Jimmy felt an odd sense of déjà vu…this test with the CAM2 team was supposed to happen last fall, but Jimmy‘s devastating crash at Washington County interrupted his plans. He wasn‘t sure he‘d ever get another chance, but…
here he was.
The crew was poring over the race car, checking the nuts and bolts and talking amongst themselves. A couple of the crew guys were sprint car fans, and they introduced themselves to Jimmy and made small talk.
Jimmy looked at the car. It was wide and low, with a broad wing across the front. A more narrow wing was mounted at the rear, above the engine. The cockpit was nestled in the center, and the driver was almost lying down when in position. It was easy to see why traditionalists called these machines “funny cars.” They were dramatically different from a sprint car in every possible way.
But I can drive these things, Jimmy insisted to himself. I can DO this.
He looked up to see a familiar face walking toward the garage, and Jimmy smiled. Basil Archdale returned his grin, and they shook hands.
“Hello James,” Archie offered, allowing the handshake to linger for a moment. “You‘re looking good, young man. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes sir, Archie. It‘s good to see you, too. I didn‘t know you worked for this team!”
“Ah, yes,” Archie replied breezily. “A crew chief in American racing gets passed around more than a harlot in a harbor town. I‘ve been working for Walter Skaggs for two straight seasons now…that‘s probably a world record!”
This was a stroke of good luck, Jimmy felt. Although Archie was a bit of a stuffy Englishman, he and Jimmy had forged a good connection when Jimmy ran a third Meteor Foods car at Indy a couple of years ago with Archie as crew chief. Archie was initially skeptical of the “American sprint car cowboy,” but they communicated well and ran OK together.
Another good sign was the car: it was a new Eagle chassis, with a turbocharged Offy engine. This was the same package Jimmy ran a few months ago at Indy, and that experience surely would help him today.
They heard a jumble of noise near the garage entrance and turned to look. A crowd of people surrounded a slight, slender man with long hair and sideburns, and he was talking and gesturing as he walked. Archie looked at Jimmy and shook his head.
“Good grief,” he sighed.
Andrew Powell — known famously as “AP” — was an English driver in the CAN-AM series who had also made some starts in sports cars. A dashing jet setter, his reputation as a racer was nearly eclipsed by his reputation as a ladies man, and he had been linked with Hollywood actresses and European princesses.
Mr. Skaggs told Jimmy they were testing another driver as well today; now Jimmy knew the score.
AP‘s entourage included his supermodel girlfriend from New York and a couple of press agents, who had arranged for a dozen television and newspaper reporters to attend today‘s test. Several photographers jostled for position as they snapped photos of AP and his girlfriend.
The crew rolled the car out to pit lane, and the day got underway. The two drivers took turns in the car as it was adjusted and trimmed out, and Archie coached each of them before they went out. Jimmy listened intently, focusing on giving Archie the feedback he was looking for.
Jimmy had been lucky enough to run Indy three times thus far, and as he began making laps today he quickly recalled the many things he had learned about driving a rear-engine car on a high-speed oval. He had never been spectacular at Indianapolis, but he got a bunch of laps in the process and he realized now how valuable those laps were.
It was a good day for Jimmy, by any measure.