Checkered Flag (8 page)

JAMIE’S DAD QUALIFIED
the #14 car in ninth position for the race. Devalon was behind him in the 15th spot and not too happy about it. Her dad had repeatedly tried to talk with Devalon before the race and had even tried to get a message to him through Devalon’s teammate, but it was no use.

At the chapel service before the race, the chaplain continued what he called his Chase Series about people in the Bible God had used to do great things. At New Hampshire he had talked about Jonah, at Dover he went over Noah’s life, and at Kansas he highlighted Abraham.

“All of these people had messed up their lives terribly, but God looked at their faith in him. For example, it says that ‘even when there was no reason for hope, Abraham kept hoping.’ Now
this wasn’t blind hope that some people have—like I hope I’m going to get skinny even though I’m eating four double cheeseburgers and a large french fry. God had told Abraham that he would become the father of many nations, and even though he and his wife were old, he believed what God had told him. He believed the words God had spoken to him, and he wouldn’t back down.”

Jamie thought more about that as the race was about to begin. How much did she believe God was guiding her? How much did she want to just control things by herself? If God was giving the green flag to racing, would he just plop her into a car, or would she have to work on it as hard, if not harder?

That was going through her mind when the call came: “Gentlemen, start your engines.”
They’ll have to change that gentlemen thing in a couple of years when I’m racing
, she thought. She looked at her watch—2:12 p.m.

The green flag dropped at the speedway, and the field shot through the first turn. She adjusted her headset to listen to her dad and tuned in the announcers by mistake.

“. . . and there is some increasing animosity between the #13 and #14 teams of Butch Devalon and Dale Maxwell,” the announcer said. “We’ll watch how the race heats up to see if the conflict spills onto the
track, but there was a fire this week at the Devalon garage that was deliberately set, and Butch blames a young man who lives with Maxwell and his family.”

“Something tells me that’s not the only thing those two are fighting over,” a commentator said. “They’re battling it out for the play-offs of NASCAR and neither one of them wants to lose.”

“This, of course, would be Butch Devalon’s third cup championship. Dale Maxwell has never been—”

“Oh, did you see that?” another commentator, a former crew chief, said. “Devalon just moved up a couple of spots and got right behind Dale and stole some air from him—got him loose.”

“There’s no love lost there, but I’m surprised it happened this early in the race.”

Jamie quickly tuned to her dad’s channel.

“Just keep your cool. Nobody got hurt,” T.J. said.

“Yeah, but we lost our position,” her dad said. “You know he did that on purpose.”

“The officials will be watching to see if you give him payback,” T.J. said. “Keep it clean out there. We’ve got more than 250 laps left. Plenty of time to show what you’re made of.”

“I’ll keep it clean. I’m just going to hunt him down and pass him.”

Jamie smiled as she watched her dad zoom back
into the field. He was now in 25th place while Devalon had already made his move into the top 10.

After a caution from a car into the wall on lap 20, the restart showed seven of the chasers in the top 10. Jamie’s dad was in the 19th spot and moving up. Then, on the 85th lap, a slower car being lapped veered left toward the pits and tagged the #01 car, one of the top contenders in the Chase, and sent him spinning. The #01 car tried to stay out of the pits but began smoking with a tire rub and had to come in.

The race announcers talked to him in his headset.

“This is what happens when you’ve got guys trying to make it to the top, and there are some others with less experience out here,” the #01 driver said. “It makes it exciting for the fans, but it can be frustrating here on the track.”

Jamie thought it was a tactful way of saying he was spitting mad at the younger driver.

“We’ve got to get you up front into the lead for a few laps,” T.J. said to her dad. “If you don’t, even if you win, we’ll be behind.”

“Hey, if I get to the front, I don’t want to lead for just a few laps,” her dad said.

“Ten-four,” T.J. said.

On lap 115, with everyone coming in during a caution, Jamie’s dad was in 15th place and decided
to take just two tires. It was a risky move, but he got off pit road in the third spot. When the race resumed, he challenged the #51 car and took the lead on lap 124. At the restart, six of the top 10 drivers were chasers.

“Feels good up front in the clean Kansas air,” her dad said.

“Number 13 coming up fast,” Scotty radioed her dad.

“Kinda figured that would happen,” her dad said.

Her dad had led 10 laps, picking up extra points, when Butch Devalon challenged. Jamie saw the familiar black Chevy moving up in the monitors. She knew her dad was no match for Devalon and his four fresh tires, but he kept the inside line and made Devalon pass him on the outside. For two more laps her dad battled with him, struggling to keep the lead. Finally Devalon passed him (or her dad let him) and took over first. Jamie was just glad Devalon didn’t try to crash her dad.

“I’m wearing out my tires and brakes out here,” her dad said.

A few laps later there was another caution for debris on the track, and her dad came in for two more tires. He dropped out of the top 10 but was in a good position for the race.

A blown engine in the middle of the pack sent four cars to the garage on lap 180. At that point, Devalon
was leading the field by nearly half a second and had led more than 60 laps of the race.

“We gotta get back up front, Dale. There’s no two ways about it,” T.J. said.

At the restart, her dad was in 11th place, with less than 70 laps to go. Jamie knew if he wanted to contend seriously for the championship, he’d need to at least finish in the top 10.

“We have a window here between lap 220 and 230, Dale,” T.J. said. “You’re good on fuel, but you’re going to need new tires.”

“All right, let me get back to you.”

While Jamie watched her dad on the in-car camera, the team’s public relations representative, Chloe Snowe, came up behind her. Chloe was dating Billy Reuters, driver of the #72 car, and there were rumors of an engagement. She had silky blonde hair and a beauty pageant figure (because she’d been Miss Mississippi), but all the guys on the team knew there was more to her than a pretty face. She had made changes to the way they communicated with the media and had gotten several stories advanced about Jamie’s dad, putting him in the spotlight and helping calm the sponsors’ nerves.

“What’s he doing in there?” Chloe said, squinting at the screen. “Looks like he’s talking to somebody, but I don’t hear anything on the radio.”

“He is talking to somebody,” Jamie said. “God.”

Chloe raised her eyebrows. “I know he takes his faith seriously, but what’s he praying about?”

“He told me there are times when he doesn’t know what to do during a race, and he’ll just ask God for wisdom.”

Chloe looked like she’d tasted a lemon. “Does he ever hear anything?”

“I think he does most of the talking,” Jamie said, smiling. “He said he’s never heard a voice, but sometimes something will come to mind, you know, triggering another race, another similar situation, and he’ll go with it.”

Chloe stared at the screen. “Well, I hope he gets a strong feeling about this one.”

TIM PACED
in front of the TV in the living room while Kellen sat on the couch eating Crunch ’n Munch. Mrs. Maxwell had gone to the church to watch the race with friends. There simply wasn’t enough room in their house to hold all the people interested, but Tim could tell that she didn’t really want to go. She probably wanted to stay home with them but felt like she should at least show up.

“I’ll be back here to watch the finish,” she had said.

Tim couldn’t remember being this caught up in the racing season. He had rooted for the driver his dad worked for, but it always seemed like a business back then. Get to the track, get qualified, try not to get a DNF, and move on to the next race. Now it felt fresh and new and like there was a point to all the
weekly madness. And he was surprised how much he wanted Dale to win.

“I can’t believe he’s really got a shot at the championship,” Kellen said, a big piece of popcorn sticking to one cheek. Kellen’s mouth was full, so it came out sounding like, “I mmf bemmf hmff remmfffy gaat a shmmt at the chammffionffff.”

A car pulled up outside as one of the commentators, a former racer himself, said, “Here come the leaders into the pits for their final stop. The finish of the race may depend on this stop and how fast—”

“Whoa!” the announcer interrupted. “Dale Maxwell looked like he was about to pit, but he pulled off the apron and back onto the track while every other leader gets fuel and new tires.”

“He’s pulling a Phoenix,” Kellen said, dropping the box to the floor. The door opened and Mrs. Maxwell ran in. “Dad’s doing a Phoenix. He just faked them out and stayed off pit road.”

Mrs. Maxwell’s mouth dropped open, and she sat in the big cushy chair near the TV.

“What’s a Phoenix?” Tim said.

“In a cup race in his first season he was second about 30 laps from finishing. He acted like he was going to pit, then jumped back on the track and everybody else had to pit.”

“What happened?” Tim said.

“He led for about 10 laps,” Mrs. Maxwell said, her eyes still glued to the TV. “Then he lost a left front tire on the back straightaway. Finished 15th.”

“Were you there?” Tim said.

“I went to all of the races before we had kids,” she said. “We were full-time on the road.”

“Which do you like better?” Tim said.

She smiled. “I don’t have to sit in the pits to be with him.”

The screen showed Dale on the in-camera, talking with his crew chief. Then came a split screen of Dale and T.J. Kelly talking, and it was clear there was a difference of opinion.

“Dale, there’s no way you’re going to finish on those tires,” T.J. said. “And you’re maybe a lap or two from seeing them give out on you.”

“I gotcha. Just need to stay out here a few more laps.”

Pit road emptied, and the other cars tried to catch up with him. The camera showed a problem on pit road with Butch Devalon’s team. The jack failed and they had to use a backup, but that took precious seconds from him. It was clear he was mad as he banged on the steering wheel. The TV coverage didn’t air his audio, but Tim could tell it wasn’t appropriate for a family audience.

Mrs. Maxwell put her head in her hands, and it looked like she was praying.

“This looks good for Dale now,” the former racer said, “but I’ve gotta tell you, with the race on the line and the Chase on the line, this is one risky move. He blows a tire out there, and at best he could fight just to get back to his pit stall—worst case, he slams into the wall and doesn’t even finish.”

“You would have played it differently?” the announcer said.

“You bet. He’s in contention for the championship, and the worst thing you could do here is take a risk to win something and not finish. The cars behind him have fresh tires, and they’re already making up time.”

“Well, he’s not listening to you.”

“He’s not listening to his crew chief either. Listen to this exchange on that last lap.”

“Dale, you need new tires,” T.J. said in what Tim thought was as much of a pleading voice as he’d ever heard on an exchange between crew chief and driver. “There’s no way around it. We’re past our window, and you’ll run out of fuel within five laps. Six tops.”

“Ten-four,” Dale said.

They showed another shot of Dale in the cockpit bearing down on a lapped car. He looked to Tim like a guy sure of himself. Tim couldn’t see Dale’s face through that helmet and visor, but he imagined a smile there.

“There are 32 laps left here at the Kansas Speedway,” the announcer said. “Can Dale Maxwell keep this lead on little fuel and no tires? We’ll find out when we return.”

The coverage cut away to a commercial, and Mrs. Maxwell told Kellen to turn down the volume. She had her eyes closed and her lips were moving. Kellen closed his eyes too, and Tim couldn’t help but smile because there was still some Crunch ’n Munch on his face.

“Father, in the whole scheme of things a NASCAR race doesn’t mean that much,” Mrs. Maxwell prayed. “But you know how important this is to Dale and what he wants to accomplish for you. I pray you’ll give him wisdom that can come only from you. Show him
your
path and help him follow it no matter what.”

“And help him stay in front of Devalon, Lord,” Kellen prayed.

As they ping-ponged back and forth, Tim watched the commercials, thinking at any minute they’d break back into the coverage and show Dale’s tire flopping on the side of the car like a fish in the bottom of a bass boat.

“No matter what happens, help him to give glory to you,” Mrs. Maxwell finished. As soon as she opened her eyes, the screen went black and the coverage of the race continued.

The first image shown was the #14 car of Dale Maxwell speeding past the start/finish line, no competitor within 20 car lengths of him. Instead of being caught, he’d actually extended his lead. The shot switched to the camera on the blimp above, showing the gap.

“Only 25 laps left in this race and Dale Maxwell still leads here in Kansas,” the announcer said, “and T.J. Kelly sounds desperate over there in the war wagon.”

They cut to the on-track reporter. “What’s going on out there between you and Dale?” She stuck a microphone in T.J.’s face.

“Sometimes drivers can be stubborn,” T.J. said, shaking his head, half smiling.

“How much fuel does he have left?”

“He should have run out a lap ago. Running on fumes.”

“And his tires?”

“You couldn’t use the rubber on those tires to make a tennis ball,” T.J. said.

“Trouble in turn four!” a commentator shouted.

The shot switched to the final turn, where three cars had crashed. It was a bad wreck, with twisted metal and one front end smashed halfway to the cockpit.

“I cannot believe this, boys,” the commentator
said. “They’re going to have to bring the field down pit road and . . . yeah, we’re getting the word now the pits will be open in one lap. Let’s see if Dale can make it around one more time before that car stops or falls apart.”

Mrs. Maxwell was on her feet, both hands behind her head, and Kellen was whooping and yelling. Tim couldn’t hold in his excitement, which came out as a chuckle that turned into a laugh.

Dale made it all the way around to pit road before he ran out of gas. “T.J., I’m coasting your way.”

He pulled in, and the crew went to work putting on four new tires and filling his tank with enough fuel for the final laps. The car didn’t fire the first time, and Tim’s heart sank. Then it came to life as the jack let the left side down, and Dale screamed out of his stall, every member of the crew pumping their fists in the air.

“Looks like Dale is going to make it first off pit road,” the commentator said. “His gamble has paid off so far. Now let’s see if he can finish this thing.”