk concentrated on driving techniques and calculated mechanical improvements. Kirk now had intimate knowledge of the car inside and out and knew how the car functioned as a whole machine for he had tightened every nut, inserted every bolt, and applied hundreds of inches of molten weld to mate thousands of iron and steel pieces into one solid racing machine. He touched its every square inch, cleaned and painted every nook and cranny, likening the intimate familiarity as carnal knowledge. Hey! Get it? 😉

            As Kirk sat in his very own unique stock car, something he dreamed of as a child, the dark sheet metal and the roll cage’s tubing curved around him like being swallowed inside the dark ribs of a sleeping primordial beast. Inside a stock car’s cockpit, where everything is important with only simplicity and functionality necessities, the interior holds no chrome, plastic nor upholstery for decoration, nor heater, air conditioning for comfort, nor radio for entertainment because he had plenty out there on the track. The thinly padded, rib hugging, lateral g-force compensating seat held him tightly so the five-strap shoulder harness retained his body in a snug position no matter the fate of the car as witnessed by Kirk’s preseason crash where he hit the guardrail but suffered nary a scratch or bruise.

            Scavenged clutch and brake pedals from an unidentified donor car hung from the dashboard alongside the accelerator pedal, that large aluminum footprint seemingly stepped in by Paul Bunyan when cast. A tachometer and two simple analog gauges, oil pressure and coolant temperature, stared him in the face as he sat directly behind, his position in the car equal-distant front to rear and side to side. The push-pull ignition switch, its compulsory function as a kill switch, is nearby under his right arm, and finally, a simple push button starter switch. A racing steering wheel and an improvised shifter completed the controls.

            ***

            Arriving the night of the championship, Kirk gave Farah a firm hug and a long kiss after their ride to the track with her riding on top the engine cover just as Sarah had done. On the girlfriend issue, Kirk felt and acted more adult around Farah who was more of an adult herself than high schooler Sarah. Taking in her pretty countenance, he always associated her with the Leonardo da Vinci portrait entitled “Lady with an Ermine” thinking that he perhaps dated the reincarnated duke’s mistress. Farah in her many favorable attributes and mild disposition could have been categorized in Kirk’s book as a “keeper.”

            Anyway, Kirk planned on having an exciting night of racing though a racer can never be sure of what may unfold. Jon had rode along acting as chief mechanic as always. No doubt during that night of a fast repair and exciting Consolation Race win, Jon was indispensable in his assistance in getting Kirk back on the track. On the night of the championships, Kirk hoped for no breakdowns, no spin outs, nor crashes that might keep him from making and finishing the big race.

            On arrival, it seemed to Kirk that everybody in his class showed up to race that night even though a lot of guys only showed up to race once in a while not like dedicated Kirk. Maybe on this night they showed for the excitement, maybe it was the crowd draw, or maybe it was the chance to score double points!

            When the time rolled around, Kirk and Jon moseyed on down to the posting board. Kirk found himself a bit concerned with his start in fifth place in the first heat. It could be a good start to possibly a big night except he noticed that Jack Plumber and Rob Larson were behind him. Behind him? That’s weird and impossible. Kirk experienced a quick twinge of adrenaline knowing that both these guys were undeniably faster than he was. This was the drawback of being a bit slower yet rising in the points standings. He’ll just have to deal with them. The spectator stands looked full, and Kirk hoped Farah wouldn’t be feeling all alone in the crowd. The pit area was all abuzz with activity with all competitors knowing that more of them would be qualifying for the feature championship to ensure excitement galore.

            Kirk and Jon decided to sit in the pit stands because Kirk knew he’d just worry over the car and accomplish nothing at all. Kirk tried to make like he wasn’t nervous even though, as usual, it was difficult to contain himself.   

            As his heat race approached, Kirk squirmed more and more. He tried to convince himself that it was just another race like all the other races he’d been in but his nerves weren’t listening. He stood up abruptly, taking Jon a bit by surprise as he headed back to his car. Maybe he should’ve used the time to double/triple check his car. Maybe he missed something on the verge of loosening up or falling off or breaking! He sat on a tire and forced himself to calm down.  Jon, knowing Kirk as well as he did, and also knowing that occasionally Kirk became a wreck.   Kirk remained silent as so did Jon while the many cars filled the air with exhaust noise. He slowly pulled on his fire suit giving a curt wave to Ron his close competition last season, but that driver/car combo didn’t concern him this season. Could this be a big night for Kirk?

***     

            Soon, the announcement came that his heat needed to line up, not that Kirk needed to be told. Already zipped up and ready to go, Kirk crawled into his car. Jon wished him good luck as he donned his helmet and gloves and fastened his five-point harness.  Kirk reassured himself, as he lined up at the track entrance, that because of the size of the championship field almost all the cars qualify for the feature event which remained a sticking point last year with him because he was one of the few who did not qualify. Seeing he was fifth, he had the inside line which was a seemingly advantage, as his father always yelled “stay low!”

            Bob Larson sat right beside him in his purple compact car while Jack Plumber in his pumpkin orange coupe sat directly behind Kirk. The gaudy combination of green, purple and orange cars side by side kind of clashed. Jack sitting right behind Kirk caused him not want to focus on the situation, but there he was, right there in his panoramic rear view so he could see too much of his rival behind him. Usually, as for the season so far, Kirk didn’t have to worry or wonder who was behind him because he could just about outrun those slower guys but suddenly it had changed. Now Kirk ran up amongst the near-front runners, not the front runners per se, but those hard runners with slightly faster cars and drivers with years of experience. Kirk pondered those facts which were worrisome, something he didn’t need to think about waiting for a race to start.

            The gate opened, the engine noise raised, and Kirk took a deep breath. They headed out on the track. Already on the warm-up pace lap, Kirk watched Jack follow him closely, so close Kirk couldn’t see his rival’s bumper in his mirror. Yeah, in Kirk’s experience with “also-rans” he hadn’t witnessed this particular intimidation technique having out powered them. Yeah, it was an effective move as Kirk white knuckled the wheel thinking that he was indeed amidst the “big boys” now.  As they went around on the warmup lap, Kirk watched as Jack stuck to his bumper even if Kirk slowed a bit or speeded up a little as dictated by Raymond “X-ray” Gunn’s blue car in front of him, but he almost rammed Ray as he watched Jack a little too closely.

            Warm-up lap completed; they got the white flag as the pace increased along with Kirk’s tension. It was obvious Jack didn’t want to be in seventh place behind rookie Kirk. Besides there were rumblings and concerns about Kirk’s unpredictable manner of driving and his archaically practice-built car. Kirk just passed it off as idle talk among rivals. The pace increased yet more as they ran around the third and fourth turns. Kirk wished he was with the slower guys in the back, but there he was. All the cars in the front, i.e. front runners were packed tight and Jack was packed to his rear bumper while Kirk left breathing space between him and Raymond’s blue car’s bumper.

            The green must have come because Kirk didn’t see it. Raymond and everyone accelerated at a rate that surprised Kirk. Bob beside him instantly gained half a car on him, but Jack, who must have anticipated a harder, faster start from Kirk nudged his bumper. Kirk looked in his mirror and could see fierce determination in Jack as Bob slid past Kirk and dropped into the gap Kirk had nicely left between him and Raymond. Kirk stayed low, as low as he could on the turns, not thinking about how his father preached and shouted that tactic. After a couple laps, Jack couldn’t handle Kirk’s defense and so pushed and went high out of the turns to get around Kirk, but Kirk countered the moves. He could see cars bunching up behind them “holding up traffic” as the big boys say. Finally, Kirk countered a low-aimed feint and Jack went high around Kirk. Once beside Kirk, Jack kept on flying by to drop in front of him to pull away to take on Bob. Kirk pressed on though he felt that he was outclassed by those three guys. Kirk got into his groove around the track and even though a couple guys came up behind him, he out-paced them to the checkered flag. Kirk felt unimpressed with his own performance ending up in seventh place as he had anticipated from the very start of the heat.

            Sitting on a tire drinking a Coke after his class’s races, Chuck wandered over. Recall Chuck was one of the few fellow racers that Kirk had more than a fleeting greeting with. Chuck, during the winter, had passed some valuable information onto Kirk about engine performance secrets, or maybe not all that secret except to Kirk who hadn’t heard them before; to say the least those hints helped Kirk immensely. Jon joined them shaking hands with Chuck with a greeting.

            “Hey’ya, Jon, Kirk,” Chuck greeted. “A great night of racing, huh?”

            “Yeah, well, I don’t know if I feel so great about my finish.”

            “Oh, you were in the middle of a tough bunch. I know, I’ve been in the same spot.” Chuck paused. “If you don’t mind, ah, a bit of advice?”

            “Oh, sure of course,” Kirk said, after a thought about the possibilities.

            “I think you should stop driving defensively. I haven’t watched many of your races, but it seemed you worried more about who was behind trying to block them instead of focusing on taking on who was head of you.”

            “Yeah, I suppose I was,” Kirk mumbled with a nod.

            Jon added, “I thought your driving was a bit�"different tonight and was going to mention it.”

            “My advice: take it or leave it. Don’t bother with who’s behind you or even get rid of that mirror. In all situations out there, you only have to worry what’s beside you and where you want to go. You know?”

            “Yeah, I guess I know that, thanks. I know about focusing where I want to go but, well, I never had them,” Kirk thumbed over his shoulder, “breathing down my neck.”

            “Oh right, I know. Pretty aggressive?”

            “Hmm Hmm.” Kirk nodded eyes to the ground.

            Chuck shrugged. “Just an observation Kirk. You’re good out there, got some real potential. Don’t worry about what or who’s in your mirror. As they say in the movies, ‘what’s behind you is not important!’” He grinned big. He stuck his hand out, and Kirk gripped it a few moments. “Good luck in the Championship tonight.”

            Kirk gulped. “You too, Chuck.”

            As Chuck wandered back to his perfectly neat car. Kirk glanced over to Jon. He thought that Jon might have wanted to say something else but was maybe afraid to say it.

            “Let’s give the car a good once over.” Kirk said to Jon. “Grab the lug wrench and check the wheels, would you?”

            As Jon got the lug wrench, Kirk got the wrenches to check the bolts on the suspension and shock absorbers. He did a quick walk around to compare the travel on the four shocks. He thought to increase the “wedge” but decided against it because the car handled good enough and would hate to mess it up before a big race. The same went for tire pressures. They checked the fluid levels, adding a little anti-freeze/coolant to the radiator. Kirk did a thorough inspection of the carburetor linkage his preseason crash still often front and center in his list of concerns. After that, he considered his fuel tank level, but anticipating the extra long race, which he hoped to experience in its entirety, he had put some extra high-test gas in along with most likely much to his aversion, his father’s “Fuel Activator.”  The noisy racing on the track went on, but Kirk hardly noticed. He took a deep breath.

            “All set, Jon?” Kirk asked.

            “A-okay on all wheels.”

            “Let’s take a wander over to the board.”

            As they got closer, the vicinity around the board was all abuzz with conversations. Kirk weaved through the guys near the board to take in the grid for his class. With heightened attention, it didn’t take long to pick out his number three on the board. He sat at twelfth spot, sixth row on the outside. He glanced at Jon, who had followed him through the crowd. Jon gave a little shrug with a reassuring non-emotional expression. Or was it? Kirk looked back at the board like always to verify what he saw was indeed confirmed what he saw. The undeniably heightened excitement in the pits could be seen and felt in the conversations and the movements of everyone around. Kirk and Jon leisurely, calmly strolled back to the stock car, but Kirk’s mind swam in racing possibilities. It seemed like forever until they called for Kirk’s class Mid-Season Championship.

            Kirk already had his fire suit closed up and secured so he climbed in his car, donned his helmet, and secured his harness. Jon reached in to shake his hand.

            “Good luck. And you know that you can take them!”

            “Yeah, thanks, Jon.”

            Jon dropped the protection net that went over the side window. Kirk backed around, and joined a parade of cars heading to the entrance gate. Cars were sitting four, five wide instead of the two lines that go on the track. Apparently, not all the racers knew their grid position or maybe some of those on the grid in the front hadn’t showed up yet. That latter problem proved indeed the situation. Over a few minutes of shuffling back and forth, side to side they got the double line up sorted out. The track steward seemed to be having a bad night. Yes, the sun was down, twilight had fallen over the coliseum of speed where stock car drivers let it all hang out to dry to display their talent on the high-banked asphalt track.

            Finally, all lined up at the entrance gate in their proper positions, Kirk sat there in his rumbling car along with what seemed like a multitude of rumbling cars. He eyed his mirror taking in both drivers behind him that he knew that he could out race. Out front were those front runners that he feared as witnessed in the heat and had diced with intently and feverishly.   

            As the previous racers exited the track, they just had to wait for the winner with the checkered flag to get done with all that hoopla. Up above on the banked turn three, Kirk could see the bright red Dodge Charger pace car ready to lead them around. What a show! In the couple minutes, the steward spoke into his headset and swung the gate wide open. Slowly, they moved up and onto the track and from his higher vantage point he thought it looked pretty awesome to see the pace car out front of the eleven cars that preceded Kirk. Heading down the front straight at a slower than usual pace lap, Kirk looked at his mirror and marveled at the length of the pack that trailed behind him. He guessed bout thirty cars in total because he didn’t really count when he had checked the posting board. He took a deep breath. A lot of the cars in front of him started swerving back and forth to make their tires “squirm” and warm up. Kirk didn’t have a lot of room to do the same, but he did his best remembering his scoffing and running a first hot lap on cold tires. It was not pretty. 

            After the pace lap the leaders held up their index fingers, and we all know those are the guys that count so all of the drivers behind including Kirk followed suit. Yeah, Kirk took another deep breath, unsure how this longer race will feel and turn out for him. The next lap’s speed increased slightly as the white flag flew. The squirming stopped, but some guys revved their engines in anticipation. Kirk didn’t know why. On the back straight, with the green flag expected, the pace car shot off the track and onto the infield in a bouncy cloud of dust. Kirk gripped the wheel hard and poised his right foot to ease or mash the gas pedal as needed. On the fourth turn, the green light flashed on and they took off in a haze of smoke, smells, and clamor!

            On the outside lane, Kirk stuck to the car in front of him being Bob as the field stretched out. The car beside him, Ray dropped back holding that inside lane of cars up slightly, so with just a little more oomph Kirk slipped down into the groove. Laser focused on where he wanted to go, to be, Kirk hung on. He didn’t look in his mirror and he didn’t let the repetitious increase and decreasing speeds and corresponding crescendo and decrescendo of engine exhaust lull him into a state of monotonous follow the leader. For being a long race, it didn’t occur to Kirk that the pace increased wickedly fast right off the bat. He stayed right with that car in front of him. In just a few laps, the cars ahead had strung out in a single line except for a jostling for maybe gaining a position. Kirk relished the ebb and flow of the cars, not unlike the in and out of ocean waves, but much louder and more intense. He stayed with Ray, staying as close as he dared. Like he had seen with Jack, Kirk couldn’t see Ray’s back bumper imagining, just for a wink of time, that he was drafting the other car, hanging on in his slipstream gaining speed and power over the guy in front. Laps flitted by.

            Kirk thought he could take Ray, that is, if an opportunity arose. Presently, they roared around the track as one herd on the preferred groove. With a glance farther ahead, Kirk couldn’t, didn’t try, to discern the cars up there, but only seeing that he was in a segmented line like a fast-moving train or a caterpillar. Bob tried to sneak in low, but with Kirk pushing in the groove cut him off just like that. With that extra push, he bumped Ray and Ray bobbled just a bit. Taking the invitation, Kirk went low, got his front wheels beside him, slightly more, then door to door. Ray backed off and Kirk took his place, whatever place it was for Kirk didn’t think about it, didn’t care because he passed someone.

            Focused as he was, the car in front of him now didn’t click right away. After getting closer to the blue car with gold trim, including bumpers, Kirk identified the car as Chuck’s. Chuck, as you know, remained the one and only fellow racer that Kirk had a connection with. Chuck had given him those performance tips last winter and just tonight told him to ignore his mirror to go on the offense not the defense. Kirk thought it perhaps rude to push a friendly fellow racer, but maybe that’s why a lot of racers didn’t socialize with other racers especially from the same class that might result in unsure approaches on each other out on the track as Kirk was now experiencing. Kirk stayed close to Chuck though not as close as the last couple cars he passed. He didn’t try feints or hard pushes into turns for one, two laps. All of a sudden, Chuck went high on a turn leaving the bottom of the track open. Kirk thought Chuck must have backed off on the gas too. Kirk took the opening, pushing hard toward the next victim. Chuck dropped in behind and stayed with him that Kirk noticed and then let go. He couldn’t believe who he saw ahead. Jack Plumber in his orange coupe.

            Kirk still didn’t have any idea what place he was in; all he knew was that he had moved up a few places from his twelfth-place start. In a couple more laps he progressed closer and closer to Plumber’s bumper. Suddenly, the orange car of Plumber went high in the second groove. Kirk couldn’t believe his good luck and dove in ready to take Jack on the inside. But then! Kirk spiked the brakes and swerved up behind Jack�"traffic! Kirk couldn’t believe that they had overtaken lapped cars. Kirk had never been in the situation to lap a car, only the situations where he was the lapped car!  No time to dawdle, Jack had moved up a car length when the lapped car caught Kirk by surprise.

            Kirk slipped up trying hard to gain on Jack while moving so fast Kirk didn’t have time to think! Once in a while, they’d pass another lapped car. Kirk couldn’t focus on what or who they passed, but thought they were probably his close competition from last season, you know, the also-ran, wannabees. He found it hard to take advantage of the groove particularly on the turns when he’d like to go low, but there was often a much slower lapped car down low. Kirk eventually tightened up his lock on Jack’s bumper. Up and down the revs went, speed up out of the turns, down the straights, slow down to make the turns, over and over. Three, then four lapped cars slipped by underneath Kirk and the front runners.

            Abruptly, Jack slowed catching Kirk by complete surprise and almost causing a crash, Kirk slipped down to the inside of the track to avoid jack. He moved right beside Jack before he noticed the red light on. Stop! A crash! Kirk let off the gas and feathered the brake as the whole pack came to a stop. Kirk ended up slightly ahead of Jack Plumber in his orange coupe. Kirk looked over but didn’t make eye contact. Sitting there with engines running, he scanned the track and saw a mangled wreck on the other side of the track. The wrecker, ambulance and cleanup crew were on the scene. The pace car moseyed on out and parked in front of the first-place car, of course the red cash car. It amazed Kirk that he was only thirty yards back. He saw one of his old slow competitors a yellow car sat up ahead as well on the inside track probably in the midst of being passed when the wreck occurred. Kirk smiled to himself; he brought up the rear of the front runners!

            As they sat there, Kirk saw the wrecker drag three mangled cars off the track and deposited them in the infield. A constant reminder for Kirk… The ambulance cruised back to the infield, apparently medical attention was not needed. It appeared from the distance that cleanup guys had dumped and spread a whole fifty-pound bag of speedy dry (kitty litter) on the track over a pretty good-sized spill of antifreeze, oil, and/or fuel.

            A squad of track officials trotted out to the parked stock cars each wearing a headset. Starting at the front, they motioned for the parked lapped yellow car who was effectively a lap down, to go round to the back of the pack. Coolly, they gestured for front runners to form a tightened up single line. One official approached Kirk.

            “Kirk Biscuit, go around and form up back there.”

            Kirk leaned as far as he could to the window, shouted over the engine, and pointed. “I was running right behind Jack Plumber.”

            “We know. Now go around.” He gestured vigorously.

            Kirk cruised slowly around thoroughly confused to what was taking place.

            He got to the back of the remaining cars, but went high to go around. He started to pass the yellow lapped car and the official there yelled at him.

            “Hey, Biscuit! You go right here,” he said pointing to the back end of the yellow car.

            “I was running right behind Jack Plumber.”

            “Maybe, but a lap down,” the official shouted.

            “NO! I WAS ON THE SAME LAP!”

            “We can’t mess around out here we need to run this race. You go here!” The official shouted rather meanly.

            “BUT, I…” Kirk shouted but the official walked away.

            Kirk felt enraged. He put his car in gear and roared back up toward the front to sit next to Jack. The official up there marched up to Kirk’s window as he talked into his headset. He shook his head in apparent frustration before leaning in close. 

            “NOW, either you get back there in twenty-first place or we’ll black flag you and the truck will drag you off the track! NOW!” He shouted with a finger point.  

            Kirk started to argue, but he heard the official call the tow truck on the radio. Infuriated, he jammed his car into gear, squealed off the tires as he roared around the track to the position behind the slow yellow car. The official casually waved him in the slot left for him and walked away. Within a couple minutes, the red light switched to yellow and they started moving as a long slow line. Where the crash occurred, the speedy dry on the track kicked up on his windshield and formed a cloud of dust swirled about by the cars’ wind turbulence. They made two laps until they deemed the track suitable to race on. The white flag flew and the next time around the green light flashed on.

            Kirk’s anger made him grip the wheel even harder and his whole body tensed in rage. His sight narrowed to become tunnel vision. He couldn’t think of anything but the unreasonable, unfair treatment of him out there. As he roared under the flagman to make his restart fully legal, he swung out, around, and passed the yellow car like it stood still. Kirk and everyone watching him could tell between how fast he accelerated and how slow the cars in front of him were going. Plainly showing that they were all much slower than him and he could pass them easily. Like a madman he recklessly passed the cars on the right and left where ever a gap opened even if it wasn’t safe. He scraped down the side of one slower car to get through.

            Kirk in his fury didn’t care if he got black flagged for unsportsmanlike driving or driving dangerously.  He passed three, four cars. Kirk’s thought that the front runners catching him from behind following the atrocious affront the officials pulled against him would be a colossal insult to him after doing so well, in fact the best he had in any prior feature race. Kirk with shear focused determination kept pushing his car to the limit nearly going out of control more than once and running the engine wide open more often than ever before. He kept going totally unaware how many laps remained. His rage stayed with him. It drove him on. It drove him hard. He passed two more cars on one lap; he couldn’t tell where he raced within the field. He passed one more car when the white flag came out. Kirk knew his race was over, but that didn’t mean he was done by any means!

            As he finished the final lap, he could see Chuck’s car up ahead shiny blue, flashing in the high intensity lights. The checkered flag dropped, but Kirk couldn’t care less who won. As they coasted down one cool-down lap, the other cars pulled out the exit gate, but Kirk didn’t. He roared around the turns like he was still racing. The flagman stood there with the checkered flag appearing flustered to why Kirk, an also ran, came around again at top speed! Kirk slammed on the brakes, locking up all four tires.

            He screeched to a halt in front of all the spectators with the one especially bright light illuminating his car like a spot light.

            Half embarrassed to do it but still so angry, Kirk shouted in rage and confusion, “What the hell was that restart, putting me all the way back.” Kirk couldn’t get his words right because he was so angry. “Didn’t I, ah, didn’t I prove that I was faster than all those cars I got stuck behind?”

            The flagman seemed confused, unsure what to say with this crazy young driver right there in front of the spectator stands as the winner, the cash car of course, sat there probably confused as well.

            The flagman said rather calmly, “I don’t know? Take it up with the officials. Get along now!”

            Kirk’s embarrassment sunk in then. He thought of Farah in the stands who probably wanted to sink away and not ever be associated with this mad, crazy guy again.  Kirk put the car in gear and drove away relatively calmly though he still saw red and burned inside. His best race ever, on the biggest race of the year, and they ruined it for him.

            They friggin’ took a great finish away from him those b******s!

            Kirk half expected everyone in the pits turn and stare at him as he pulled through the pits but he didn’t see, though he didn’t try to see, anyone staring and pointing. Not letting his simmering rage overwhelm his logic, he carefully aimed and loaded the car on the trailer. Jon locked down the front as usual. After shutting off the engine, Kirk unbuckled and took his helmet off. He leaned his head onto the steering wheel for several moments. He crawled out.

            Jon stood by quietly for a while before saying, “Well, that could have been a good race and a great finish.”

            “Yeah,” Kirk said bluntly. He secured the rear securing using the chain binders, and then he sat down on the back of the trailer when he noticed his hands trembling. Jon stood off to the side.

            “Well,” Jon said. “That performance out in front of the crowd was something they never see. Probably never again!” He smiled. “You put on a show for them.”

            Kirk had to smile too realizing his foolishness, but then his stomach fell wondering how Farah took it all. Totally mortified? Completely incensed? Ready to abandon Kirk? He didn’t know what to expect from the sweet, quiet girl. 

            Kirk saw Chuck approaching, but tried not to look like he needed a support team. Chuck strode up wearing an earnest expression.

            “Sorry about what happened out there to you, Kirk,” Chuck said. “You were making tracks out there, a man on a mission.”

            “Thanks, Chuck,” Kirk said, getting up. “I keep wondering if they, the score keepers lost track of me and thought I was a lap down. I’m thinking about protesting the race.”

            “Hmm. Yeah, you could do that but in my years of racing, I never saw a positive outcome in protesting a race after the fact. They don’t film most races so you have no proof, you know?”

            “I guess so. It just feels so unfair.”

            “Nice show, though!”

            “Jon thought so too. I was just angry, mad that they broke my good run. Why’d they do it? I wondered, till do wonder.”

            “Well, did you pass anyone, like Plumber, under the red?”

            “Yeah, maybe.”

            Chuck shrugged and gestured over to the track. “They maybe delivered a penalty on you for not recognizing the red fast enough. There’re rules that they hardly have to enforce, you know?” 
            Kirk thought a second. “I suppose that I should know that there are rules like that.” He looked down. “I guess that I could have violated that the rule of passing on red because I didn’t notice the red right away.”

            “Sure. You think it through, make your own decision. I just thought about it and gave you a possibility of their reasoning.”

            “Right. Thanks, Chuck.” Kirk said. “Ah, how’d you finish?”

            “I think tenth. How about you?”

            “Not a clue,” Kirk said with a smile.

            Chuck laughed. “Have a good night, see you next weekend.”

            “Yep! You as well.”

            Kirk told Jon that he headed to the spectator stands asking if he wanted to go, saying that he hoped no one recognized him, but he hoped Farah would still recognize him. They laughed. Jon said he was going to hang out at the pits stands. Kirk started to walk, but then stopped. He peeled off his fire suit and threw it in the pink van. He wondered if Jon didn’t want to be seen with him�"Nah!

            As he wandered in front of the stands, he scanned the faces in the crowd. He finally picked Farah out sitting with a couple other women. She stood and waved. Making his way up to her through the packed seats, Farah greeted him with an embrace and a kiss. They sat down together holding hands.

            One of the other women piped up, “Nice show tonight, Uncle Kirk.” She laughed along with the other woman. Kirk only nodded with a smile while Farah put her arm around Kirk and pulled him tight which reassured Kirk one hundred percent and made him feel better the same percentage.

            You might say Kirk was Never the Same after that big night of racing, and then baring his soul, his anger, in front of a packed crowd. Maybe he had a little dramatic showbiz in him!