Revving It Up Box Set

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

Garrison changed gears and the seven hundred horsepower engine roared in response. He took the top of the turn, guiding his car at one hundred ninety miles an hour on the top of the backstretch. In seconds, he approached the frontstretch and radioed in. “Track’s fast, Bob. Sure wish we kept the higher horsepower around here because this baby is moving. Real smooth, too.”

“Just watch that turn, Garr.”

Garrison harrumphed. “I know.” He knew which turn Bob talked about. No one talked about it, not at Daytona Speedway and definitely not before a race. At least Bob and Garr didn’t. They were both superstitious. s**t, Bob still made it a habit to clasp both of Garr’s shoulders and squeeze before Garr slipped in the car. It was a ritual that started a long time ago, back to the time when Earl, Garrison and Caleb’s dad, drove. And that ritual passed down to Garr and then Caleb when he drove, too.

The fire suit clung to Garr; the sweat on the back of his neck beaded down underneath the undershirt. The dog days of summer were upon them already even though July hadn’t started.

At least we got on the track before the temps hit the nineties.

Garrison figured he’d probably sweat five pounds of water this morning, just from driving for a couple of hours. But other drivers would be heading for the track, too, taking their practice runs. Garr knew he had limited time to get used to this track with the changes to this stock car. He wasn’t clear why NASCAR had changed the rules on the spoiler. They came up with changes: all of it to attract more ratings for sports channels, and more fans.

Make it faster! Make it more exciting!

More fans meant more money.

More! More! More!

They were even actively recruiting for African-American drivers but came up short, too. Diversity was a phrase that some owners bandied about, but the idea was hard to execute in practice.

Diversity. s**t, if they only knew about Caleb.

Garr took another turn and watched the gauge inside the stripped down Toyota. He wanted to go faster so he pressed the accelerator to see if the tires could handle the turn he planned to make. Winning was key to survival in NASCAR—that and placing in the top races for the Sprint Cup series. Finishing first or second meant money, endorsements, and points. More points meant racing for the Chase for the Sprint Cup Championship. Youngblood Racing only had two racers: Garr and Caleb. But Earl had grounded Caleb after a recent short track win up in North Carolina. Dad didn’t say why, either. It wasn’t due to loop data because Caleb kept up with Garr. In fact, Caleb often outraced Garr lately in run data, but Garr seemed to average higher on the turns.

Garr looked behind him and wished Caleb was on the same track. They’d practiced countless times. How to box a car in, how to draft to get more speed, how to punch through on the track.

He loved his little brother and didn’t know why lately they seemed to have drifted apart. He wished they could talk more; Caleb by now would have read the rulebook for the 400 race and quizzed Garr on it.

Did I do something to cause this distance?

Garrison’s thoughts were interrupted. “You were doing close to two hundred on that last turn. How’s it feeling?” asked Bob.

“It’s humming.” As soon as Garr spoke, he saw smoke from the engine. “Hey, Bob, are you seeing this?”

“Yeah. Slow the f**k down and pull into the grass,” shouted Bob.

Garr pressed the brake, but the Toyota started to spin. Garr saw the wall and as he spun, he turned the wheel to avoid a head-on with the concrete. The back of car collided with the barrier and more smoke billowed from underneath the hood.

Garr’s head jerked forward and back. He opened his eyes and heard nothing. He coughed because of the smoke.

“Get out of there!” yelled Bob.

“s**t! f**k! s**t!” screamed Garr. He shook his head.

Did I black out?

“Climb out of that s**t now.”

Garr unhooked the harnesses and climbed out the window. As he did so, he saw the fire truck pull up. He jogged then walked to the paramedic who came out, watching a fireman yank a hose and begin spraying down his Toyota. As he moved forward he felt lightheaded and pressed his hand to his head.

“Are you okay?” asked the paramedic.

“I think so. I don’t know.”

“Well, let’s take it easy and check you out.”

Garr nodded. He didn’t want to argue. His neck felt sore, and his whole body quaked like he’d been shocked with electricity. He leaned against the fire truck and watched Bob run up to him. Garr shook his head and mumbled. “I don’t know, Bob. I don’t know.”

Bob put a hand on Garr’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay. You’re okay.”

“The car?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to check it out after the fire is out and get it towed to the shop.”

Garr nodded and watched a second fireman help out put out the engine fire. He’d thought today was going to be a good day. Boy, was he wrong.