Fuel
by Velma
It's hard to describe race day to someone who's never witnessed it. The Winston Cup circuit is something akin to a traveling circus. The racers and their crews, the sponsors, the promoters, the souvenir vendors, the media, and the fans. The fans. Deadheads in a way, with beer as their drug of choice, thousands of them follow the circuit, criss-crossing the country in RVs that follow the racers' trailers.
Justin didn't have them just yet. But Chris was counting on the events of the day to change that.
It's a sight, to come onto pit row in the morning and see all those faces in front of you. Chris never got tired of it. If the look on Justin's face was any indication, the feeling was mutual.
Daytona, the first race of a season that stretches from February to November, is the the point at which all the drivers, regardless of how they did the previous season, start out on equal footing. Legends have been made at Daytona. The 500 is the oldest and most popular race of the year
Happy Hour, the brief window of time after the previous day's Busch race when the track is open for one last practice, had gone well for CKI. Justin'd had the second fastest lap time, not that it counted for anything, and he'd managed not to slam into any other cars.
Chris had been right. Justin's qualifying run hadn't kept him at the top, but there were only five other racers who'd turned in times faster than he had. Justin was starting his first Winston Cup race on the outside of row three. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Carter was in row six. Chris had made especially sure to smile at Kevin when they saw each other after escorting their boys to the drivers' meeting.
Back at the pit, Chris hovered while NASCAR officials did their pre-race inspection. He was a hands-on owner, had to be. There was no other choice. As it was, he, Lance and Joey shared the administrative duties typically performed by the crew chief. Chris stayed out of the garage, though, only helping Joey when he asked. He was a driver, not a mechanic, and he knew his limits.
JC had quickly become part of the core group, not just because they needed his insight into how Justin handled the car, but because JC knew what he was doing. He was a better engine man than Joey was, and it wasn't unusual for Chris to wander past the garage at some ungodly hour and find JC in there, up to his elbows in grease and surrounded by parts, doing yet another tune up. JC was too valuable to be the team's spotter on race day, and Chris had a feeling he wouldn't be doing it for long. Joey needed him in the pits.
For now, though, JC would join forty-one other crew members high above the race track, helping to guide Justin through traffic, watching his back and the track for trouble. Justin was going to need a voice he trusted to anchor him. And that damn viewing stand was too tall for Chris.
"Quit daydreaming," Lance said, coming up behind him. "You're late." He sighed at Chris's blank look. "Hospitality? You're supposed to be meeting with our sponsors right now?"
"I fucking hate grip and grin," Chris groaned, heading in the direction of the luxury suites above the grandstand.
"Yeah, well, you're part of the package, Chris. They signed Justin as much because of you as him."
Chris rolled his eyes. "This blows."
"Mmm," Lance said, noncommittally. "Get to it."
~.~
Ass-kissing done, Chris and Justin walked back to the garage together so Justin could suit up.
"You scared?" Chris asked.
Justin nodded.
"Good," Chris said. "Might you keep from doing anything stupid."
Justin snorted. "Nerves make me drive faster."
"How's that stupid, again?" Chris nudged him. "It's sort of the point. I sure ain't complaining."
They paused outside Justin's camper. "I met Carter," he said, playing with the handle. "He's a big dude." Chris grunted. "He's like. Big," Justin said, and Chris couldn't help laughing.
"Please, God, tell me you weren't checking him out in the bathroom."
"What?!" Justin's shriek of indignation sent Chris into hysterics. "Kidding, J. Kidding. Get in your gear, man. You've got a race to run." He headed into the garage. "The look on your face..."
Justin took a deep breath and went inside his trailer.
~.~
The pit was fairly sedate, as those things go. Last minute checks had been done and the car had been cleared to run.
"You ready?" Chris asked Joey, who was bent over a clipboard, conferring with JC.
Joey nodded. "It's a solid car. We've given him all we got. Crew's ready," his lips quirked into a bit of a smile as he inhaled, "and it smells like a great day for racing."
Justin came into the pit then. Strutted would be a more apt description, Chris thought. The guys immediately lit into him, cat-calls and wolf-whistles and mock-falsettos floating through the air.
"Looking good, man," JC said, "looking like a million dollars."
"Right on, Justin said, 'cause I'm planning on winning at least that much this season." He spun around on his heels, tipping his hat toward Chris. "Well?"
"Regular Ms. America," Chris grumbled. "C'mon. Driver introductions. And we need to get you strapped in." He joined Joey, JC, and Justin as they made their way to where the cars were lined up in turn four. Chris could feel his own stomach churning and allowed himself a brief moment of worry for Justin before he shook it off. The crowd was massive, radiating energy it was impossible not to absorb.
Chris watched Joey and JC go through the safety check. JC leaned in and spoke softly to Justin before he turned to head for the observation tower. "JC," Justin called, and JC stopped. "My eyes, man."
JC nodded. "I've got your back." He gave Justin the thumbs up sign, and jogged away.
"So," Chris said, leaning into the cockpit.
"Yeah," Justin said.
"I guess I'm supposed to say something motivational here, huh?" Justin blinked at him. "Don't hit anything." He heard Joey snicker behind him and sighed. "You're gonna be fine. JC's got you from up top and Joey'll take good care of you down here. Keep your eyes open and stay alert." He stepped back from the car as Joey pulled up the safety netting.
"Chris?" Justin asked. "You're going to be on the radio, right? Just in case?"
"Yeah," Chris said. "Holler if you need me."
He and Joey made their way silently back to the pit, joining the other members of the crew out on the road for the National Anthem. Some local group was singing, a bunch of guys called O-Town or something. Chris wrinkled his nose when it was over, which prompted Lance to elbow him in the side.
"Think you could do better, Kirkpatrick?"
"What the hell," Chris said. "You, me, Joey, C and Justin. We'll hit the road when this is over. Take the country by storm."
"Stick to your day job," Joey said. "And heads up. This puppy's about to start."
In the grass in front of the grandstand, a pretty young woman stepped up to the mic, clutching it nervously. "Gentleman," she flashed a smile at the crowd, "start your engines."
Chris sucked in a breath. He didn't have words for this feeling, the moment when over forty engines fired up at once, a roar unlike any other, a wall of sound so huge it could knock you right over. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he shuddered before his face split into a grin. "Goddamn!" he said to no one in particular. "Rock and roll."
~.~
"How you doing out there, JT? Talk to me, Justin." Joey's voice was always calm, no matter what was going on. "How's she driving?"
"Good," Justin said, his voice as tight as the car seemed to be. "Good. I'm good."
Except he wasn't, and it was pretty evident by the way he was driving. Bodine slipped past him, then Carter. Fifty laps into the race, and Justin looked like he'd forgotten what he was doing.
"Shit," Chris grimaced, glancing at Lance. "He's choking."
Then there was trouble in turn two when the nine car, Bill Elliott's, collided with another and skidded across the infield.
"Where is it? Where is it?" Justin's voice was tense across the radio.
"Turn two, Justin," JC's voice was assured. "Lots of smoke. Stay low and inside and you'll blow right through it."
"Low and inside, ten-four," Justin said and the car disappeared, emerging moments later unscathed. "Nice going, C. Thanks."
"Good job, Jace," Joey said, motioning with his hand to the crew. All around them, pit row was coming to life as it readied for the first stop of the race.
Chris sat back and watched. Winston Cup level pit stops happen, when nothing goes wrong, in less than twenty seconds. Timing's everything. A dropped lug nut can cost a racer a valuable field position. When everything goes right, time feels like it stops. The grace of the ballet meets the speed of a track event meets the athleticism of a professional football game. The things each crew accomplishes in less than a third of a minute are nothing short of remarkable. Chris was too slow now to be any help.
Justin pulled up in a squeal of tires and it was on. Chris clicked the stopwatch as men rolled over the wall, filling up the gas tanks, putting on fresh tires. The last man cleared the wall at 18.9 seconds, and Justin pulled away in a puff of smoke. Chris nodded at Joey. Damn good time.
Except the fastest pit stop in the world doesn't make up for equipment failure. Justin wasn't even off pit road before he radioed in.
"Coming back, coming back," Joey yelled, and the guys in the pit were once again moving feverishly. "Right rear's gone. Two tires. Two tire change, right side."
Chris looked over at Lance, then out at the track. The right tire was flat. Justin had to come back in.
They fixed it, replaced both right side tires, and got Justin back out on the track as fast as they could. Chris was just glad they managed to get him back in front of the pace car, still on the lead lap.
Just barely, though. Justin was running thirtieth now, and Gordon, the race leader, was right behind him.
Chris flipped on the two-way. "Justin. You there?"
"Roger, chief. We fucked up something good, huh?"
"Forget it. There's a lot of race left. You just have to race it, kid. We've got nothing to lose, you hear me? Balls to the wall."
"Balls to the wall," Justin echoed. "Ten-four."
The green flag dropped, and Justin took off. Chris didn't know what had changed, exactly, whether it was Justin's pride kicking in or feeling like there was less pressure on him, but Justin had finally decided to get in the race.
"Ten car straight ahead, ten car straight ahead," JC was going constantly, guiding Justin through traffic. "Take him high, JT."
Justin was gorgeous to watch. His driving was pretty. There was really no other way to describe it. The car moved like it was an extension of his body, sliding in and out of the turns with an ease that suggested a hell of a lot more practice than Justin had.
"I'm pushing going into the turn, getting real loose when I go high," Justin radioed in.
"Hang tight," Joey said. "We'll get you in here before too long."
Justin doesn't seem content to hang tight, though, and by the time the 21 car spins out in turn one, Justin's in fifteenth place. This time when he pits, nothing goes wrong.
It's an exciting race, with no car clearly dominating the pack. Gordon and Johnson have been battling it out for the lead all afternoon. Carter's running seventh, and Justin's twelfth with twenty laps to go. Chris had hoped for a finish the first race. It looked like he might even get a top ten.
"Traffic ahead," JC's voice came across the radio. "Lap, mostly. 11 and 19 should let you by." They did - they had nothing to gain from holding Justin up.
A top ten finish would be huge and they all knew it. Lance paced, Joey fiddled with a sprocket as he listened to the two-way,and Chris watched, finally clicking on his radio.
"Alright, Justin. We've got fifteen laps. Doing good, man. Doing real good. Keep your focus, bring her home."
"I can do more than good," Justin said, and Chris watched as he screamed out of turn two and down the back straightaway. Justin wasn't driving pretty anymore. He was driving like he was trying to win.
"He couldn't do this a hundred laps ago?" Lance muttered, peering at the video feed from between his hands.
"He just got his legs," Chris said. "And shut up. I crashed my first Daytona."
"You crashed every Daytona," Lance replied.
"Details," Chris mumbled, eyes on the TV.
It was almost hypnotic, the cries of the crowd, the hum of the engines, and JC, Joey, and Justin talking back and forth on the radio, it all blended into a dull roar that filled Chris's ears.
He watched as Justin bumped Newman, who slid up and out of the draft and was stranded high. Justin went low. Bam. Eleventh place.
Kyle Petty got hung up behind a lapped car and Justin shot around him, crowing into his headset. Tenth.
The kid wasn't stopping, though, and Chris stared open-mouthed as he charged Junior, closing the gap between them and tapping Earnhardt's bumper. "Hey there, buddy, wanna race?" he heard Justin say over the scanner. Chris couldn't keep himself from grinning.
He started pacing himself.
Justin and Junior went back and forth for another five laps, fighting hard and dirty for position. "She's sliding all over," Justin radioed in, "the back tires are gone."
"Five more laps, Justin," Joey responded. "You've got him. Come on."
The white flag dropped, signaling the final lap, when Justin came on again. "I'm going for him." Chris held his breath as Justin floored the car out of the second turn, shooting past Junior and Rusty Wallace on the back straightaway. Chris couldn't figure out how the hell Justin had gotten the car to do that, and just as he was thinking it the car fishtailed into turn three, but Justin hung on. When the checkered flag flew, he was in seventh place. Right behind Nick Carter.
Chirs collapsed in his chair. "Jesus, Mary, and Holy St. Joseph."
"Holy something, alright," Lance said.
First time racing a stock car, and Justin had come in seventh. Seventh, in a field full of veterans and past champions. "He's the real deal," he said to Lance.
Lance smiled. "Fuck yeah, he is."
"Awesome job, guys. Hell of a job in the pits today," Justin radioed in, the excitement in his voice evident.
The sponsors were right there as soon as Justin was out of the car, slapping him on the back and shoving an open can of Coors in his hand. Justin was so damn giddy he drank it without flinching. Chris thought that was almost as big an accomplishment as the day's performance.
Then came the cameras. Dr. Jerry Punch, with ESPN, was the first to get to Justin. "You had a great race today, Justin. Your first Winston Cup finish. How are you feeling?"
Justin threw his arm around Jerry. "Well, Doc, I'm feeling pretty damn good. I had a great run today, the Coors Light Dodge team was awesome. Joey and the crew, man, they took real good care of me. I can't tell you how grateful I am to Coors and CKI Racing for giving me this opportunity. It's going to be a hell of a season." Justin smiled directly into the camera, then, and Chris could have sworn he saw the kid's teeth sparkle.
Across the country, millions of female fans swooned.