Pit Lane Persephone

Chapter 16: Lauren

Friday, October 11 – Free Practice

I lean left into the final corner, my knee puck scraping the pavement. Shifting my weight back into the center of the seat, I accelerate up the hill into the straightaway to cross the finish line. I'd gotten in some good laps, but if I'm lucky, there's just enough time to squeeze in one more before the day's second free practice is over. When there's no flag out yet at the finish line to signal the end of the session, I stay on the throttle.

The first half of the thirteen-corner track is tightly packed with one turn coming right after the other. It leads to slow going, but still takes a ton of concentration. One wrong calculation and I can easily take a corner too wide or not wide enough, losing precious tenths of seconds. But this part of the course doesn't bother me. I actually kind of enjoy the extended series of compact twists. To be honest, I'm comfortable with my performance here until it comes to turn eight.

This is where Seb had told me earlier that I'd been holding back, and he gave me some tips on how to improve. So far, I've pushed myself to follow his advice, but it still doesn't feel right. I have one, final shot today to practice. Mastering it could help get me an extra spot or two during tomorrow's qualifier.

Accelerating out of turn seven after four back-to-back left handers, it feels good to be vertical again even for a few seconds. The track ahead is clear as I pass under the bridge and slow ever so slightly to take one more left-hander. In spite of not seeing the end of the turn, I fight the urge to brake early as Seb instructed, then fly into the corner at one hundred miles per hour. It goes a little wide but—

Holy shit! Another bike is right on my line. I try to pull out of the turn early, but the rear tire can't take the added pressure. Slipping out from under me and taking the rest of the motorcycle with it, all I can do is release the handlebars and let the momentum carry me. The world goes all topsy-turvy as my body tumbles across the strip of grass lining the track before I fly into the gravel trap.

After coming to a stop, my first instinct is to get up, and I jump to my feet. My whole body tingles, but at least I'm still in one piece. Looking around to get oriented, I find my machine lying on its side about thirty feet away. It must have made contact with the bike I'd seen on the track because the number six Busch Edison is crashed out not too far away.

Six. That's Gareth Watts' ride. Son of a bitch, he could have known better than to diddle around on his way back to the pits. I was on a legit hot lap, and he should have followed the flags to give me right of way.

"What the hell?" I shout into my helmet, approaching Gareth. Lifting my visor, I resist the urge to jump out of my skin and strangle him. "Jesus! What were you thinking?"

The British rider looks totally out of it, ignoring me and stumbling toward his immobilized bike. Three corner workers also run out from behind the barriers to right our machines.

"Dude." I point at Gareth when he finally looks up. "You don't do that. You nearly got us both killed."

He doesn't reply. A medic convinces him to sit on the ground, but I wave away the one who comes to me. Instead, I stomp to the nearest gate leading to the service road. A guy on a scooter is already waiting to haul me back to the Cadmium garage. I've never been so happy for German efficiency.

Only after I climb behind him do I feel the pain in my right shoulder. My hands also shake as I hold on. The initial surge of adrenaline is already wearing off.

I replay the accident in my head over and over again to figure out what had gone wrong—and what I could have done differently—until we're outside the pit box's back door. My legs are like Twizzlers when I get off, so I dawdle a bit to take off my gloves. It also doesn't hurt to mentally prepare to face Nigel. While I didn't get a good look at the damage to the bike, his mechanics probably would've liked to spend their Friday night on anything other than putting it back together.