SLOWDOWN AT SEARS POINT

Orly's foot was buried in the throttle when the right front spindle broke, instantly transforming him from the driver of a 3,400-pound "built for speed and tough-as-iron" stock car to a passenger aboard an out-of-control hurtling missile. The wheel jammed under the fender, stopping the tire which erupted in a blaze of smoke as it was dragged along the asphalt. When it wedged over it locked the steering and sheared the brake line. The car slued to the outside of the corner performing a lazy half spin in almost slow motion. It hit the tire barrier in an explosion of violent motion. It careened back across the track narrowly missing the car following Orly into the corner.

As soon as the suspension broke Orly knew he was in big trouble. His instincts took over and he tried to turn the wheel. But no go. It was locked. He dynamited the brakes with both feet trying to scrub off as much speed as he could knowing that it was a useless gesture. He had the presence of mind to hunker down in his seat getting as low as he could. He had been here before and it wasn't pleasant. He even relaxed his grip on the steering wheel to keep from breaking a wrist on impact. There was no time for fear, only a certainty that this crash was going to be bad. Very bad. There were many places to crash at Sonoma but this was probably the absolute worst. The impact against the tire barrier knocked the wind from him and he grunted as the form fitted seat pounded his ribs. The noise from the impact was considerable but it barely registered in Orly's consciousness. He stayed low as the car spun across the track trailing life fluids and chunks of ripped sheet metal. He was okay until the car somersaulted and he lost momentary consciousness with the first impact. His last thought was, "Man, not again".

Jimmy watched Orly through the esses, once again amazed at his ability to make a car go exceedingly fast. Orly disappeared into turn ten but then he saw the sudden cloud of smoke and dust that told him Orly had crashed. He muttered to himself. Through the binoculars he saw the car come back into view, cartwheeling down the track. He waited for it to stop moving as the flag crew waved their yellow flags and the corner marshal watched traffic, waiting for the opportunity to get to Orly. The car finally stopped. It sat right side up in a mockery of what it used to be. The once pristine hand-built body was now almost unrecognizable. Clouds of steam and smoke trailed from beneath the crumpled front end. Ripped sheet metal hung in tatters and broken parts were scattered all over the track. Jimmy pressed the mike button.

"Orly buddy, you okay. Talk to me Orly. You alright? Come on, Orly, wake up and talk to me. Come on, Orly, put the net down" When a driver dropped the window net of his own accord it was a signal to everyone that he was okay. It meant at least, he was conscious and could move of his own volition.

Bear interrupted. "How bad is it Jimmy?"

"Shoot fire, Bear, it don't look good. No. Wait. He's got the window net down. Here he comes. He's sliding out of the car now. He seems to moving okay... no wait he's holding his ribs. Now he's standing up and trying to take his hat off. Bear..."

"Yeah, Jimmy?"

"You better get the backup car out. This one's a write-off"