26. TIAGO
TIAGO
It might as well be my home crowd out there, they’re going so ballistic. Hispanics sure do take care of their own.
I shake it off. They’re not important right now. What’s important is this team in this garage. I hop up on the tool bench and clap for everyone’s attention.
‘Sorry guys, this’ll just take a minute,’ I call, and slowly my mechanics stop doing their final checks and engineers emerge from the back. It’s not a big garage; my voice can carry over the full thing.
‘Our rivals are pushing ahead,’ I begin, looking around at downcast faces.
‘We’re in front of DFK, but not by much.
It’s fucking painful back here.’ Grunts of agreement carry over the sound of mechanics working on my teammate’s car on the far side.
I hope they’re listening, this applies to them too. ‘We deserve better.
‘But I’m glad,’ I go on, meeting confusion. I let that sit for a moment. A little theatre, if you will. ‘Because when we finish this Championship, it’s going to be the best rags-to-riches story this sport has ever seen in a single season.’
Still confusion. That’s alright, I’m not finished yet.
‘It’s not like last year. We didn’t have this team, this synergy.
We’ve already got points – our first in three years.
We just need to build on them. Matty, Jon, Enzo, Conrad, Jarno, all you guys at the back: you’ve been killing it with the pit stops lately.
Such awesome teamwork.’ Nods travel around the garage.
‘In Monaco, you beat your best time from last year by one whole second. What even is that?’ Someone whoops. Two mechanics clap.
I look at the tyre technicians. ‘Tyre temperatures have been textbook all weekend. I felt it immediately on the out-lap yesterday. You’re nailing the prep.
Keep up the great work.’ The applause gets stronger, and too right.
Those guys never get credit and it’s pure wizardry getting the balance perfect.
The aero crew are by the monitors. ‘You guys work through the night most race weekends to rebuild the car. The magic you performed after Friday’s suspension issues was nothing short of legendary.
The car felt way more stable in entry yesterday.
I know the sacrifice that took, the pressure you were under, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. ’
Thunderous applause courses through the bench I’m balanced on and I dig my feet in to hold steady.
‘I’m so proud of every single one of you,’ I round off. ‘We’ve all come so far in the last few weeks, and we’re only getting stronger. Let’s get it done, boys! ?Vámonos!’
I punch the air and jump down to the entire garage practically shaking. DFK and Alpha Prime are going to be wondering what the hell’s happening next door. They’d better get used to wondering since they’re going to be doing a lot more of it.
My speech is demonstrated when it’s time to pit, and the crew put in a miracle 2.8s. Suck on that, Martinelli.
Jules and Tom went on another date last night. Isa didn’t hear anything about it on the Jules’ Jewels grapevine, and like hell am I going to ask her outright. I bet he wasn’t a jealous bonehead at dinner.
We haven’t put the addendum into practice yet, and she’s had a whole morning to rescind it. Maybe the date didn’t go that well.
I exit the pit lane behind a Maxim and Tenzing battling hard.
I tow along in fifteenth – not too shabby considering these guys still need to pit.
I wasn’t planning an overtake, but the Tenzing suddenly pushes the Maxim to the very edge of track limits around a left-hander, leaving a yawning space on their right side.
It’d be rude not to.
I cruise into thirteenth with less effort than it takes to get out of the car, and disbelieving laughter fills my helmet.
‘Nice pass,’ notes my race engineer. ‘Now manage the gap to the car behind. Let’s keep this steady.’
My grin even holds firm as a Volare laps me. ‘You got it, boss.’
I can feel this team getting better. We’re syncing more every weekend.
Who knows how far we can get by the final race in Abu Dhabi.
If we keep improving at this rate, we could finish eighth, or even seventh.
Alpha Prime are running about the same as last year, and Tenzing only have one decent driver. It’s all to play for.
Maybe next year we can shoot for the covetable fifth spot.
Finishing fifth in the Championship is major.
You’re the best of the mid-pack. You’re not a participant anymore, you’re a dangerous wild card.
Investment increases by millions, world-class partners want to work with you, and the press actually vie for your attention in the media pen.
Some races, you could even battle the likes of Pagari, Martinelli, and Ackland. My pulse quickens at the thought.
I’m getting ahead of myself. I won’t even be here by then, but I’d still like to see Leone do—
Something just popped in the back of the car.
Maybe it was something small and meaningless. Like there isn’t one tiny meaningless nut in this whole—
An amber temperature symbol flashes up on my display. That’s not good.
‘Temperatures are spiking, mate,’ my race engineer concurs over the radio. ‘Box box.’
No no no.
Please not now. We’re doing so well!
I look in my mirror and there lurks the Maxim set to take his place back.
The engine note changes. I’m losing a fraction of response on throttle.
Oh shit, this is bad. Very, very bad.
I recently passed the pit entry; it’ll take almost a full lap to get back there. I don’t know what kind of time I have but I’ll give it a shot. I scan my instruments. The temperature needle’s jumping. Oil pressure’s going ballistic. The pedal—
Hold up.
I can smell smoke.
The telemetry numbers are barking at me. Red temperature lights are flashing like sirens. The smoke’s getting stronger. It has a chemical quality like burning oil. I glance in my mirrors and see thick grey plumes streaming from the back.
But what scares me most is a little pressurised hiss cutting through everything that sounds kinda, sorta, too much like a ruptured line.
What happens when a ruptured pressurised line sprays hot oil onto a screaming-hot exhaust? Instant ignition. In other words…
She’s going to blow.
‘?Fuego! ?FUEGO!’ I yell. ‘Stopping!’
With my heart pounding in my ears, a prayer on my lips and my race engineer incomprehensible down my radio, I try to ditch as much speed as I can. Heat’s crawling up through the floor. It’s biting my ass. It’s searing through the backrest.
I can’t hold my nerve any longer. Visor fogging, I steer onto the gravel trap and stamp hard on the brake. My brain rattles around my skull like a marble in a tin can.
Stay calm. You’ve practiced this hundreds of times. Seconds pass like hours as I unclip my belt with slick, shaking fingers. My eyes widen when the heat of the harness surges through my gloves. The car’s bathed in orange, and it spreads goosepimples across my whole body.
I detach the wheel and scramble out, instantly feeling the temperature difference. I look up to see marshals sprinting toward the car.
‘GET BACK!’ I holler, stumbling away from it. One metre. Two. Three. Four. ‘SHE’S GONNA—’
The BOOM catapults me forward. My feet lift off the ground and I hurtle through the air, suspended in terrifying nothingness. A violent flash reflected in the marshals’ eyes is the last thing I see before I plant flat on the gravel.
Adrenaline must be keeping me from feeling broken, even winded, because I manage to clamber to my feet and—
Holy shit.
It’s a torch.
The whole car is one huge inferno.
And I could’ve been inside it.
Marshals are waiting for the flames to settle before they descend on it. It’s so bright it’s making my eyes go blurry. My helmet’s jangling – stones must’ve got stuck in the air vents – and I hurry to take it off.
To show the cameras I’m ok, I walk a short distance and sit on the ground while the medical team park up. My hair’s plastered to my forehead. My lungs burn like I’ve snorted a match. My ears are ringing something fierce.
I can’t fucking believe it. Two seconds more and that would’ve been me.
I’m pretty sure I’m in shock. All I keep thinking is that’s so not what Pitbull was talking about in ‘Fireball’. I laugh despite myself, but it sounds maniacal and morphs into a coughing fit.
As the doctor checks my vitals trackside, my neck starts tightening up. My head feels too heavy for it like it could snap at any second. Thinking back, I felt it snap at least twice. The next couple of days are going to be fun.
Behind the medical team, the extinguishers make my car hiss like a dying animal. It’s hard to see the extent of the damage because it’s still extremely on fire, but it’s a shell. This is not what the team needs. We were doing well, morale was building, investors were sniffing around. And now?
We’ll be lucky if we’re not bankrupt by Monday.