Chapter 118 Disaster Ahead
There was no need to try to win the dual race because Case had already won the pole. Unlike any other race the NASCAR drivers would compete in all year long, Daytona had a bizarre way of qualifying cars. He’d already done the two qualifying laps on Sunday, which had decided the two pole positions. Now, the rest of the cars would race in shortened races, only 60 laps each, to see how the rest of them would line up. There were two dual races, each with about twenty cars. Most of the cars were only racing for a starting position on Sunday for the big race, but a few of them were racing because otherwise they wouldn’t be allowed to race at all on Sunday.
Whiskey was one of those people.
No longer filling in for another driver, he was in his own car and doing his best to try to make the race. For Whiskey, that translated to driving like a maniac.
Case had determined just to stay at the back of the pack and ride around. There was no sense in getting in the middle of all of it when he already had the best starting position possible. Sure, he could try to win this race just to say he had done so, but that seemed foolish. He had a great car, and if it got torn up in this race, his crew would have to try to fix it in just a few days. Nope, Case wasn’t risking it. He’d stay at the back, thank you very much.
That strategy was working out really well for him, and the race was almost over. He knew from experience that the longer they raced, the crazier and stupider desperate drivers like Whiskey would get. Case had decided he was going to back even further off of the gas and put more space between himself and the field of cars racing to win or to qualify.
He decided that just a few seconds too late.
Watching it all unfold in front of him, Case had some decisions to make. There was a swath of open track in front of him, between himself and the rest of the cars, but at over two hundred miles per hour, that space disappeared quickly when Whiskey tried to put his car in a place it would not fit. He hit another car, and then the whole back half of the field started spinning, a few cars diving toward the infield grass to get out of the way while on went up into the air as Whiskey had the other night.
Case had to decide whether or not to take to the grass--which could potentially mess up his perfect bumper--slam on the brakes, and hope he stopped in time, or try to weave his way around it and stay on the track.
Instinct took over as he began to wind his way through the crashing cars. At one point, another car came sliding toward his down the track, and Case had to dodge another one coming back up from the infield. He swerved to the right slightly and then cut back to the left, barely missing the nose of the car to his left as he swung around the vehicle coming back down the track. Somehow, he missed them both by fractions of inches and skirted pieces of metal and debris that littered the track all around him.
He heard his spotter, Truitt, in his ear, trying to give him directions, but it was all happening too fast for that. Not a lot of thought went into what he was doing. It was just a matter of following his gut.
In the end, when Case drove out of the smoke and wreckage, his car was unscathed. But his nerves had taken a hit. Knowing it was imperative he calm down so he could do it all again if necessary once they went back to racing, he drew in several deep breaths.
“You okay?” Brad asked.
“Fine. Could probably use some fresh tires.”
“Pit road is closed at the moment, so be careful picking your way through, and we’ll see you when it’s open. It’s gonna take some time to get this cleaned up.”
“You can say that again,” Case replied. Thank goodness he’d hung back as far as he had or else he’d be in the middle of all of those wrecked cars, too. Plenty of drivers wouldn’t be able to fix their primary car before Sunday, and they’d have to go to backup cars, which meant their cars probably wouldn’t be as good on Sunday as they were now. Since Whiskey had wrecked, there was a good chance he wouldn’t even make the race, unless enough other cars wrecked behind him that he managed to worm his way in, which would probably be the case with Case’s luck.
“You’re doing great, Case,” Brad assured him. “Just a few more laps, and you’ll be home free with the pole. And I sent a text to your girl to let her know you’re fine.”
With a smile on his face for his thoughtfulness, Case said, “Thanks, Brad. You’re the best.”
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