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Haisley
Friday before St. Petersburg
“Come on, girl. Open the damn car up,” I hear Bud’s voice through the radio.
My spotter’s voice is next. “You have two cars coming up behind you, fifty yards back.”
I look in the side mirrors and notice them approaching fast; I slow down into turn ten. Practice is a shit show right now, and I’m not even sure how to fix what I’m feeling. I thought the simulation was fine. Saint downloaded the specs, and now we’re here, in St. Petersburg—well, Tampa really—and practice is horrific.
“Haisley, you need to open her up on the front straightaway. We need to see if the handling is good for you when you enter into one,” Saint’s voice comes across the radio.
“I’m trying,” I radio back as I hear Bud snicker in the background. I take a deep breath and focus on the car and on the track. Simulation is definitely different from being on the track, in a practice with thirty other cars attempting to dial in their own machines.
My spotter warns me of a spun-out car in the middle of three and four, which is the small straightaway before the hairpin turns of five, six, seven, and eight. These turns are what’s giving me nerves, to be honest. Tight turning radius and everyone jockeying for position.
There was about a half an hour left in practice one for the day. I was trying to get a feel for the course, without killing the tires too much. We only have ten sets of tires for practice, qualifying, and the race. Four of them being the red sidewall ones—those we definitely don’t want to use up in practice.
I avoid the car that spun out and enter turns five and six, attempting to feel the weight shift of the car. The weight paddles aren’t really used that frequently in a road course as compared to an oval.
“How’s the turning ratio?” Saint asks as I exit six and quickly turn right into seven.
“I’m tighter throughout these series of turns compared to the rest of the course,” I reply as I finally come out of turn nine. “I don’t want to lose the other corners, but there’s no way I’m going to get any placement or speed throughout five through nine.”
“You need to go through those at a higher speed than seventy,” Bud barks back into the com.
“It’s practice. I’m learning the course; I assure you, it’ll be fine when I qualify and race,” I snip back.
“Bring the car to the pits when you come out of turn fourteen. Eric, make sure you guide her in. Haisley, don’t forget to use the pit button,” Saint instructs.
“I’m aware,” I respond as I wait for Eric’s instructions as I come out of turn fourteen. Pit road is quickly off the right and knowing where the other cars are on the track is important.
“All clear to your side,” I hear Eric’s voice come through the com.
“Roger, coming in.” I pull the car off to the right and hit the pit speed limit button. I love having that thing. You’re never speeding on pit road if you use it. I settle the car into our pit box and kill the engine. There’s not much left in practice, and I’d rather talk to the crew about what I want.
“Hey,” Saint says as I hop out of the car and hand one of the crew members my helmet. “Any idea where you want changes?” I shrug as I see Bud emerge from the pit box.
“You weren’t going fast enough through the corners. The other teams are barreling through them at about 110 or more,” he scolds as I force a smile on my face.
“Well, don’t worry there, Bud, it’ll be fine.” I turn my attention back to Saint. “Just too tight throughout the esses. How can we gain traction without sacrificing control on the more open corners?”
“Let me think about it and talk with Neil. I need to look at some of the data from last year, and I’ll run it by Bud. I’m sure we can find a way to get you more grip in four through nine without sacrificing speed in the other areas,” he explains as I nod.
“I’m going to head to the RV. Practice tomorrow and qualifying, right?” I ask as I watch Bud walk over to Drake. I attempt to take a deep breath and figure out how to even address this issue.
“Yeah. That’s the schedule for the track,” he mumbles as I nod and head towards the RV area. I opted to stay close to the track instead of in a hotel. I liked the energy you feel being so close to the action.
Elle’s sitting in the lounge area when I hop up into the main cabin. “How’d practice go?”
I shrug and take a bottle of water out of the fridge. “It was okay. I don’t feel comfortable with Bud as my crew chief. I really thought he’d stop the bullshit, but it’s constant with him. And the car’s off, but I can’t explain it.”
“What did the grotesquely fat man with a small penis say now?” she inquires, making me laugh. Elle always has a way with words.
I unzip my fire suit halfway and sit next to her. “Just the same bullshit comments about women in racing. He was bitching that I wasn’t going more than seventy in the corners.”
“Well, why weren’t you going faster?” she asks, placing her iPad between us on the seat.
“I don’t know. I was nervous,” I answer honestly.
