“You drove my dad‘s sprint car. It‘s been a few years.”
“Who‘s your dad?”
“Sid Johnson.”
“Holy cow! Sid is your dad? Well, I‘ll be. He‘s a good man. Sure, I remember running your car. It was Franklin, and we ran second to Andy Linden. Say … don‘t tell me you were that skinny little girl following your dad around! You weren‘t even 10 years old!”
“I was eight,” Renee said. “When the race was over, I said I was hungry and you ran down and bought me a hot dog and a coke. I thought you were just about the greatest thing…I cheered for you at the 500 every year after that!”
Duke grinned warmly, reaching out to give her a hug. “Good memories, little girl. Good memories. So how about today … you think this boy here is the greatest thing now, I suppose?”
Renee smiled broadly, putting her arm around Jimmy and pulling him close.
“I could do worse,” she said.
Duke laughed loudly, nodding his head. “Yeah,” he said. “You could do worse.”
The officials cleared everybody away from the cars except two crew members. The introductions began, and Jimmy stood alongside his car, the butterflies in his belly doing gymnastics. They got to the front row, and Duke soaked in the huge ovation when his name was called, smiling and waving to the full grandstand.
Jimmy listened as the PA guy gave him a rousing introduction, calling out his Illinois roots. He almost became emotional when the crowd acknowledged him with a rousing welcome, and he waved as he looked across the sea of faces.
Jimmy climbed in and began to buckle down when he heard Duke call his name.
“Better be sharp on that start, son,” Duke grinned. “I might have nitrous, too.”
“Yeah? You better be sharp at the end, friend. Today is our day.”
Jimmy sat in his car, finger on the ignition switch. Through his helmet he could hear some muffled words, followed by a crystal clear command: “Gentlemen … start your engines!!!”
Mike spun the starter and Jimmy‘s eyes were locked on the oil pressure gauge. As the needle jumped Jimmy flipped the switch, and their engine roared to life. Harvey, standing at the left rear tire, raised his hand to acknowledge they were fired.
A shiny new Cadillac convertible a few yards ahead began to pull away, and Jimmy revved the engine. Harvey and Mike gave him a helpful push as the engine chugged, trying to get on top of that big gear.
In a moment Jimmy was away, with the gleaming Maverick No. 1 riding alongside.
They rolled down the backstretch, Jimmy trying to stretch the nervousness from his fingers, glancing at the gauges, instinctively tugging his shoulder belts. He thought about Harvey‘s words a little while ago: “Now it‘s on you.”
Jimmy suddenly felt very alone.
As the field rumbled to the start Jimmy‘s right foot trembled slightly. They rolled through turn four and he saw a glimpse of color and the safety light lit green.
Green flag!!
Jimmy stepped on the gas, trying not to spin his tires. He watched helplessly as Duke shot forward into the lead, but at the flag stand Jimmy had drawn right up on Duke‘s rear bumper.