With Archie‘s guidance, he grew more confident. Archie didn‘t share his lap times, and Jimmy could only rely on intuition. He felt pretty fast, but maybe he wasn‘t. He kicked himself for not bringing a stopwatch, because when AP was on track Jimmy wished he could keep track of his times.
Each time AP walked to and from the car, he was surrounded by a crush of people. Jimmy, on the other hand, was alone each time he got in and out of the car. For his part, AP never acknowledged the anonymous young American. They never spoke, never even made eye contact. Jimmy wasn‘t sure the reporters even realized somebody else was testing today.
He didn‘t mind, and in fact preferred it that way. The less hoopla, the better.
Just after lunch Archie wanted to do an extended run with Jimmy. First they put on fresh tires and simulated a two-lap qualifying run, then they flagged Jimmy in. As he rolled to a stop Archie quickly leaned over the cockpit.
“Stay in the car,” he said. “Now, here‘s what I want, James. Roll back out and give me your best laps. Smooth, fast laps. And watch for our board…when you see us signal “COOL IT,” I want you to imagine this: you‘re leading the race with a big advantage, and you must save your tires and set a conservative pace but still hold the lead. Got it?”
Jimmy nodded, and they fired the car.
His fast laps felt nice, but he wondered if he was being aggressive enough. There was one thing he absolutely, positively couldn‘t afford to do: crash the car. So he carefully flirted with picking up speed without truly hanging it out.
He got into a nice rhythm and then he saw the board: COOL IT. He focused on easing off the throttle, developing a slower rhythm, yet maintaining his momentum. After probably 15, 20 laps they flagged him in.
Archie nodded and smiled, and waved for him to climb from the car. AP then got in, and as he was buckling down Archie took Jimmy aside.
“Very nice job,” he said, gesturing toward his clipboard. “Let me show you something…your qualifying laps were just under 26 seconds. That would have put you in the third row at the race here this spring.”
“Is that good?” Jimmy asked.
“It‘s quite good, yes. And look at this: when we slowed you down, you got right to 27.5 and stayed right there, lap after lap. Very consistent, and that‘s what I wanted. So, I would say you‘ve done a great job today, James. Rest assured, you performed well.
“You can change clothes now, and we‘ll get you back to the hotel.”
Jimmy drew in a breath, not sure if he should ask any questions. But what the heck, might as well go for it.
“So, what happens next?” he asked. “Is there a chance you guys will want to hire me? When will I know anything?”
Archie smiled. “Honestly, I don‘t know. That‘s Walter‘s decision. But I‘m going to recommend you, for what it‘s worth. I‘m going to tell him, ‘This American sprint car cowboy, he‘s got what it takes!‘”
Jimmy laughed. It felt good to hear that.
“Thanks Archie. I appreciate you guys giving me a look.”
It was a familiar ride to Franklin on a lovely autumn Sunday morning. Jimmy and Renee talked a lot about their many memories at the great fairgrounds track, with Renee coming over here as a kid with her dad — Sid Johnson — and his sprint car.
Jimmy tried to put everything out of his mind and concentrate on today‘s USAC sprint car race. Sammy Caldwell was in the midst of another terrific season in his veteran career, racing with the type of consistency most racers dream of. He never crashed, never fell out of a race, and was fast everywhere they unloaded Harry Bell‘s sprinter. With only a handful of races remaining Sammy held a solid lead in the point standings, with Jimmy riding in second.