Daytona 2.0: between a Ferrari and a hard place

By this time I'd been out of college for a while (as in dropped out), and me and Shadow somewhat battered by events since. For one thing, I'd lost my high-paying job as smuggler escort! But the news wasn't all bad; for I'd finally managed to get something for Shadow I'd been lusting after for quite some time: a nitrous oxide system. And being fresh out of a job, I had the spare time to install it. I'd already used up a couple fill-ups worth of the stuff in testing, to make sure I had it all working correctly, and my engine properly re-tuned for it. Plus, to get some experience driving with the gas during peaceful moments, rather than learning on-the-fly in battle. Yuck! You definitely don't want to do that: try out new equipment for the first time in a real world contest. For it'll almost definitely fail, or do something so unexpected you'd wish it had failed instead(!).

The nitrous set up looked like it would definitely go into such a category. For it made Shadow damn-scary fast. I'd realized quite quickly that using it while I was already underway made it important that my front wheels be pointed straight ahead (or very nearly so) first, wherever possible. I had a bit more leeway from a standing start. But that too had its problems-- like maybe burning out the rear tires so bad, they might blow apart. Yikes!

After satisfying myself that the system was now fully functional-- and I had some idea about how to use it-- I decided it was time for some fun. After all, being presently in-between jobs (my ex-employer was apparently going to get me a new gig with someone else in weeks to come), I now had time to kill.

I also had considerable money built-up in savings, even after the nitrous purchase; so I felt it safe to take a break.

But what could I do for fun? Visit my best friend Steve at Tech was my first thought. It'd been a while since my last visit, and I badly wanted to show off my nitrous system to Steve. And since Steve's brother Will was there now too, I could boast to two friends at once!

Steve and his girlfriend Katie had moved out of the trailer they'd been staying in when I returned from Texas months back, and now lived in an apartment, which might have been considered on-campus housing. If this was not the case, it sure didn't miss by much: the university center was maybe a seven minute walk from their place.

Will was living in a dorm, a bit less than a quarter mile away from Steve.

I arrived in my old college town on a Thursday afternoon. I stopped by Steve's apartment, where Katie told me he was at the frat house; maybe Will too. Hmm. I'd have preferred seeing the two brothers minus the organization; but only by a little. The frat guys were okay. It was just that I wasn't one for a crowd. And maybe half the time there seemed to be a raucous party happening at the frat's houses (they had two: one right behind the other).

Lastly, if they found out about my nitrous, they might want another race; and I wasn't in the mood for that.

But I really didn't have much else to do around town besides look up Steve and Will. So I tried Will's dorm room. Yep: he was gone, all right. Next I drove to the frat. It was only a block or two from Will's dorm.

It was easy to find a parking spot; the place looked practically deserted that day. I didn't see either of the two brothers' cars, but there were other places they might be parked in the vicinity. Or Steve or Will could have simply walked here. The dorm, apartment, frat houses-- heck, even the entire college campus!-- were all within a few minutes walk of one another.

I did notice Reggie's Jaguar was there. And another nice looking and expensive foreign car: a Ferrari, I was surprised to see. I'd rarely encountered one of those in my life so far; just mostly seen them in films and on TV.

Reggie and his Jaguar were the top racing team at Sigma Chi. Or at least they had been when I'd raced a battery of the frat's best, prior to dropping out.

I'd left school because of two deaths which had taken place in a relatively short period: the first, of a girl I'd loved in Texas the previous summer, and the second, one of my college ROTC instructors, the following autumn. I'd sort of had to help my instructor find his way to suicide alone (by forcibly preventing him from taking any students with him). I'd somehow managed to avoid being identified as my teacher's final exit aide in that instance. But never-the-less, I hadn't felt up to returning to Tech for the quarter that followed.

I walked into the fraternity house unchallenged, as it was a pretty open and welcoming place, even to complete strangers. I was sure many of the folks I was likely to encounter there would not know or remember me, for at least one class worth of members had graduated since my moment in the spotlight there.

I made the rounds through the most public areas of the front house, including the living room, the kitchen, and then up the stairs to the third floor attic bar-- which still sported a large pastel painting I'd done to help the frat win a Greek organization competition, during my first year on campus.

The painting depicted a weary knight, kneeling in the center of a battlefield. The knight held a staff bearing a tattered Sigma Chi flag. Lying next to the knight was a huge, contented lion, sporting a luxurious mane, with the symbol for the frat's sister sorority hanging from a chain around its neck.

The knight and lion sat together in the center of a circular open space, bordered all around by the dead and dying members of other campus fraternities. You could tell who they were because of the icons on their ragged flags and broken shields.

It was the gory aftermath of a terrific battle, the picture itself something like six feet square or bigger. I'd spent a couple weeks secretly crafting it for the contest, and it had seemed to blow away all the other groups' entries with the judges.

These memories sprang to mind when I saw the painting mounted on the ceiling of the attic bar, where almost anyone coming up the stairs had to see it.

But I didn't find anyone I knew in the attic.

So I went to the second house, and found Reggie Carson: the Jaguar owner. He recognized me instantly, and introduced me to Jason, his visiting brother.

"So you're the driver everyone's been telling me about?" Jason asked, smiling as he shook my hand.

"Well, surely not! The only news about me around here is old news: coming in second to your brother in our little race," I replied.

"That's not quite how Reggie tells it," Jason responded. "Not about you, or the race."

Reggie spoke up. "Jerry, this is an amazing coincidence, for you to walk in on us like this! I just finished telling Jason about our race to Houston and back."

"Oh? He hadn't heard it before?" I asked. Heck: that race had taken place ages ago!

"No; Jason was in Europe for a while, then in California the past year."

"So do you still own that car?" Jason asked.

"Yeah. He's parked in front of the other house."

"Oh? The car's here?" Jason's eyes perked up.

"Yep."

"May I see it?" Jason requested.

"Sure! I guess so," I replied-- though not really happy with Shadow suddenly getting a surprise inspection from a stranger.

We all walked to Shadow's location, where Jason then gave him a once-over. I regretted not having repaired all the latest battle damages yet-- or even cleaned Shadow up a bit (some fast food trash from the trip lay inside, and his windows and floor mats were dirty).

Yeah, I admit it: I'd preferred installing and hiding the nifty new nitrous system, to doing repair work. So Shadow still displayed damages like numerous tiny dents (which at this stage of Shadow ownership I was falling further and further behind on straightening out); a cracked rear window, and several large rips in my nylon mesh front grill.

But I had done tons of repair work just to get the list pared down to this. Lots of it really tedious and time-consuming bodywork. Yuck!

I opened the hood for him. And the trunk, as he requested it. My nitrous supply was in there, on the passenger side, basically taking up nearly half of my available trunk space, despite one end being tucked into the hollow of the fender, ahead of the tail light assembly.

Yeah, my nitrous set up was bigger than that of most other hot rodders. I'd put it together myself, with some help from my dad, and a local hot rod shop owner/race car mechanic.

The main reason it took up so much space was I was carrying several times as much nitrous as the usual hot rodder so equipped.

You see, nitrous doesn't last long at all in the usual system, such as drag racers might utilize. Most racers of my time (who possessed nitrous at all) likely carried only enough to last less than half a dozen quarter mile runs. Or a bit more than a single minute of actual nitrous usage, before they needed a refill.

Me though, I'd eschewed the closest things available to off-the-shelf systems of the time, to put together a homemade, higher capacity version.

The biggest difference between my system and most others was I used two tanks rather than just one. And my tanks were huge compared to just about anybody else's: adapted from the biggest hand-held industrial fire extinguishers available at the time.

The food canning plant my dad worked at had replaced their extinguishers with a different type a few years previous, and as usual dad retrieved the discarded tanks for our own possible use at home.

Discussions with my hot rod shop friend and dad regarding putting together a nitrous system led to me utilizing two of the big extinguisher tanks for the job.

So I'd ended up with maybe the largest capacity nitrous oxide system east of the Mississippi! With a total usable time span of three full minutes-- or some eighteen individual ten second bursts, from a single filling of the two tanks. And that was the minimum! Indications were I would sometimes squeeze more than three minutes out of it; maybe up to an extra 45 seconds worth. Or an extra four ten second bursts of acceleration. For a total of twenty-two dazzling moments of supercar get-up-and-go.

I know this might sound excessive. But I can't count the number of times such an extra boost would have come in handy, before I'd installed the system.

Sure, Shadow had possessed plenty of pep, factory-stock. And I'd boosted his power a bit over that with things like a bigger carb, headers, a high-rise intake, ram-air, and more.

But I'd also ended up in quite a few races with folks possessing big blocks-- even relatively rare race car style or heavy duty police interceptor big blocks, like a 426 Hemi and a 440 Magnum. In cases like those, I'd for sure felt the pinch of Shadow's mid-sized 351 Windsor motor. Despite all my engine tweaks and reduction of my car's overall weight, compared to stock.

I also wasn't one to take half-measures. In considering my system design, I'd included real-life instances like those alluded to above. And come to the conclusion that the usual nitrous set up just wouldn't cut it for Shadow and me. I wanted to make sure I had enough nitrous to outlast just about any challenge which might come our way.

I wasn't completely certain the present system capacity would measure up to the task. But it was the best I could do with the resources available. Especially in a covert manner.

Just as I'd done with my police scanner-- and briefly with a radar detector too (which I'd later discarded as not worth the cost)-- I'd taken measures to hide the nitrous system from easy discovery.

The tanks and related gear were hidden beneath a facade resembling a large tool box and other items. I'd used parts of an actual old tool box for the disguise. The whole thing would easily lift away for access, much like my custom-made front grill assembly. But only after undoing a few simple but well-camouflaged latches.

My trunk was fairly tightly packed, being so small, and me carrying so much gear around. So the nitrous system disguise didn't stand out in any way.

Although I disliked showing these things to a stranger, he was Reggie's brother, and Reggie and I got along pretty well. And Reggie was Steve and Will's fraternity brother too. So I told myself this would be the first test of my nitrous disguise. Would Jason take any notice?

He didn't. And I sure didn't enlighten him as to what he'd missed.

Jason bent down and looked underneath the front and rear of the car too.

It always annoyed me when people looked under Shadow's tail, because of the anti-pursuit gear there. I wondered if Jason would realize what it was.

As he made no comment on it, maybe he didn't. Or perhaps he'd been more interested in my suspension.

Jason also sat in the car. In the driver's seat. He seemed to find much about Shadow distasteful.

I was starting to notice that despite being American through-and-through like his brother Reggie, Jason preferred to give the impression he was European. He feigned an accent and manner of speech which I suppose would have fooled women when he was on the make. It sort of annoyed me though that he'd use it with us men too.

And I had plenty of proof it was fake. Because Jason would occasionally slip up in his play-acting, and talk like an American again.

"This is the car you drove to Houston?" Jason asked. Referring to the frat-gone-wild race long past.

"Yeah."

"I don't understand how you came so near to out-doing Reggie. He possesses quite a way with a steering wheel. And Monique is quite the fast lady," Jason said, referring to Reggie's Jaguar by Reggie's pet name for her.

Jason was leaving out the part about me saving Reggie and the other frat brothers from law trouble by drawing off the police during one particularly hairy moment of the race. And how if I hadn't done that, I'd probably have won the thing. Well, maybe; Reggie and Monique truly were a tough combination.

Or maybe Reggie had left out the police encounter when telling the story to Jason. Oh well; I didn't care. Let Reggie keep his 'undefeated' mantle he was so proud of; me and Shadow remembered the footnote. At that moment though, Reggie gave me a pleasant surprise.

"Jason, do you forget the close call I told you about?" Reggie asked.

"Oh yes. The scuffle with your mobile constables. I was surprised you found that worth mentioning the first time. Now it's just a bore," Jason told his brother, somewhat rudely.

So Reggie had mentioned it! My respect for him instantly went up another notch. Unfortunately for Jason, his rating was going in the opposite direction. Reggie was speaking again.

"Jason, I'm sure if you get the chance to interact with them yourself, you'll find more colorful terms to apply to the experience. I dare say you'd find it tougher to get out of tickets and court room appearances here, than you did on the continent."

"Yes, I'm sure you do," Jason responded, like he was dismissing everything his brother had said.

Jason looked at me. "Would you like to test your machine against mine?"

"No thanks," I said without hesitation. Not even knowing what car Jason possessed. This seemed to irk Jason. Reggie just smiled.

"Why not?" Jason asked.

"I don't race for fun nowadays. I use my car for work."

"And what sort of work is that?"

Uh oh. How to explain my role in a criminal enterprise, by Jerry Staute...

"I'm-- sort of a mobile security guard, I guess you'd call it."

"You're a police officer?"

I laughed. "No, I'm not a police officer. I'm a private guard for-- shipments which need extra security."

"Whatever." Jason waved his hand to show his boredom with my evasiveness. "You know you couldn't beat us. My prancing pony and I. Right?"

"Prancing pony? Is that some sort of a joke?" I asked.

"No! I'm speaking of my Ferrari!"

"Oh! You mean the insignia! I get it! I thought you meant a real horse for a minute!" I laughed. Reggie did too. This annoyed Jason.

"No. I refer to my Penelope. Over there," Jason pointed at the Ferrari I'd noticed upon arrival.

"Uh huh. Nice looking car," I told him.

"Faster than yours, too," Jason replied.

"If you say so," I said, smiling.

"So you're challenging me?"

"No!" I laughed. Then I turned to Reggie and said "Reggie, Jason's car might be faster than mine. Don't you agree?" like I was appeasing a child.

"Yes. I believe it might be," Reggie replied, as Jason fumed.

"There's no 'might' about it. Your American jalopy couldn't beat us in any competition, anywhere."

That made me laugh again.

"Reggie, I thought you said Jason had been to Europe and California?" I asked him.

"Yes. I did."

"Well Jason, I must say you do a good job hiding it," I told him.

"Hiding what?"

"The fact you're well traveled."

Reggie laughed, while Jason just gave me a disapproving look.

"I repeat, your vehicle is no match for mine."

"Thank God!" I exclaimed, laughing again.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean I'd glad my car's nothing like yours. I mean, no offense, your Ferrari's pretty and everything, but I don't think it'd last long in my line of work."

"But you just said you're only a security guard."

"Yeah. A mobile security guard. I have to use my car for some pretty wild stuff sometimes. Stuff I'm sure your Ferrari couldn't do."

"Like what?"

"Like--" Uh oh! The first thing which came to mind was my recent off-road adventure. But I couldn't tell them about that!

"-- oh crap. I forgot: I'm not allowed to talk about that stuff. Sorry!"

"That's convenient, isn't it?" Jason responded.

"Well, no: I'd love to tell you!" I laughed once more.

"Penelope can beat any automobile in this country-- especially any built here. And you say she couldn't perform as well as your rolling black wreck?"

Yes: Jason's comment riled me a little. But it was also true I hadn't completed repairs on Shadow. So he did look a little the worse for wear.

"Yeah, I suppose Shadow does look a little rough right now. But that's battle scars he's sporting. From doing the things that your Penelope couldn't, even if her driver was brave enough to try them."

"Are you impugning my courage, sir?"

"No. I'm just saying I don't think you'd be willing to take such risks with your car. That's all."

"Let us see, then. I challenge you sir to a race. To Houston, if you wish. Or elsewhere. This very afternoon."

I had to laugh some more.

"Whoa, Jason! I just got through driving 150 miles! I'm here to see my friends, not to go racing! Racing's too much like my job, anyway! I'd prefer something more relaxing."

"So you're afraid to race me; is that it?"

I smiled at him. "Jason, I just came here to look for Steve and Will. I just met you fifteen minutes ago. I just found out you drive a Ferrari five minutes ago. I'd need a bit longer than all that to even figure out a reason why I'd care one way or the other about racing you. And getting scared of you? Sorry, but I'd definitely need even more time for that! But I tell you what: I got a minute. Why don't you give me a reason to be afraid?"

Jason hesitated a second before he responded.

"You should be afraid because I could strip you of your reputation here at Sigma Chi--"

I interrupted him.

"I've got a reputation here? Hell fire, Reggie! How come nobody ever told me this?" I guffawed at Jason's silliness. And didn't give Reggie a chance to respond. Instead, I needled Jason a bit more.

"I tell you what Jason-- if you want it, you can have it. Now is there anything else?"

His inability to antagonize me made Jason decide to back off for the moment.

"Perhaps we should continue this later. How long will you be in town?"

"For a few days I guess. I've not started my next job yet."

"Good. May I speak with you again on this matter before your departure?"

"Sure. I guess so," I told him. I didn't care. Besides, hanging around with Steve and Will (who were both frat brothers) might bring me back to the house multiple times over the weekend. Especially since I knew from experience the dorm Will was staying in wasn't much fun, and Steve would likely prefer somewhere other than the apartment he and Katie shared to serve as the setting for any drinking and what not on our part.

"Good. I will see you then!" Jason told me, then turned and walked away.

Once Jason seemed out of earshot, Reggie spoke quietly to me.

"I apologize for Jason; he's not the most tactful person when he wants something."

"No kidding!" I smiled.

"He's not a bad racer, though. He's never done a round on a pro course like me, but he's not bad for street. Especially with Penelope. Penelope is top of the line: maybe the very best sports car one can buy today."

"She's fast, huh?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. Let me put it to you this way: a mid-thirteen's quarter-mile; 180 mph top speed; absolutely loves curves; and stops on a dime. And that's factory stock."

"Aw, you got to be kidding me! That little buggy can do all that?"

"Yes; I've seen it. Jason of course can't summon the car's full performance, due to his disdain for ever accepting lessons or advice in that area. But the car itself can make up for a lot of its driver's shortcomings. And then some."

"So you're telling me he really would beat me in a race?"

"I'm telling you he'd beat me and Monique in the quarter-mile, or any interstate run. And maybe on a slalom, too."

"You mean in theory? Or have you two actually raced?"

"We've raced."

"And Jason beat you?"

"Yes. In most of our contests. He's a good driver. And Penelope is one hell of a car."

Wow: that was saying a lot! As the team of Reggie and Monique had been the overall best Shadow and I had ever raced. Considerably better than Mike and his winged Hemi Daytona.

"Watch out Reggie; with that kind of talk you're starting to make me want to race him," I warned him.

"I'm not saying you wouldn't enjoy such a challenge. But knowing what both your cars can do, I'm not sure you could find a fitting place to hold such a competition."

"What do you mean?"

"You'd both have to go all out. I believe that'd make for a race considerably more dangerous than either of you have taken on before."

Hmm. Reggie had no idea of most of the races I'd been in. But the Houston run with the frat boys hadn't been a picnic.

"So you're saying I'd have little chance against Jason, and any race between us might be too risky anyway?"

"Yes. It'd be tough indeed to beat Jason in any direct match up. Together he and Penelope have very few weaknesses--"

"Weaknesses? What weaknesses?"

Jason smiled. "Well, Jason's own ego is one-- as I'm sure you're aware of by now."

"Yes. But are there more?" All this was piquing my curiosity.

Reggie thought for a moment.

"If you could race him on a course of your own choosing...one with which you are intimately familiar...but is also a tough track...with lots of the tightest and worst banked curves you can find; and few if any long straights; for you don't want him to use his top end at all, if you can help it--"

"You're right there! I sure wouldn't want him to pull that 180 mph trick out of his pocket!" I laughed.

"And something else."

"What's that?"

"Road quality. The worse the road, the better a chance you might have."

"You mean the asphalt?"

"Yes. Patched and uneven paving could be helpful to you. Potholes too. If your car could take them without damage, I mean."

"I take it you're referring to the Ferrari having a delicate suspension?"

"Maybe. Perhaps a bit more delicate than your American version. But mostly I mean Jason himself. The faster Penelope is driven, the more she demands of her driver's skills. The rougher the road being traveled, the more she'll want as well. So if you can heavily tax Jason in all these ways at once, you just might have a chance."

I laughed. It seemed Reggie had given me some excellent tips there. But apparently I'd need a worst-case road scenario to even have a shot against Jason.

And like Reggie had mentioned before, we'd somehow have to find a course which would endanger as few innocent bystanders as possible (if we ever raced).

Where on Earth could I find such a track? A couple flashed through my head, but neither seemed the best possible fit for all of Reggie's recommendations. I needed to think on it for a while.

I mean, if I did decide to race him. And if he still wanted to.

It was no big deal though. I had no truly good reason to race him, after all. Except maybe to teach him a little humility.

Then again, if he beat me, I'd only further strengthen his bad attitude.

After that little confab with Reggie, I figured on continuing my search for Steve and Will.

That's when I found out it was a darn good thing I hadn't accepted Jason's challenge on the spot: for now Shadow wouldn't start up when cranked.

Often during the cranking he'd sound like he was on the verge of starting, but never did. So I performed a few other tests, and finally decided his timing chain had given up the ghost. Damn it! 150 miles away from home, too!

I went back into the frat house and found Reggie again, and got permission to make some calls to find Steve and Will. I got hold of Will at his dorm first, who motored over and got me with his 1970 Mustang (which mimicked a dark green Boss 302 looks-wise), and we then went to Steve's apartment. During discussions there, Steve and Will agreed with my conclusion it was probably a bad timing chain.

As I didn't have a good place to tackle such a repair job in these environs (and wasn't eager to do so either), I called a garage Will and Steve were familiar with in town, and arranged for them to tow Shadow in for a fix. I was lucky. Business was light, so they'd be able to work on him the very next day (Friday).

Apparently I'd just missed Steve and Will earlier at the frat H.Q. They'd left to go eat right before I arrived, and then went to their respective living quarters.

Once we'd made the arrangements pertaining to Shadow, Steve and Will and I spent some time catching one another up on events.

Although I'd originally been eager to tell them both about my new nitrous set up, now I found myself avoiding that subject in favor of others; just in case I ended up racing Jason after all. For I wanted the nitrous to be my secret weapon. After all, Reggie had acted like I'd need every advantage I could get in a contest.

I did share Jason's race challenge with Steve and Will. Partly to get their take on Jason and his car.

"He's a rich buffoon, Jerry. Nothing like Reggie. I hear he's a demon with that car, though," Steve told me.

I don't think I'd ever heard Steve use the word "buffoon" before. What I didn't realize then was Steve was actively trying to lose his hill-billy accent, and talk more like the elite world-hopping executive he longed to be (he was destined to succeed at all that).

"I don't like him, myself," Will added. It turned out Jason's presence had been one of the reasons Steve and Will had left the frat house when they did.

"Yeah," I laughed. "I agree. But he wants to race me, bad."

"You going to do it?" Will asked with a mischievous smile.

"I don't know. It's tempting! But I'd have no chance on the interstate. Or even the drag strip, if Jason can do thirteen's--" I was now misleading my friends a bit. But to keep the nitrous system out of the discussion, I had to pretend Shadow hadn't gotten that upgrade. However, if the nitrous were included in the calculations, I might have a shot. That is, if I could somehow time the gas to avoid just sitting at the starting line, burning out my rear tires until they exploded. Agh!

I hadn't yet possessed the nitrous long enough to do a test run at the drag strip. So I was uncertain of the E.T. (elapsed time) I might get.

"Yeah; you'd need someplace like Crosby. Or towards Burnt Springs. Or Hardtack or Cherokee Creek," Steve offered. All were decent choices in terms of the guidelines Reggie had laid out. Well, Hardtack had some straight-aways where Jason could push up to 180 mph, though. And although Cherokee Creek possessed a sequence of hard curves which might rival those towards Burnt Springs, the complete series was nowhere near as numerous or lengthy in distance. And most of the rest of Cherokee Creek would be a cake-walk for Jason, I was sure. Crosby was pretty good on all counts but the risk to civilians. Lots of people lived in the area, and occasionally you'd come across pedestrians on the side of the road in a bad spot. Plus, the normal traffic flow was a bit on the heavy side at times: times which could only be predicted in regards to people's work shift commutes. The rest of the traffic spikes were random as hell, due to Crosby leading into the Smoky Mountains National Park and Gatlinburg: major local tourist traps.

Hmm. It seemed Steve had helped me narrow things down quite a bit there!

As I still hadn't accepted Jason's challenge by noon Friday-- so any actual race taking place was iffy-- there was no news for any frat members considering staying in town for the weekend. And some had already left.

Plus, Shadow wasn't in any condition to race anyway, due to being in a garage for a timing chain replacement.

So this little shindig was fated to be nothing at all like the hugely hyped Houston race, which had boasted maybe a hundred witnesses at the end, in a new mall parking lot beside the interstate.

(I'd really envied Reggie getting his photo taken with a trophy and a pretty sorority girl on either side of him kissing his face after his win. I'd spoiled my own chances at such a moment by baiting a trooper so Reggie could go free.)

Just as I'd expected, Steve and Will and I all ended up at the frat again by Friday afternoon. Where of course Jason resumed his effort to initiate a race. Reggie was there too.

"As I am the challenger, you could of course select the route. It can be anything you like!" Jason told me.

"Anything, huh?"

"Certainly!"

Again, the first thing which sprang to mind was my recent off-road trek, chased through the mountains by a gang in four wheel drives and on motorcycles. I was certain Jason and his Ferrari could never make it through such a course.

But choosing a course where the other guy had no chance to win at all would be no fun, would it?

Plus, I sure didn't want to do something like that again if I didn't have to! Sheesh! Once was one time too many!

But the off-road contingency stuck in my head. Especially as my preference for a possible course coalesced around the road to Burnt Springs. After a bit, I began to realize why.

I still wasn't sure I'd agree to a race with Jason. But he seemed to need some sort of contest. So I tried to accommodate him.

"Jason, how about a good old game of chess instead? While we're waiting for Shadow to get fixed?"

Jason liked the idea, and so we quickly rounded up a board from a frat member, and went at it.

Did I warn Jason I was a better than average player? No.

Unfortunately, Jason made a bad mistake early on in the game, which allowed me to beat him in under a dozen moves. Ouch!

I could have drawn it out further, but gave in to impulse and check-mated him quickly.

This of course did not sit well with Jason; he wanted a re-match. This time he played better. But I'd enjoyed his first loss so much, I decided to purposely go for the jugular. And so he didn't last many more moves the second time around, than he had the first.

Yes, I admit I was maybe being extra hard on him; because I knew I might well lose in any race we undertook later.

We played a third game. This time with us both deadly serious, and taking our time with our moves. Jason did much better this round. But about mid-way we got interrupted by the other fellows showing up with food, which led to us all congregating in a different room for a while. I also telephoned to check on Shadow, and the garage said he was done. The cost was around one hundred and ten dollars, I believe.

When Jason and I returned to the room housing the game, someone had put away the board and pieces. Yikes! So we didn't get to finish that round. I hitched a ride with Will to pick up Shadow.

I would end up not agreeing to any race with Jason while still in my old university town. There simply wasn't sufficient good reason for it. But Jason was adamant that I continue to think about it. So adamant, that he decided to follow me home that weekend to continue his efforts at persuasion. And of course Reggie, Steve, and Will all wanted to be around too, just in case such a race did transpire.

So when I finally headed back home Saturday afternoon, two other cars accompanied Shadow: Jason's Penelope, and Will's dark green 1970 Mustang.

Me and Jason were driving our own cars, and Will his. Steve, Reggie, and Neil rode with us as passengers, respectively.

Jason had surprised us at the last minute with Neil (Neil Lovett): an actual newspaper reporter.

Neil was only a reporter for our campus newspaper. And no way would a story about such a race be printed in that paper. But Jason and the reporter claimed they might be able to get a story of the race published in some sort of American Ferrari enthusiasts' newsletter, and maybe that translated for a European version, too.

The worst part however was Jason claimed he knew a writer in California who might be able to get the piece published in Road and Track as well-- providing the story was good enough. That writer supposedly had a connection to someone important at the magazine (I can't recall who).

I definitely didn't like all that. Especially the Road and Track part. I read Road and Track myself! But I didn't want to be a feature in the magazine: too much attention was bad news in my line of work. Plus, anyone digging into my past as a byproduct of such an article could cause me still other problems.

But I was still undecided about racing Jason. So this might be a wasted trip for Neil.

The interstate drive back to New Forge was plain no fun at all; for Jason kept trying to goad me into an impromptu race the whole way.

Damn, but he was fast!

At any speed between 50 and 100 mph, that Ferrari of his could suddenly accelerate out of sight almost as good as a magician's sleight of hand trick: if you blinked, it could be like he'd vanished into thin air.

Jason did this a lot along the way; always pulling over and waiting for me on the side of the road, when I didn't try to catch him. Then he'd do the whole vanishing trick again.

This was like a daylight version of my night-time trick of using my rear strobe lights to temporarily blind pursuit so that I could disappear. Hmm. I hadn't yet had the chance to try it, but it seemed like I might could duplicate Jason's daytime disappearance technique, via use of my nitrous system.

But I held back on displaying any nitrous-aided acceleration on the trip home.

If not for being in a convoy here, I'd have stayed at around 100 mph most of the way, because that was how I usually ran this particular stretch alone, which I'd traveled so many times while attending Tech.

But all of us hometown boys being poor, we were in the habit of staying in touch with one another and nearby when traveling as a group, in case one of us had car trouble.

Will's 302 was a decent little motor, but it would have been cruel of me to try pushing Will to run 100 mph all the way home (plus, Will's brakes and suspension and mindset weren't suited to such antics either, compared to me and my car). So Will and I tooled along at around 70 on average.

Jason's antics sorely tempted me to show off my nitrous during the drive. But even with the nitrous Shadow couldn't go faster than 145 mph, and Reggie had told me in no uncertain terms Penelope could do 180. So logically speaking, there was no good reason to challenge Jason on this mostly straight interstate highway. Even if you ignored the risk to innocent bystanders from such horrendous speeds.

Jason would turn out to have an opinion of our hometown similar to that he seemed to hold for Shadowfast: shoddy, run-down, poor pitiful country bumpkin American. And he was absolutely appalled at the available selection of restaurants.

The most expletives I heard him voice during this entire episode concerned the fact my home county was dry. That is, no hard liquor could be bought there. Jason thought that downright barbaric, and compared us to certain devout religious peasant neighborhoods in far flung and backward regions of the world.

Steve, Will, and I did our best just to laugh it off. But no one likes an outsider unnecessarily running down their hometown.

Jason also ended up being rude to Steve and Will's grandmother (whose house would be where Steve and Will slept during the weekend stay). Not enough to really get in his face over. But enough to ratchet up Will and Steve's wishes for me to give Jason his comeuppance in a road contest.

It was beginning to feel like I should race Jason after all.

And Shadow sure seemed to want it. For whenever we found ourselves parked within earshot of Penelope, Shadow's engine rumble seemed to get deeper and more menacing than usual. Yeah, it was surely just the result of some sort of coincidental resonance in the sound vibrations of both car engines mixing together. But I wasn't the only one who noticed it.

Shadow almost seemed to growl in the presence of Penelope: like he was spoiling for the contest.

Saturday night Steve had wanted to show Reggie and Jason some of the local attractions, as it was rare for him to have a fraternity brother here in New Forge. Plus, Steve tended to take on the role of gracious host just about any time he had a group like this assembled.

It was during this that Reggie and I found ourselves momentarily excluded from the conversation with the others, and took our own course, talking-wise.

It was just small-talk, during which my mind wandered a bit. Then suddenly something Reggie said caught my attention.

"Wait: did you just call Jason's car a Daytona?" I asked him; for surely I hadn't heard him right!

"Yes."

"That's its model name?"

"Yes. Not officially. But that's what many call it. It's a long story. But basically, everyone expected Ferrari to use that name for Penelope's model due to a big win in the 24 hour Daytona round of the 1967 World Championship. For it was 1968 when Ferrari released the first 365 GTB/4 street models. Ferrari did use the Daytona name for the car's project internally. But the name leaked to the press before the car was officially released, and Ferrari decided not to use the name after all. However, people liked it; so the name stuck. Especially among Ferrari fans. Because the 1967 Daytona was where Ferrari won revenge over Ford by beating its GT-40s, which had made Ferraris look bad in 1966."

Egads! So Penelope was a Ferrari Daytona. It figured! Another Daytona: another wicked fast car.

I'd raced a winged 426 Hemi 1969 Dodge Charger Daytona not long after putting the finishing touches on Shadow's aerodynamics and non-nitrous-injected drive train, many months before. That race had been a grueling 1200 mile interstate contest. Or at least an interstate contest where the interstate existed; there'd been sizable gaps in the highway bridged by much slower-paced detours. But still, the Hemi's murderous top end had almost won the day.

And I'd sworn never to race a 1969 Dodge Charger Daytona again.

But now I was faced not with a Dodge Daytona, but a Ferrari Daytona! Sheesh!

And not only that: apparently a Ferrari Daytona modeled after cars which had beat Ford GT-40s on the race track(!).

Many of my modifications to Shadow had been inspired by GT-40s.

If only I could beat Jason, that might sort of reclaim some of what the GT-40s had lost to his Ferrari's race car cousins.

But damn if it didn't appear Jason might be near unbeatable in Penelope!

Shadow versus another Daytona car; this time a Daytona car which-- in a manner of speaking-- had beat GT-40s.

If I raced Jason, it'd probably be the closest I'd ever get to pitting Shadow against a true GT-40's prowess-- or better!

Ahhh! I got goose bumps just thinking about it!

But surely Shadow couldn't beat a car that beat GT-40s! Could he?

I recalled Reggie's recommendations for such a race. Recommendations for how I might get a chance to beat Jason.

I was a working man now. Or would be again, soon. Shadow a working car, too. Our pure racing days were over. Or soon about to be.

But I was currently on vacation. In-between jobs.

Maybe Shadow and I were meant to have one more race before we grew up, and did nothing but work all the time. One more race before we stopped taking on such challengers, forever.

One more race, to see just how good we really were: and there could be no better test, than one against a GT-40 beating Ferrari!

Yeah! I decided I'd do it!

So Steve and Will and I that night discussed again the matter of what route might be best suited for a showdown between Shadow and Penelope.

I divulged to them the course I'd settled upon based on our previous talk, and my subsequent thinking on the matter. And we debated the pros and cons.

In the end, both the brothers agreed with me upon the old state highway between our Tennessee home town and the tiny village of Burnt Springs in North Carolina. A winding track, roughly 25 miles long.

Near the Burnt Springs end of that highway had been the place where Shadow and I had been forced off a cliff and into the woods, to start a hair-raising off-road run from an incensed smuggling gang, only maybe six weeks earlier. That little adventure had also been the reason I lost my job, as my boss decided the run was getting too hot, and shut it down.

It'd be practically impossible for Jason to use his 180 mph top end hardly anywhere on the route-- no matter how good his brakes-- because of the many curves, blind spots, few long straights, and the dozens and dozens of intersecting roads, and hundred plus individual drive ways, linking to the highway. Not to mention the regular civilian traffic-- which on not-so-rare occasions included farmers on tractors moving at just 15 mph or so(!). There were also a couple of narrow two lane bridges with not-so-good pavement for flooring. And the sequence of curves near the very end-- the Burnt Springs end-- were probably world-class in fast cornering difficulty.

Being that the race would happen on a Sunday, I was pretty sure we'd encounter no slow-moving tractors along the way.

For me, the main sticking point was the danger involved in Jason trying to pass me in the bad mountain curves outside of Burnt Springs-- and how if I was the one behind, there'd be no way I could do it.

So I decided I'd designate as an alternate route for that leg, a rough run through the woods that we knew about in the area: an alternate available to either myself or Jason.

But both Steve and Will also agreed on this: that I shouldn't try taking the off-road route near the Burnt Springs end myself, unless absolutely necessary. For they didn't think I could win that way.

Jason of course had been delighted with the news.

Sunday, we all re-assembled for race preparations. We tried to time the contest to avoid the migrations of the pious to and from church that day.

Neil declared he needed photographs, so we wasted some time with that first.

Thankfully Jason-- for his own reasons-- wanted far more snapshots of Penelope taken for the piece, than of Shadowfast (and Shadow's 'ugly duckling' appearance compared to Penelope probably helped temper Neil's snapshot enthusiasm too). Combine that with my own strategic sabotage and interference with Neil photographing Shadow (by allowing only a side profile of Shadow, and ruining even that by standing at the front corner post to obscure his front end), and you ended up with shots of my car which wouldn't be terribly useful for identification purposes.

I took measures to change my own appearance too. I didn't do anything that those in attendance took much note of: just enough to spoil any easy usage of the images to identify me in the future. What did I do? Wet down my hair, slicking it back, and removing my eyeglasses; all that was definitely not my normal look.

We'd agreed to do a casual drive over the course first, with me leading the way, to show Jason my chosen track. Jason and I would drop Steve and Reggie off in Burnt Springs at the end point I'd chosen, then we'd come back to the starting point I'd selected; thereby giving Jason a round trip view of the course. Then Will would wave us off at the starting line (Will didn't accompany us on the preview run, but instead remained at the race's starting line, awaiting our return).

Steve and Neil rode with me on the preview drive, and Reggie with Jason. This was to give Neil some experience in Shadow, to contrast with that he'd get in Penelope during the actual race. To accommodate Neil, Steve graciously agreed to ride on Shadow's rear interior shelf, and let Neil have the passenger seat. Reggie used a borrowed hand-held CB radio for communications between the cars (I forget if we got it from my dad or someone else). Shadow of course carried his own standard auto-model CB in his overhead console.

Jason followed me as I drove the route I'd chosen for the race. Basically it was a two lane state highway between my hometown and a tiny hamlet called Burnt Springs. Burnt Springs had been a semi-famous resort for about fifteen minutes in the 1930s, I think. I've heard several different tales about how it got its name, but am unsure which (if any) are true.

The highway itself actually ran all the way to Asheville North Carolina, if you continued on beyond Burnt Springs. But I figured Burnt Springs would be far enough.

This was the closest thing I had to the 'perfect' race route as described by Reggie before. It possessed plenty of curves both great and small, with the very worst in the last few miles before you hit Burnt Springs. Many of these curves were accompanied with a vertical wall on either side. On one side, the wall loomed high above the road, offering you a handy mountainside to plow into, if you couldn't keep your car on the narrow strip of asphalt there. On the other side, the road actually ran along the top of a wall: that shoulder being the edge of a sheer cliff (mostly without guard rails), which offered drivers a spectacular plunge of hundreds of feet down, in the circumstance that they miscalculated their course or vehicle capabilities by one smidgen too much.

I knew this road as well as any other in my home region, and had used it often for testing new suspension mods. It'd be damn difficult for anyone to beat my time on it, without having a car with a significantly shorter wheelbase (everything else being equal, shorter wheelbases helped on rounding hairpins like these).

Unfortunately, Jason's Penelope seemed to possess exactly that. Agh!

There was one huge problem with the final curve-laden stretch of the course. Namely, it could be darn near impossible to pass anyone on that leg of the race, without incurring enormous risks to everyone involved-- including innocent passers-by of the moment.

A great many of the curves were utterly blind, with the shoulder of a mountain preventing you from seeing anything at all of what might be coming around the other way. Others were plain death traps. For the way they wound in and out on the mountain flanks, you might get a glimpse of the road a turn or two ahead and think it clear-- when in fact there was a vehicle in a perfect blind spot of your flash peek, rushing to smack into you if you didn't stay in your lane.

I knew all this perfectly well. Which meant if I was behind Jason when we entered this leg of the contest, I'd almost certainly have lost the race. For it'd require a near miracle for me to get a reasonably safe chance to pass him anywhere along there. And that was if he didn't do anything to hamper such a move.

But the situation could get still worse than that. For if somehow I managed to get ahead of Jason before the last leg of curves-- but just barely, with no appreciable buffer-- then Jason would surely be strongly tempted to try a pass himself. Because he simply did not know this road like I did. And we'd find ourselves in the worst-case scenario for causing a pile up on a road where at least some of the cars involved might also drop off a cliff during the process. Maybe even family cars with kids in them. Yikes!

All this meant I either had to have a hell of a lead on Jason when we entered the last leg-- and hold it the whole way in the face of his car's ferocious handling capability-- or have an alternative route to try at the last leg's entry point, in case I was behind at that moment in the contest.

As luck would have it, there was a handy alternative to that curvy mountain lane, barely a hundred yards or so from the point of no return. But it was more an off-road sort of affair than anything else. A course in such poor shape that I was sure Jason's Ferrari would have no shot at all in traversing it, if I forced him to accept it as the only way to Burnt Springs.

Heck: even with Shadow I had to be careful using it, or risk getting stuck or damaged!

But I wanted to avoid us facing the passing trap on the mountain curves. And this was the only way I could see to maybe do that. So I decided to include that wildly obsolete road bed as an optional alternative to the final paved leg of the race.

It was squarely in my prerogative to do so, according to Jason's own terms. So long as I made sure the shortcut was clear to him too, so he'd also have the option (I was certain he wouldn't use it though).

I'd also brought along a U.S. Geological Survey map, to show Jason the difference between the routes.

As we neared the turn off for the alternate route, I radioed the other car about the stop.

The turn off itself wasn't much more than a clearing off the side of the road. But it presented a decent picnic spot for those so inclined.

Long ago, this location had been the entrance to an unpaved road which bypassed much of the mountainous terrain between this place and Burnt Springs, by first running down a steep hillside, then parallel to a river and railroad track for a long ways, then up another long and steep grade, to come out on the back side of Burnt Springs.

This course enabled a driver to avoid the modern route of a mountainous cliffside highway, coiling up into some of the tightest hairpin and switchback curves to be found in the eastern U.S.A., then descending again, into Burnt Springs.

This alternative route wasn't always available though, due to the river at bottom sometimes rising to drown it (leaving visible only the raised railway), and in winter time the steep angles making the initial descent and final ascent roads treacherous with slippery ice. Other elements of the terrain and climate seemed likely to make it costly to maintain a modern roadway through that course as well-- which is probably why the states of Tennessee and North Carolina had gone with the circuitous hairpins instead. But in the decades since the states had bypassed it, enough motorcycles and four wheel drives had apparently used it to prevent the larger plant life such as trees from reclaiming the ground.

Steve had first shown me the route one night long ago, in one of his own Mustangs (I'm unsure now of which model; but I remember being amazed to learn that a street car might be capable of navigating such a course). Since then I'd taken the path myself a few times: at least once to avoid a police road block. It was a rough and tumble sort of thing the whole way; downright scary looking to the uninitiated. But it was passable for those not faint of heart (assuming the river was low and there was no winter ice around, and no recent rains had turned several of its sections into a paradoxical form of mud, which could somehow be both ultra slippery and super-sticky at one and same time).

Unlike many off-road courses, this one actually played well with wide tires-- as wide tracks reduced the chance you'd get irrevocably stuck in the deep and narrow gullies which ran through much of the down hill and up hill legs, parallel to the road's direction. Gullies which could be darn hard to see at times, as loose forest debris usually filled them completely, making them invisible during all the cooler seasons of the year. And in the spring and summer, growing things sometimes hid them even better still. To avoid getting hung up in those things you had to gingerly 'feel' your way through them-- or else remember the route from practice (but recollections often suffered quick expiration dates here, due to weather and wear and tear changing things). And if you had one or two wheels slip into the grooves-- well, getting out again might make for a story all its own (I didn't carry a CB, chains, fold-up shovel, hatchet, tow ropes, and a come-along in my car for nothing!).

It hadn't been long since my own last passage through it. For I'd accidentally found myself on it at the end of a long and harrowing pursuit in the mountains; I'd narrowly escaped a murderous gang by fleeing down a steep mountainside to a stream, then across some fields to reach a dirt road. From there I'd somehow gotten into this very route I meant to show Jason now-- only heading away from Burnt Springs, rather than towards it.

I hadn't recognized the rugged course, until I'd finally made it to the intersection with paved highway (where we were now parked), and realized where I'd emerged. If I'd known what road I was on prior to that, I would have went the other way (to Burnt Springs), and had an easier time reaching the highway.

But all that had served to prime me for this race.

We pulled both cars into the clearing beside the highway. I parked, and Jason did likewise. We all got out.

"Is this a joke?" Jason asked. As the spot didn't look too promising for a racing route.

"Nope! I wanted to show you a short cut around the mountain, so you'll know the same alternative route I do."

"Alternative route?"

"Yep! Come on-- it's over here," I told everyone, and we moved to the far side of the clearing.

Once there, we beheld a weedy drop off lined with trees. Though it was somewhat in shadow and heavily grown up, some of the nearest gaping gullies marring the ancient passage were visible.

"You call this an alternative route?" Jason asked incredulously.

"Yep."

"Have you ever tried it?"

"Yep. Me and Steve both. More than once."

"In automobiles?"

"Yep."

"But not your black car."

"Oh yeah! Me and Shadow have gone this way several times."

"Bull shit," Jason opined. In an (for him) unusually American way.

"It's true," Steve added.

"I don't believe it," Jason repeated his skepticism.

"You want me to show you?" I asked. I figured if I showed it to him, he definitely wouldn't consider trying it in the actual race.

"I don't feel like a hike today."

"We'll ride. In my car."

"What if I said yes?"

"Then we'd go! Come on!" I motioned him to come with me to my car.

"You're bluffing," Jason said, standing his ground. Steve helped me.

"He's not bluffing Jason. I'll bet you a thousand dollars right now this is no bluff," Steve held out his hand to shake on it. Beaming ear to ear. For he knew Jason was good for a thousand dollars. And he knew I'd take Shadow down that hill. But alas, Jason wouldn't take the wager.

"I wish to see your map," Jason changed the subject. He had me show him again what I'd shown him before about the off-road course. I guess he hadn't paid attention the first time. After a minute or so with the map, he spoke again.

"I don't need to see it: you can't use it."

"Oh yes I can; you said I could pick the route."

"You did, Jason," Reggie agreed. He'd been there.

"But I meant a road route! No sane person would consider this a road!"

"The map shows it as a road: an old road, but a road. Jason, this short cut definitely qualifies as an American road. Heck, it's actually a better track than most of the roads the first American cars-- Fords, of course-- had available to them. Your Ferraris have always had nice paved roads to play on since they were first spit out from the factory. But Fords had to start out with practically no paved roads at all. With lots of stuff just like this. In Europe, first came the modern roads, then the Ferraris. In America, the Ford Model T came first, then the roads.

"Not that it matters, of course. I get to choose the route, or you lose by default; you set those terms yourself. If I wanted, I could force you to use the short cut. But as your car's not built as strongly as mine, I'm giving you the option of taking the paved road up the mountain instead."

Then Reggie added his weight to my words. Apparently loving his brother's predicament.

"He's right Jason. By your own words, he could force you to take this way."

Jason waved us away. And dismissed the short cut's value entirely.

"No matter. The difference in length of the two routes doesn't seem all that great. And it would be impossible for you to beat me by this decrepit horse trail anyway-- even if you somehow managed to be close behind me this far into the race."

Jason could well have been right; I couldn't be sure I could beat him via the rough trail route. In my recollections, it seemed to consume roughly the same time as its paved sibling, despite being a much more direct course.

But I'd rarely tried speeding my way through that rough and tumble course, what times I'd tread it. So I figured I might be able to shave enough off the normal time to win. If I had to.

This critical possible fork in the race lay some 21 miles from my hometown. There were a couple miles worth of lengthy straights on the approach (all of them individually averaging maybe a fifth of a mile in length), which just might allow Jason to utilize his awful top speed in brief spurts. But I was hoping his lack of familiarity with the route, the scary stuff he saw on this preview, and the challenging curves sprinkled here and there along the way, would make him hold back some, throttle-wise. Giving me and Shadow a chance to stay with him, through judicious use of my nitrous. I knew I couldn't match his 180 mph top end. But with my nitrous, I could hit 145. Trouble was, I didn't feel comfortable with the idea of doing 145 mph anywhere on this route. Not even for a single second. The straights simply weren't that long! And they were typically punctuated by substantial curves at either end.

"I'm not saying I'll definitely take the short cut myself, Jason; just that I might. You see, beyond this point on the highway it'll become terribly dangerous to civilian traffic for either of us to try passing one another there. The narrow road, the curves, and the cliffs are plenty bad enough for a single car at speed; one trying to pass another would just be too dangerous. So I figure if I'm behind you by this point, I'll take the short cut to reduce the risk to us all. Or vice versa; you could try it if you're behind," I told him.

Jason laughed. "I won't be the one behind!"

I ignored his jibe. "It's not challenging, navigation-wise: it pretty much will deliver you straight to Burnt Springs, so long as you stay on the main path-- which is pretty obvious. But I should probably take you through it once anyway, just so you'll have a better idea of it for consideration later, when the time comes--"

"No. I won't be needing it." Jason interrupted me, shaking his head.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"All right. It's fairly obvious anyway, I think. In daylight. At the end, you'll come out on the far side of Burnt Springs. Simply make a right-hand turn when you meet pavement, and you'll see the store that marks the race's finish line just maybe 60 seconds later. Okay?" Although I was plenty willing to take Jason through a dry run of the rough-hewn passage, I definitely liked the idea of avoiding such an extra chore, if possible.

Jason waved his hand. "Yes, yes. Turn right. I've got it."

I looked to the other fellows. "So does everyone agree I've adequately informed Jason in regards to the alternate route?"

They did. So we climbed back into our cars and drove the rest of the way to Burnt Springs. This time Reggie asked Steve to ride with Jason, so he (Reggie) could ride with me. Steve didn't mind (much). Neil stayed with us in Shadow, but gave up the passenger seat to Reggie, climbing onto the back shelf Steve had occupied before. Although there were no seat belts back there, the surrounding padded roll cage offered plenty of hand holds, and the thick carpeting was comfortable enough to lay back and sleep on, if you wanted.

Reggie loved the series of hard hairpin curves on the mountain. I'd figured he would. He didn't like the cliff running alongside the road much of the way too, though.

I was badly tempted to tell Reggie about my plunge off one of these things in the recent past, and what happened afterwards. But Reggie was far from being a fellow local, and wouldn't share the same perspective on such incidents as Steve and me, I was sure. Reggie's own wildest moments probably ranked little higher than his brush with the law during our race to Houston.

Plus, Steve had repeatedly warned me to be circumspect about such stuff with any of these guys. If I was lucky, they simply wouldn't believe my accounts. If unlucky, they might feel compelled to tell others about them, leading to the stories eventually reaching the authorities themselves. And Neil (an actual reporter!) was in the car now too.

Of course, it was always possible Reggie, Jason, and Neil might be shocked into awareness of such things without me spilling the beans. For example, if any survivors of the wilderness pursuit of me and Shadow in this vicinity only weeks back happened to catch sight of us now, we might get shot at-- or worse.

So would the universe decide for Jason, Reggie, and Neil to get a taste of mountain inhospitality? We'd see, I mused.

I did have my shot gun and pistol stowed away in Shadow, just in case. Steve though likely carried no weapon. Maybe not even a pocket knife. Although he was probably more proficient than me with firearms, I'd only personally witnessed him use them a handful of times.

Will sure hadn't liked it when he got chosen to be the witness and starter for the race's beginning. But Reggie and Steve both outranked him in the fraternity, so Will had to do it. This had allowed me and Jason to drop Reggie and Steve off in Burnt Springs at the end of the preview run, in order that they could witness the finish. Then the return leg allowed Jason a second chance to preview the course, and even test a few of the curves at speed.

Will could still have accompanied us to Burnt Springs and back on the dry run of course, but elected to save his gas instead. I believe Will's personal preference would have been to park somewhere roughly midway of the course, to see us whiz by there during the contest (if he couldn't witness the finish). But somebody had to start off the race, and witness same.

Me, I drove the return leg only slightly faster than how I'd normally cruise the vicinity for pure relaxation purposes. I knew this course intimately, and needed no refresher.

As there were no spots along the way which might confuse a driver navigation-wise, I let Jason take the lead back. That also allowed him more latitude speed-wise in getting to know the track.

Yes, Reggie and Steve would have preferred ride-alongs with Jason and me during the competition. But just as in previous races with a tough opponent I had refused passengers for sound reasons of performance and safety, I did here as well.

Jason though was so confident of he and Penelope's superiority over me and Shadow, that he had no qualms about toting Neil as a passenger.

I guess Jason wanted Neil to have the best possible vantage point from which to pen his article describing Jason's glorious victory.

Me, I loved the fact Jason would be toting a passenger. Yes, I wasn't crazy about having a reporter in on the thing. But the extra weight would be a small drag on Penelope's performance. I was amazed that Jason didn't care about that.

Finally, after all the trouble Jason had gone to getting me to race him, and the trial preview run to Burnt Springs and back to familiarize Jason with the course, we were ready to go.

As the whole thing amounted to only around 25 miles one-way, there was no need for us to do much more in the form of preparation.

For the starting point, I'd chosen a place not far out of New Forge city limits. It was a relatively large, two-story building with a little store on the first floor, and either storage or living quarters on the second. It had a decent sized parking lot, but the lot mostly consisted of hard packed, dusty ground, and a scattering of gravel, with only a few patches of ancient pavement to catch a tire here and there.

There were maybe three other cars in the lot belonging to folks not a part of our little group, as Jason and I waited for Will's signal.

But no: the few other folks in the vicinity weren't paying much attention to the blacked out Mustang and the ultra-expensive Ferrari sitting there about to launch from the lot. For races were commonplace in my county. And so were unusual cars.

There'd have to be more happening than that, to get and keep their attention.

Will stood next to the highway, where he could see traffic both ways. When it was absolutely clear in both directions, he would wave us out.

I sat alone in Shadow, Jason and Neil in Penelope, to my right.

Since we would both be headed right out of this parking lot, this gave Jason a few feet advantage on me. But I didn't say anything about it. For I did have my nitrous (the existence of which I'd avoided revealing to anyone so far).

Will waved us to go, and we both took off, our car tails a-wagging, as we spun out of the lot and onto the highway.

From there, Jason immediately leaped ahead of me. His Ferrari was better balanced for rear traction under acceleration than Shadow, plus that V-12 and five-speed were quite potent.

I didn't waste my nitrous on the race's first thirty yards or so, as Shadow already had sufficient native power to squander a bit of time spinning the rear wheels before getting underway, no matter how carefully I tried to apply his throttle for a fast start.

However, once we'd gotten suitably underway velocity-wise (like maybe 55-60 mph, and pointed straight on the highway) I had no choice but to use the nitro to ratchet up my acceleration dramatically, and catch up to Jason before he got too far ahead.

But the same things about the course which would prevent Jason from using his top speed or full acceleration power along the way, also hampered my nitrous utility. So I basically had to limit its usage to brief spurts here and there, to enable Shadow's power curve to come closer to matching Penelope's.

Yes: Jason immediately took the lead. But my greater familiarity with the road, plus my nitrous, allowed me to stay right behind him too, from the very start.

Jason soon showed signs of agitation that he couldn't shake me loose, or build up a sizable lead.

I did try to pass him a few times when we came to some of the course's early, short straight-aways. But Shadow on nitro was only a rough match for Penelope in such acceleration contests: he enjoyed no clear-cut advantage that I could determine. So I couldn't get past so long as Jason was aware of the effort. Both cars being so closely tied acceleration-wise meant whichever had the lead could keep it, so long as the driver made no mistakes, and the car suffered no breakdown.

But I also knew of the longest straight on the course. It was actually a straight segmented into three parts, with fairly good high-speed curves separating each leg.

Even better, you could usually see a long, long ways ahead along the way, as the road made a great arc through mostly level land, with few natural or man-made obstacles to block your view.

At the very end of this three part straight though was a curve considerably sharper than its predecessors, with way too little bank for extreme speedsters. And it was a blind curve, too. So you couldn't afford to take up both lanes to try gaining some slack that way.

That was the curve where I'd experienced my very first crash of note, roughly a couple years before. When I'd been driving Shadow for only a matter of weeks, and had little clue as to what I was doing.

The whole area encompassing this three-legged straight with the punch line curve at the end was locally known as Rockway. On the last leg, you could even stop at a business of some sort which possessed "Rockway" in the name, just off the road.

I decided I'd try pinching Jason in the three leg straight. Try to jump past him just as we entered the first leg, hopefully before he even remembered from the preview the nature of the little road theater we were entering. Then I'd go for broke speed-wise for the entire three legs, until we neared the end, where I'd stomp the brakes to get down to 70-80 mph (unless Jason was still on my tail, in which case I'd slow only to 90 or so) to take the final curve. I'd need the slow down so I'd have a power reserve to make it past the turn. The lack of suitable banking also played a role here: if such banking had existed, I might could have hit the curve at 130 mph and still had the extra power I needed via nitro boost. But the necessary tilt just wasn't there, and Shadow was wearing street tires rather than sticky race track tires. So around 90 mph was right on the red line for entry. Unless I wanted to careen straight off the curve and into the countryside, past a gentle thirty foot drop, into woods beyond.

My nitrous could play no role in the curve. If there'd been a good banking, yes; without the banking, no.

But my plan was foiled: there was opposing civilian traffic in the first leg. And the second! Grr!

The third leg was really too short by itself for me to try anything substantial there. But maybe if I spooked Jason I could make him take the last curve too fast, and go into the trees himself.

So I tried. Made a move like I was going to pass him, and even added a touch of nitrous to make it look serious.

I got up beside him before Jason pushed further on the gas and sprang ahead again. I smiled, and immediately slammed on the brakes to get us down to 90 mph, even as I moved back into the proper lane again, and watched Jason hit the curve ahead of me.

I was stunned to see the Ferrari round that curve at maybe 125 mph, with no problem at all: like it was on magnetic rails. I wish I had a video of it today to show you; it was quite impressive. For the road bed in that curve was very nearly flat horizontal.

My own movement through the curve felt a bit more dramatic. At just the right moment I had to apply sufficient throttle to power my way through. All four tires were squealing, and some small slippage could be felt. But by this late date, I knew this curve well.

I next had to hit the nitrous again to catch up to Jason.

I was fast running out of chances to get past him and take the lead. Then I remembered the section of road just ahead.

Oh wow! I suddenly realized I might have a chance to pass Jason at Ma Bradlee's country store, since we were both doing only around 115 mph as we neared its location, just past a double curve, which would take us up and around a small hill. Just over the crest of the hill the highway pavement was nice and new, with considerably wider shoulders than usual on both sides. The road was technically just a two-lane, but for all practical purposes could be considered a four lane, if the generous paved shoulders were taken into account.

I instinctively nudged Shadow up to Penelope's tail, getting into drafting position.

Drafting is where you exploit the aerodynamics of the car ahead of you. To reduce your own fuel and power expenditures required to maintain your current speed. Or, alternatively, to enhance your own acceleration for a passing move, by first reaching the 'sweet spot' behind your opponent aerodynamics-wise; then falling back a little, in order to maximize the pull of the slight vacuum created by the front car's progress through the air. When the other car's aerodynamic wake is pulling your own towards it with maximum strength, you suddenly add your own acceleration to the mix too, to obtain a sort of slingshot effect, which can increase your chances of successfully getting past and ahead of them.

Past the top of the hill the road plunged a lot deeper in altitude than you might expect, from seeing the previous side.

The smooth new pavement ran straight and true to a split at the bottom, with first a left lane winding off towards an area hosting a firing range and public camping area (both used occasionally by me and my friends), then some 50-100 yards later, the main drag skewed mightily to the right. Into a largely blind right-hand curve (since the way beyond was obscured by the terrain until you were full-on living the turn).

The virtual four lane straight down the hill was perhaps a fifth of a mile or so in total length, before you hit the curve at bottom. A very, very short distance in which to try a passing maneuver at these speeds.

Plus, Jason was closely watching his driver's side mirror (Penelope was a left-hand drive like Shadow) in order to preempt any move on my part to pass on that side.

Still, I figured I'd have to try it anyway if the way was clear. For there simply did not exist many opportunities to pass Jason on the course.

However, knowing that just a single car coming this way could stymie my effort there, I also considered passing Jason on the right, when the moment came.

For at almost the perfect spot there sat Ma Bradlee's tiny country store. It was about the size of a small two car garage, and looked as old as Ma Bradlee herself (ninety, maybe?).

There was a small concrete island sprouting an ancient pair of gas pumps from the 1930s or 1940s I think, about two car widths from the storefront.

But the best thing about the store and its pumps was they were all set back maybe twelve car widths from the highway border, and boasted a grand parking expanse of wonderful quality (practically brand new) asphalt in front of and to either side of the store itself, adjoining the highway in a seamless fashion. It appeared Ma Bradlee had managed to cut a deal with the state when they'd repaved this part of the highway, to extend the same asphalt up and around her store to make this a truly gorgeous and inviting parking area.

Basically Ma's parking lot was like a great sideways swelling on the right side of the highway, smack in the center of a curve which swerved leftwards.

The lot's swell in the asphalt surface essentially provided a 70 or 80 yards long smoothly paved-- and well banked!-- emergency lane, above and beyond the state highway shoulder (which in this case was unusually generous in width itself as well).

Add the paved highway shoulder to Ma's parking lot, and you had maybe 100 yards or better of made-to-order passing lane on the right.

From a street racer's point of view, it was magnificent. Especially on a Sunday, like today. For pious Ma's store would surely be closed. And the lot usually sat empty on such days.

But to successfully get around Jason I'd have to use the nitrous.

Would 120 mph be a fast enough starting point so the kick of nitrous acceleration wouldn't threaten my control of the car? Yet also slow enough to delay Jason's response to our sudden subsequent burst of speed? I wondered.

All the above flashed through my mind in an instant. Just as we topped the hill, and I caught sight of the roadway heading down the far side.

Damn! There was civilian traffic in the opposing lane! But Ma Bradlee's lot was clear!

I let Shadow fall back slightly to maximize the pull of Penelope's draft, then I hit the nitrous, Shadow was floored, and we launched past Jason and out of the legal lane, to the right. Onto the shoulder, and then a bit into Ma's banked lot.

Once laterally positioned, I fought with the steering wheel to keep us skewing left (Shadow on nitrous always wanted to go straight, or else totally out of control).

The fantastic banking in Ma's lot helped tremendously in this regard.

There were both advantages and disadvantages to taking the right-lane course here. One, I think it surprised Jason a bit, thereby gaining us a precious extra split-second before he could respond. Two, going this way meant Shadow actually had to travel a few feet more distance than Penelope to reach the same point. Agh!

But hopefully the drafting maneuver helped somewhat with the extra few feet we had to cover.

Naturally Jason floored it too when he realized what was happening. But suddenly Ma's lot ran out, and I had to bully my way back onto the highway, into the space currently occupied by Penelope. Forcing Jason into the next lane over, or else get side-swiped by Shadow.

Jason moved in response to my maneuver. It was obvious to him that I either had to risk side-swiping him, or straddle a guard rail at that point.

Jason was able to switch lanes safely because we were by that moment past the oncoming traffic which had prevented me from taking the left lane to pass, seconds before.

I now commanded the legal lane, and Jason had been forced into the other.

For an unforgettable instant in time, Shadow and Penelope were racing side by side, both going all out, both pedals to the floor. Shadow's nitrous flowing.

Italian V-12 five speed manual, versus American V-8 three speed automatic.

In the next instant we were going to reach the blind curve at the bottom, and something would have to change.

I decided if Penelope looked to be gaining just before the curve, I'd slam on my brakes and let Jason get ahead of me again. Not only for our own safety, but that of any civilian traffic which might be coming the other way.

But Penelope did not gain!

In a dream-like moment where time itself seemed to slow down, I watched Shadow's nose gradually push its way ahead of Penelope's, inch by agonizing inch. And Jason saw it too; he had to.

I didn't dare to look at his face in that moment, because the circumstances demanded I be entirely focused upon piloting Shadow. But Jason had to see it. And Neil as well.

I had the correct lane, and I was inching ahead. Therefore the responsibility to fall back before the curve fell on Jason. By practically all reasonable racing standards.

And so he did. Just before we entered the curve, Jason decelerated to get behind me so fast, it all happened in the span of an eye-blink.

Penelope had some hellacious brakes on her; much better than Shadow's!

I immediately seized that opportunity to decelerate too. Flipping off the nitrous, even if only briefly: for I would need significant reserve power to make it through the turn.

Folks, that was one scary curve to enter at maybe 135 mph, and exit at 145. It wasn't as difficult a curve as Rockway, generally speaking. But prior to this moment, I'd never taken it at more than 110 mph.

And this time I had to take it on nitrous, too. For I needed the extra power. If I'd struck empty on the nitrous, or failed to renew the flow as we passed through the tipping point of the curve, I'd have crashed. That's all there was to it.

Being this was a curve rather than a straight, and lacked as good a bank as Ma's lot before-- and Shadow was feeding on nitrous-- I had to wrestle with the wheel a bit there. For Shadow wanted to treat everything as a straight line on nitrous.

Flipping on the nitrous with my right hand while steering with my left-- smack in the middle of the curve-- was maybe the scariest moment of the entire race for me. Because safely handling the tipping point of the bend required quite precise timing and feel, and for that, two hands on the wheel are far better than one. Plus, even with my power steering assist, keeping Shadow's nitrous-fed monster side on course in a curve could easily require a bit more strength and leverage than you'd expect. So I sure didn't like the necessity of one-handing the wheel just then, for the half-second or so required to flick the switch. When you're rushing at a rock and earthen wall only a few yards away at 135 mph, a half a second seems like a long time indeed.

Once the curve was behind us, I was able to relax a little, and turn off the nitrous.

We'd done it! Gotten ahead of them!

The only straights left from here on out were so short Jason could use no speeds beyond those Shadow was also capable of-- even without the nitrous. But I still needed the nitrous to match Jason's acceleration curve.

It now came down to a contest of pure handling and driver skill.

Jason did have a rich man's ultimate sports car. And some skill and experience wielding it.

But I'd poured everything I could into making Shadow a curvy road demon in his own right. Built and tuned his modifications personally. And staked my very life on them, time and time again.

I simply had to know Shadow better than Jason did Penelope.

And I knew this road better than Jason, too.

One last advantage over Jason here was my 180 degree rear view mirror. I could much more easily monitor someone behind me, than he could with his tiny factory version. I could practically read his thoughts with that thing, from every twitch of Penelope herself, to the expression on Jason's face.

This gave me ample warning every time Jason decided to try something, allowing me to compensate so rapidly that it was almost like I was hooked into Jason's own nervous system; being alerted to his every move, at the same moment his own limbs got the signal. Twice I used the nitrous to foil his attempts to jump ahead of me. In the speed range the road was now forcing upon us, we were almost exact equals, performance-wise.

Of course, I needed to be more than an equal here. If I didn't widen my lead over Jason before reaching the alternative off-road path, I'd need to turn off there anyway. Or else risk Jason causing a pile up with innocents on the winding mountain leg, trying to pass me there.

But Jason was sticking to me like glue. Not tail-gating, but staying near enough to take his own handling cues from me, and thereby ride a bit on my own experience with the road to overcome his own lack of familiarity.

In other words, he was engaging in a sort of experiential drafting of me here, as opposed to the aerodynamic drafting I'd used on him before.

Damn! If I could simply get out of his sight by a curve or two, he couldn't ride my coat tails like that, and might be forced to slow down-- thereby enabling me to widen my lead.

But I already had Shadow's wide tires squealing like banshees on practically every single curve, and continued to use the nitrous to match the V-12's power curve, whenever Jason challenged my position anew.

I needed a couple curves gap between us so he couldn't parasitically ride on my knowledge of the road. But how could I get that?

Then it came to me. But I didn't have much distance left to try it.

I'd have to time and position the move as finely as possible, in order to avoid a mess.

Fortunately, both Jason and Penelope had so far performed as well as Reggie had told me they would. So I was pretty sure they could handle my next move.

I suddenly slammed on the brakes, going from roughly 100 mph to 60 in a couple seconds. In a spot where Jason dared not attempt a pass. I watched Jason intently in my 180 degree mirror as I abruptly applied the brakes. Jason's face showed an intensified concentration rather than alarm, even as he slammed on his own brakes in response (Neil by comparison seemed clueless in that moment).

Note that this wasn't nearly as risky a maneuver as it might sound. In fact, I was quite practiced at it by this point in my supercar days. Due to my experience, Shadow's impressive performance envelope, my two footed pedal work, and my 180 degree rear view mirror, I was fully capable of adjusting my sudden deceleration either harder or softer as judged necessary in the moment: so I could have allowed Jason plenty of extra room if I decided he wasn't responding fast enough to my move. Likewise, I could also squeeze him harder if he did better than expected. And the fact that Jason couldn't possibly expect such a capability among my arsenal (due to knowing virtually nothing about me), practically guaranteed that the trick would be superbly effective on him.

I next floored Shadow, hit the nitrous to rapidly rebuild speed, then shut off the nitrous at 100 mph again, as I would soon encounter another curve.

I then proceeded to take the next several curves at close to the ragged edge of me and Shadow's capabilities. Trying to build a blind zone between Jason and myself, to prevent him from mimicking my moves to take the curves. I pushed Shadow to his limit.

I seemed to have at least a 50 yard lead on him when I passed the entrance to the off-road alternate route. For he wasn't visible behind me.

That'd been the point of no return. I now had no choice but to do my damnedest to prevent him from sighting me at all again, until we reached the store parking lot in Burnt Springs.

I stomped on the brakes to get down to 60 mph, as we ran up on a very narrow two lane bridge crossing a river. The bridge had a couple bad pot holes a racer really needed to avoid, or risk contest-ending damage. But if you had to share the bridge with a vehicle coming the other way, you'd almost certainly hit one hole. If that happened, it was vital you not be doing more than 20 mph or so at the time. Shadow could drop from 60 to 20 in not much more than two or three car lengths (at least on a dry road, that wasn't extremely bumpy).

The road at either end of the bridge made sharp curves (and in opposing directions), plus was hidden from sight by terrain and foliage, so you couldn't know if you'd be meeting anyone on the bridge until you were literally already on it.

I knew of at least another couple bridges much like this one within 30 miles of here.

Eureka! There were no other cars crossing!

I avoided the potholes, and had ramped back up to 80 mph again as I pushed through the curve just past the bridge's far end.

I thought I caught a glimpse of Jason just nearing the other end of the structure before foliage spoiled my view.

From that moment on Shadow and I became one creature, intent on doing whatever we could to deny Jason sight of us again, until the race was over.

The next few minutes were crucial: for they covered the distance between the bridge and the worst curves on the entire route. These minutes would be Jason's chance to catch back up to me, and make me lose my buffer zone.

If I lost my buffer zone, then Jason would surely try to pass me before the end, and there simply was no reasonable spot for passing there. Bad stuff-- very bad stuff-- would have to ensue.

So I had to keep my buffer zone.

A couple more times I caught a glimpse of Jason a few curves behind me, trying his damnedest to regain his close second position, and hopefully use it as a launch pad to first.

I managed to make it to the zigzaggy stretch of road which marked the course's climactic heart without Jason immediately on my tail. But I knew Jason's shorter wheel base would give him an edge in the sequence of ultra-tight turns we were now entering. However, I only needed to fend him off for another couple minutes, and the race would be done.

All four of my tires were screeching almost continuously in the switch-back and hair pin curves round the mountain. The smell of burning rubber made itself known inside the car.

Occasionally a civilian car coming the other way flickered past, as we continued speeding around the bends. One second there'd be nothing; then for an instant, the car would be side by side with us; then immediately after that, it'd be gone again: vanished. Like only three frames from a film flashing by in a theater, with all the intervening shots logically separating them having been edited out for dramatic effect.

Although I was fiercely concentrating on the task at hand, and made sure not to have any radio or tape player on to distract me in such moments, still, at times, bits and pieces of my favorite rock music would waft through my thoughts, as we wound around the mountain. The notes seemed to naturally accompany the maneuvers and screeching tires.

A few times on this stretch I saw Jason a couple curves behind me again, doing his best to catch up-- and coming way too damn close to succeeding! But I was already doing my best; to go beyond that was to lose control.

Then, finally, I got to the last downhill stretch, which was composed of an "S" curve winding first left, then right. But I couldn't let up, because I was sure Jason had to be so steamed that he'd even try passing me here too.

So I surged down through the S, now power-sliding a bit in the safer terrain (we were past the cliffs), jamming on the brakes to get down to maybe 40 mph or so as we approached the turn off into the store parking lot, then (once I had all my car's inertia properly directed) whipping my steering wheel over farther than necessary for the turn, to make it into one complete 180 degree spin, in order to slide to a full stop in the lot, ending up facing the opening by which I'd entered, in a fitting flourish to the final act of our duel.

(the 180 spin also helped me economically burn off what was left of my velocity and momentum, to reach a full stop in a shorter distance than straight braking could have achieved)

It was a good thing I hadn't let up, because Jason pulled in too, almost the same instant that Shadow's single rebound wiggle from our parking maneuver disappeared.

Damn, but he was good! And that car-- Penelope was magnificent!

(It was kind of annoying though to see first-hand the evidence that a rich guy could simply buy a new car off the showroom floor which was comparable in road performance to the painstakingly hand-built Shadowfast)

Reggie and Steve were waiting there for us of course, smiling and clapping their hands and yelling at us.

Jason and I both disembarked. Neil too. The aroma of burning rubber was stronger outside of Shadow than inside.

I probably sported one of the biggest smiles of my life in that moment. But I tried my best not to be a jerk.

"Great race Jason!" I shouted at him (while the little kid in me wanted to say something else entirely).

Jason's whole face was tight as he approached me. All of us moved closer to make conversation easier.

"Let's race again. This time on the way back," Jason urged.

I laughed. "No way Jason! You and Penelope are too damn good! You'd probably beat me the second time around!"

That seemed to sooth Jason's ego a bit.

"I thought you were going to take that alternate route?" Jason asked.

"Well, I didn't really want to-- I just planned on it if I was behind by the time we reached the turn off. Because of the danger of either of us passing the other on that last leg."

"I can't understand this," Jason said.

"Jerry winning the contest, you mean?" Reggie asked.

"Yes. His V-8 should be no match for my V-12. And yet we were practically side-by-side the whole way. And his suspension--!" Jason looked at me with suspicion. Shaking his head.

"Are you sure you aren't using some Ferrari parts in your suspension?" Jason asked me, with hope in his eyes.

My ever-widening smile was now splitting my face. "Positive! Heck: I wouldn't even know where to get Ferrari parts around here!"

"I just can't understand it," Jason said again, looking back at Penelope. I'd switched off Shadow after parking, so his signature engine rumble was absent. Only the ticks and popping of his cooling headers were audible.

"Don't feel so bad Jason," Reggie told him, putting one arm around his shoulders. "If Jerry hadn't pulled the police off of me in our race, he might well have won there too!"

Then Steve piped in.

"Jason, you never had a chance."

Jason looked up, hopeful that some form of cheating was about to be exposed.

"Why? What do you mean?" Jason asked. Then Steve continued.

"Jerry's been building and rebuilding that car for stuff like this race for years now. Studying up on how race cars are set up, and applying the tricks to his own. He practices wild assed maneuvers all the time, too. Hell: I've seen him goad the cops just for fun! And some of our cop cars aren't exactly slouches in the speed and handling department themselves.

"Hell man, look at it this way: Jerry may be the only guy on this side of the Atlantic who can beat you and Penelope! You just had bad luck picking him for your race, is all," Steve finished with a smile.

I knew Steve was leaving out at least one other person there: himself. Steve was a more talented driver by nature than me. I was sure his winning margin over Jason would have been much bigger than mine-- so long as Steve too got to drive Shadow. Steve though gave them no clue as to his own abilities.

Steve's words didn't amount to quite the revelation Jason had been hoping for. So he turned to me again.

"Are you sure I can't talk you into another race? You can choose a different course if you want: anything!" Jason pleaded with me.

"I'm sorry Jason, but no. It's only one to a customer these days, on things like this. I'm getting too worried we'll get some innocent by-standers hurt in such stuff. In fact, I think I'm retiring from racing, now that this one's done."

Did I ever tell Jason about my nitrous system? No! Ha, ha.

It's not that I thought he would have figured its use to be cheating on my part: it was obvious just to look at Shadow that the car was heavily modified from stock. And I'd allowed him to inspect it too, remember. Heck: I never did inspect his car as closely as he had mine!

No, I just liked the idea of Jason forever puzzling over how a cheap American V-8 stood toe-to-toe with his horrendously expensive V-12 on that harrowing course.

But I guess in some ways Shadow's suspension performance had galled him even more. Because Ferraris are supposed to own curvy roads; right? Ha, ha.

Needless to say, it seemed Jason quashed publication of the race story somehow, when things didn't turn out the way he'd expected.

No way was he going to let himself be humiliated in the eyes of fellow Ferrari owners on two continents!

I believe he was even worried about what the Ferrari company itself might think or do if the race were ever made public-- for they could possibly cut you off from certain important sources of parts and support for your Ferrari (forcing you to scrounge a bit), if you sufficiently infuriated or embarrassed them. At least according to Reggie.

I bet Jason had to pay a pretty hefty bribe to Neil to stop publication though! Ha, ha.

Did I mind that the story never got printed? Heck no! If published, it might have caused me all sorts of trouble! Way back then, anyway.

Did I ever let Steve and Will in on my nitrous secret? I think so-- but I'm not certain. I know I didn't any time soon after the race, because I fretted that then the word might get to Reggie, and be relayed to Jason. And thereby spoil my ongoing torment of him.

Plus, there were always lots of details about Shadowfast's construction which Steve and Will didn't know about. Mostly because they just weren't that interested. Will never was into racing as much as me and Steve. All he cared about was having a car that looked sufficiently good and fast to make a strong impression upon others. That's why he disguised his plain vanilla 302 Mustang fastback to mimic a Boss 302 in appearance only, with the replacement/addition of some body parts utilizing junked Boss 302 items. And Steve's own racing enthusiasm didn't last very long, due to the stinging loss of his Boss 351 early on, and his lack of funds to ever retool the wreck into a pro dragster afterwards. His discovery around that same time that he could have almost any woman he wanted due to his powerful charisma and persuasion skills, probably helped a lot to make him lose interest in car technologies too (I imagine such things would have had the same effect on me-- if I'd been so lucky).

But it seems like I did mention the nitrous to Steve or Will or both many months (maybe even a couple years!) later. When we were all fairly drunk and having a good time, and telling funny stories. It seems like at least one of us may have rolled around in the floor laughing at the Jason/nitrous secret, after I told it.

But like I say, we were drinking pretty heavily. Maybe I told them, maybe I only think I did. But another question is: would they remember it if I had?