DOUBT IN DAYTONA

Jimmy was watching critically from his perch high above the track. His experienced eye told him that the "boys" were getting tired of playing nice. The lead had see-sawed back and forth between eight different cars and as the laps wound down it was getting time to play some serious hardball. The draft was tightening up and there was some serious bumping going on. At 200 mph even a light touch was enough to loosen somebody in a corner. Something was going to give pretty soon. He could smell it coming. Orly was stuck right in the middle of the field. If somebody spun then there would be some serious shucking and jiving going on.

"Watch yourself Orly. They are starting to rub doorhandles up front." It was a slang expression because the slick bodystyles had no door handles or even doors for that matter.

Orly's mike clicked twice. He could feel it too. The intensity on the track was building. This race was still up for grabs. No one had seriously dominated anyone else and right now the million bucks, plus some change, for first place was up for grabs. There were a lot of championship points at stake as well. Orly had to decide whether now was the time to be super agressive or was now the time to back off a little and play it safe.

It was a question he didn't have to ponder for long because it was answered for him. It came suddenly, but when it did it seemed to last forever. The cars currently running fourth and fifth touched in the middle of turns one and two. They drifted apart in the air current and then slammed into each other like they had been sucked together. The impact caused them both to pirouette in lazy circles collecting other cars as they spun, sliding up the track. Slamming into the wall, they both ricocheted back across the track toward the infield grass trailing bent and twisted sheet metal. It takes a long time to scrub off 195 miles an hour. Because they were at the front of the pack they had thirty some odd cars behind them bunched up; all running nose to tail.

Orly's world went grey with tire smoke. Jimmy became his guardian angel and flight controller at the same time. "Stay low, stay low, stay low." Orly stayed low and flashed by the spinning cars only to be plunged into more weirdness as other cars ran into each other and spun in their own visceral fluids. Jimmy's voice spoke again, "Move up, move up, move up...hang in there...you got it...watch the oil...watch the oil...there is some loose debris below you...stay in the center groove...watch it!"

Orly flinched as a car came off the wall directly in front of him backwards with its roof flaps up. He resisted the impulse to slow down. If he checked up somebody would tag him in the rear for sure. There was a sharp "tink" as he flashed past. Orly's car jumped sideways in the oil as he lost traction but he held it down and chased it up the track toward the wall with quick flicks of the steering wheel, easing out of the gas. He got the car back under him just as he was about out of room and put his foot back into the throttle.

Jimmy again, "You're OK, Orly. I think you got through clean. Get to the yellow flag. I think we can pick up some spots here in a hurry."