The ribbon of asphalt snaked through the softly undulating Northern California foothills, the black surface slightly incongruous against the greening landscape. Race tracks tend to be off the beaten path, situated well beyond urban sprawl, and this one was no exception. A cluster of race cars snarled up the straight and into the sweepingTurn-1. At the wheel were would-be race drivers, women and men, laboring diligently to receive their instructors' approval and the signature on the coveted permit that would allow them to hone their racecraft in the cut-and-thrust world of amateur road racing.
The sun was setting and the last student drivers' group of the day filed off the track, heading for their trailers and then dinner in town. It had been a good school so far, and, as an instructor, Chris was pleased with his students' progress. As he drove into the paddock area he raised his dirt-streaked visor and squinted into the setting sun. The open-wheel racecar burbled smoothly as he searched for his trailer among the rows of nearly-identical rigs. Spotting his, he swung his powerful formula car under the tent next to his trailer and stopped. Reaching forward he shut off the fuel pump switch, waited a few seconds for the carburetor to empty and clicked off the ignition. Silence enveloped him. He leaned his helmet back against the padded headrest and sighed deeply. Slowly, he removed his gloves and laid them atop the edge of the cockpit. Twisting the quick-release buckle released his seatbelts. The buckles clattered against the cockpit sides as they slid free.
Leaning forward, he passed his hands through the steering wheel and slid back the latch. Pulling the wheel off, he flipped it over and laid it on the cowl, making sure not to pull the radio wires loose. With a deep sigh, he grabbed the cockpit sides and lifted himself into a standing position. He swung his left leg out, shifted his weight, and placed his foot on the ground The right leg followed in a "Formula Car Exit Move" that is not exactly poetry and he stood up, his right hand on the roll bar.
The sun was at the horizon, now, and the racetrack paddock was bathed in that late-winter light that is a photographer's dream. As the shadows lengthened, the temperature dropped rapidly. He stood up straight....... like a cat, he stretched..... unkinking his back. Single seat racecars really beat you up. Reaching up under his throat, he unbuckled his helmet. Removing it, and his fire resistant "head sock," he ran his hands through his sweat-dampened hair. His fingers glistened with the sweat and he wiped them dry on his suit. Placing his driving gear on the folding table next to his trailer, he drank deeply from the water bottle he kept just inside the trailer door. "Another day of driving school in the books," he thought. "One more and I'm outta here."
He became aware that he was not alone. A figure stood quietly under the tent, silhouetted against the darkening sky, staring intently at him.
"You looked good out there," said a quiet voice, "Are you an instructor?"
It was a woman's voice, and it was housed in a woman's body. He could see her outline in the deepening gloom. She stood at a respectful distance, her hands thrust deep in the pockets of her jacket, her collar raised against the chill evening wind.
"That's me," he replied, "just taking my little ducklings around the track at two-thirds my normal speed, trying to stay interested. I am not sure that spending all that time on the track at slow speeds is doing my skills any good at all. But, if I send my students out prepared to race safely, I can be sure they won't crash ME in their first race." He laughed heartily at his rapier-like wit.
"I always wanted to drive a racecar," she mused, "but I could never get the funding together. I think I'd be good, I'm not afraid of speed or horsepower."
He turned to face her and fixed her with an appraising gaze. She was quite pretty, perhaps 5' 5", well built, a strong, lithe body. She must have been in her late thirties, with striking blue eyes, blonde hair and a dazzling smile, visible even in the failing light.
He turned and stepped through the side-door into the trailer, returning with a bundle in his arms.
"Would you mind helping me with this car-cover?" He asked, "it goes much quicker with two people."
"No problem," she replied quickly, and stepped over to where he stood.
He set the rolled-up cover on the wing and wrapped the cover around it; she took the remainder and rolled it down the length of the racecar, slipping the elastic border around the front wings. An errant wind gust threatened to send the cover for a flight and she quickly secured the strap that went under the car.
"Thanks, I appreciate the help," he said, "nice meeting you."
He strode to the trailer, closed the side-door and gathered his helmet and gear. Turning, he walked a couple of paces toward his motor home. He stopped and looked over his shoulder..... She was walking away, hands in her jacket pockets. The sun had fully set now, and a fading pink glow lit up the rolling hills and the Western horizon.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" He called to her.
She stopped, but didn't turn around, as if she were thinking, then she walked slowly back toward him. "If it's no trouble, I'd love one. It's getting really cold."
He opened the motorhome door, and ushered her inside. She sat down at the dinette as he closed the door. The central heating had been on and it was cozy inside. He walked to the back of the motor home and dumped his gear on the bed. Returning to the front he found her struggling out of her down jacket. She smiled and extended her arm to him, and he grabbed the cuff of her sleeve and helped her slide her arm out. He tossed the jacket onto the passenger's seat, and pulled the coffee pot from a cupboard over the sink.
"If it's all the same to you, I'll have a drink," she smiled, "That is, if you have something."
"Got just what we need here," he said. "Do you like Gin?"
"Only with tonic and a splash of lemon," she replied.
"Can do. Coming up." He had some Bombay Sapphire set aside for just such occasions. Pouring two G and T's, he set the glasses on the table in front of her. She looked up and smiled. A great smile, he thought. He slid into the facing seat and pushed her drink across the table to her. In spite of the cold weather she was wearing a low-cut tank top, a black lace bra made a demure appearance, her cleavage and smooth skin fetchingly displayed. She took a slow sip and smiled at him, licking the drops of her drink from her lips. "Nice lips," he thought. He put his elbows on the table, cradled his chin in his hands and looked at her. She began to blush.
"What are you looking at?"
His green eyes twinkled and he laughed. "Just thinking that it's a cold windy night, and it's nice to have company. Are you here for the weekend?"
