The first event was for the big cars—three thousand cc.'s and over. By common consent the three watched it from the start-finish line where they also had a fair view of what was happening at turn number one. Rocky, indeed, went out onto the starting grid to talk to some of the drivers who were friends of her father. Tom Wisdom was there in his Ferrari, and Woody could see him talking seriously to Rocky. He guessed he was asking her about Randy.
"Is this big stuff much tougher to handle than the MG's?" Woody asked when she returned.
"Some people say so. But Daddy says no. He says although they are faster and heavier, they are also more easily controlled than the light cars. Of course, a Ferrari is a lot more fun to drive than an MG. They average about a hundred and twenty around the track, including the hairpins and other bends, while an MG is doing super if it can average seventy. I think it's just a matter of instinct and experience. And I can't say which is the most important. You can't do it all on instinct. And you can't do it all on experience either. Some of the top drivers are those who have been racing the shortest while."
They only watched the first half-dozen laps of the first race because Rocky had to get ready for her turn, which followed immediately. Tom Wisdom won, and he was over in Rocky's pit just as she was ready to leave for the starting area.
"Congratulations," said Rocky holding out a slim hand to him.
"Thanks," said Tom. "Good luck, kid. I came to tell you there's a little oil right as you go into bend three. Not much. Nothing to worry about. But I just didn't want you sharing the same ward with Randy."
"Oh, he's out of the hospital now," said Rocky. "But thanks all the same. I'll take it easy."
Steve meanwhile had climbed into the driver's seat beside Rocky.
"Pile on in if you're coming," he said, leaving Woody to climb on the back. Tom swung a leg over the side and crouched down beside him.
"You driving today too?" he asked.
"Yes," yelled Woody over the roar of the engine.
"Saw you during the practice lap," said Tom. "Nice bit of work on that hairpin. Driven much before?" Woody didn't think he heard his reply.
There were eighteen cars in the race, and Rocky had drawn the ninth position in the starting line-up. Ahead of her were five MG's, two Singers, and a Porsche.
Rocky seemed completely calm as she did up her chin strap and pulled on her racing gloves. Woody wondered whether the calm was all pretense, whether she didn't feel waves of anxiety going up and down her spine, and whether her knees weren't trembling a little.
"Good luck, Rocky," he said as they left the starting area. The smile she gave him was not the least bit strained. It was eager, and her eyes danced with excitement. In Woody's opinion, she was looking forward eagerly to the race and had no qualms about it.
"Thanks," Rocky replied. "This is going to be lots of fun." She looked around at the cars ahead, behind, and on either side of her, waved to one or two of the other drivers, and seemed in every way completely relaxed.
Back in the racing pits, Woody said to Steve, "Rocky doesn't seem a bit nervous."
Tom, who overheard the remark, smiled.
"She and her father have nerves of steel," he said. "Just when other people begin to get jittery, they begin to feel cool. I've been driving fifteen years now. And I can tell you there hasn't been a race yet that I didn't heartily wish myself somewhere else a few minutes before the starter brought down his flag. There they are! They're off!"
A swarm of cars roared by them, and Woody hardly caught a glimpse of the big five on Rocky's MG before it had flashed by.
Woody wished he could get over to the hairpin to see how Rocky handled it. But he was compelled to stay in the racing pits in case the car developed any trouble. He was able to see only snatches of the race as the cars passed by the start-finish line at the end of each lap. The rest, however, he followed through the announcer on the loud-speaker. He confined his comments for the first four laps to the Porsche and another MG, number fourteen, which had started a battle for leadership at once. But by the end of the sixth lap, Rocky had come up to fifth place and was fighting it out with a Singer ahead of her. Woody saw the two speed by, and they were almost abreast at the bend. But the Singer had the inside track and was the first around the bend.
The announcer now was beginning to take some notice of Rocky. "Keep your eyes on Rocky Randolph in car number five," he said. "Miss Randolph is the daughter of Captain Jim Randolph, one of the great sports car racers of the day. She is driving an MG TF and doing a magnificent job of it. Those who say that driving ability isn't inherited may think differently after watching her. She and a Singer, number twenty-two, are going into the hairpin together. The Singer has the inside track. Boy! Look at that. The Singer, driven by Miss Simmons of San Diego, took the hairpin a little wide, skidded to the far side, and Randy slipped through the gap. She's now ahead—fourth in the race and overhauling the Porsche in front of her."
"Here they come," said Steve excitedly. "There's the first MG, the Porsche—and there's Rocky—third."
The announcer picked up the rest of the lap for them. Rocky was having a hard time getting by the Porsche. She could corner better, but the Porsche had more acceleration on the straightaway. She remained in third place for the next two laps, and then the announcer said that she had dropped back to fourth.
"Must be having some trouble," said Tom. They waited anxiously. The first MG passed, then the Porsche, a Singer, then two more MG's, and finally Rocky came almost crawling down the track.
She steered into the racing pits, and Woody saw at a glance that her right-hand rear tire was almost flat.
Nobody said a word. Steve had the jack out and the rear of the MG off the ground in almost the time it takes to describe it. In the meantime Woody had taken off the flanged racing hub that held the wheel in place. It was the work of less than a minute to remove the wheel and put on the spare, and Rocky was back in the race in three minutes. But in that three minutes, all the other cars had gained a lap on her. Try as she would there wasn't time to make it up and get back into the lead again. She did make up half a lap, but the checkered finish flag had fallen before she could improve her position.
"Tough luck," said Woody when she drove back into the pit. "You were doing swell."
Rocky's eyes were still bright with excitement. "It was wonderful," she said. "I haven't had so much fun since the last time I raced. You boys did a terrific job changing that wheel. Only lost a lap. Could easily have lost two if you'd bungled it." Her smile was full of appreciation.
There was time, in the interval provided by the third race, to check the MG over. Woody took it down to the gas truck to be filled up and to have the oil checked. Rocky reported that the engine had behaved beautifully, so he did nothing there but see that all the spark-plug leads were firm and examine the valve cover for oil leaks. There were none. When he got back to the pits, he found it hard to appear cool. Steve and Rocky were watching the race, and he was glad of that. Rocky had put on such a wonderful performance that for the first time he became aware that he had better do at least as well if he was not to be disgraced in her eyes.
He sat behind the wheel and looked into the rear-vision mirrors. They seemed to be adjusted right. He got out and looked at his tires. Nothing wrong with them. He opened the hood again, took the cap off the distributor, and looked at the points. They were in excellent shape.
"What the heck am I doing?" he said to himself, replacing the cap and shutting the hood firmly.
"Listen, Woody," he told himself, "all you have to do is keep cool and drive as well as you can. No sense taking unnecessary risks. You've got a long time to live. Besides, every other guy in the race is probably just as scared as you are right now."
This thought, comforting for a second, was immediately dispersed by a voice behind him.
"Feeling O.K.?" somebody said, and he spun around startled by the unexpected words. It was Pete Worth, to whom he had been introduced earlier in the day.
"Sure," replied Woody with all the calm that he could summon.
"Just dropped by to make sure you were in the race," Pete said.
"Sure, I'm in the race," said Woody, nettled. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Oh, nothing," said Pete. "I saw that Rocky had some trouble and thought it might keep you out of it." He was quite cool, almost insolently so.
"Just a flat tire," said Woody.
"Ah," said Pete. "Well, lucky it wasn't a front wheel. You can lose control real fast with a front-wheel blowout. See you down there. I'm in ninety-nine—the green TF." He pointed to his car, which was three pit places away. Then he sauntered off. Woody fancied that he was smiling slightly.
"Just trying to throw a scare into me," he said to himself. "Front-wheel blowout! Bet they don't get one of them in a million races." Nonetheless, he went around and inspected the tread on his front tires. It looked good. The left-hand one was a little more worn than the right. But not very much.
"Both tiptop tires," he said to himself. But he wished the left-hand tire didn't show as much wear as it did. Probably the front end was a little out of line. That would account for it. He tried to think of something else.
When Rocky and Steve came back, Woody was looking very solemn.
"You feeling all right?" Rocky asked.
"Sure," said Woody, "raring to go." But actually he felt just like Tom Wisdom did before a race. He wished he was somewhere else.