FSQG - The Mark

The year before, I fell in love with Jerez. We only drive there to test out new designs and such. It’s a pity that such a great track is restricted to testing.

As I tore around Jerez, I was fully confident in the car’s abilities. I zipped through corners like a hot knife through molten steel. I came out of the hairpin and heard what I had been expected from my engineer for quite a while.

“We’re going to go ahead and initiate the pit practice session. So go ahead and pull in.”

This would be a real test of me and my pit crew. We’d have to do it as many times as it took to achieve perfection.

I eased off of the throttle and darted across the track, just barely making it onto the road that leads to the pits. I slowed hard enough to bruise the skin beneath my safety harness. I let the visor on my helmet up slightly, the cold air coming in and cooling my burning face. Once below the pit lane’s speed limit, I hit the speed limiter on my steering wheel. My car instantly began to make sounds of crackling and banging as my engine adjusted to it’s now found restriction.

After what felt like forever, I finally arrived on pit lane and saw the crew out and ready to go. I’d be receiving four fresh tires, a full load of fuel and an adjustment on my car’s front wing to increase the down force.

I turned in quickly through the pit box in front of mine, lined up and slammed the brakes. The very instant I stopped, 20 people went to work. My car was lifted up on jacks as my “lollypop man” dropped down the “lollypop”. The “lollypop” is a sign that tells me when to put my car back into gear so I don’t stall the engine, preventing the car from moving forward and making me look like an idiot.

Right now it reads “N”, letting me know I need to keep my car in neutral.

Half a second into the stop, and the tire workers have already removed the single nut that holds on my tires. The fuel man has already begun to pump fuel into my tank. Two men with rags are cleaning the insides of the air-intakes. Two others with rags are cleaning my mirrors. I tore off a layer of plastic on my visor. My visor has several layers of ultra-thin plastic I can tear off, allowing my to remove any debris or liquids that may accumulate on them.

Two men were up in the front with cranks, adjusting the front wing very calmly. Four assistant tire workers handed the primaries the tire while simultaneously taking the used tire. The four primary workers placed the tire and using their air guns attached the tires to my car. Now three seconds into the stop, I began to prepare myself to prevent my car stalling.

The tires were set, and all four primaries gave a thumbs up. The fuel man detached the fuel hose and gave a thumbs up. Our fire worker sprayed a fire-suppressant liquid on my gas cap just before the cover closed over it. My lollypop man flipped the lollypop to the other side reading “1st”, to which I put the car in first gear. The crank men back up, thumbs up in the air. The adjustment of mere millimeters would help me through the turns.

The two jack men dropped their jacks down to the ground and my car’s tires were now back on solid asphalt.

The lollypop man lifted the lollypop up. I floored the throttle, doing a small burnout to gain some precious heat in my cold tires.

Four fresh tires, a full load of fuel and an adjustment on my car’s front wing to increase the down force took all but eight and a half seconds.

“Good job guys, Jet, you were approximately 14 millimeters off of your mark in the pit box, so let’s run it again to try and fix that.”

“14 millimeters, that’s like, what? Half an inch away from where I was suppose to be? Are you sure I need to do it again?” I asked, now depressing the speed limiter as I pulled out back onto the course.

“Yes Jet, we need you to get it right.”

Get it right? Half an inch off is better than three feet and a dead pit worker.

My second stop ha me 11 millimeters off of perfect. The next was four millimeters. Then two. I eventually was down to half a millimeter, and that was after sixteen stops. Finally, on my 32nd stop, I hit the mark of perfect.

“Perfect!” Rin yelled. I felt relief wash over me. I was exhausted from both the g-forces I experienced on the course and the constant pressure to get it right the first time for the 31st time.

“Now do it again!” he cried out.

To hell with practice makes perfect.