I floored the pedal as I figured this is how you were supposed to become a powder puff queen like my sister was already. Must have been a hole in the dirt road although I didn't have the muscle in my arms to keep the wheel straight at that speed, that's what practice is about. I rolled the stockcar two times, round and round we went, so fast, yet in slow motion it seemed. We had rollbars installed for this purpose so I guess I figured I should make use of them unconsciously, either that, or it was true, I wasn't cut out for stockcar racing. We landed on our side with me on the bottom next to the dirt. My coach, some guy from the men's racing group who's car it belonged to, was in my lap.
This was really fun! After awhile I thought to ask him to get off me. We shared a moment of being glad we were not injured. We also shared a dare-devil mentality which makes you high and not high from drugs, but high on your own dare-devil attitude; or was I fooling myself that he enjoyed being on top of me as a purely physical polarity thing exchange minus the actual sexual act? Ha! Could be, as seemed to be a lot going on right at the high excitement moment where we wondered if we would survive. He crawled out the window and I followed. Did I do good? I asked. I thought I did.
There was so much power under the hood of these souped up stockcars for a 16 yr.old. I would have been good at racing if the wheel would only turn when I wanted it to. I was lacking arm muscle but not attitude.
My first race I was careful as I didn't want to roll it again. I came in next to last. My car and the gal who was even more careful than me were laughed at. We were only entertainers apparently.
My sister gave me a dirty look afterwards. You can do better she said. Her husband reinforced my feelings of failure to be as good as sis. I hated looking at his smug face. He never got out there and raced himself so what did he know? Still, I was the entertainment so he'd have to get used to me.
The 2nd race I was all set to at the least come in 2nd or 3rd. Coming around the warm up corner she wouldn't let me steer her again. I still didn't have enough muscle. Dam. Maybe I'd floored it in the wrong place. How could I do that again? I floored her into the wire fence and got stuck. I backed up, taking the fence with me. My face was beet red. This coupe was as difficult to steer as the last one; they were all the same...built for the men's strong arms to handle. Couldn't they see I was trying? This sucked.
Suddenly Ascot stadium filled with hundreds, maybe thousands of folks burst into laughter. Not a few gave me a standing ovation. They cheered as they became entertained once more by one of their women Sunday drivers looking for the glory. My chest puffed out like my head. I liked the sound of the laughter. I became hooked on the stage, turning my embarrassment into something positive. I wouldn't be a powder puff queen like my sis with the serious face.
I was gonna make people laugh and I was ok with that.
