"Me? No. But that number-four turn is a pistol. Well, see you." He turned to Woody. "Good luck," he said.
"Who is he?" Woody asked when the other had gone.
"He races a lot," said Rocky. "He's a first-class driver. If you can keep him in sight, you're doing good. But he likes to go around before the race and find out what kind of competition he's up against. And if he finds a new driver he tries to throw a scare into him. He's only joking, of course, but some of the boys don't like it."
"What kind of a bend is that number four?" asked Woody.
"Oh, it's not really bad," Rocky replied. "Where is that map of the course? Here it is. Look, there's a long run out, about a quarter of a mile, then a full hairpin bend back again. That's number four. The only trouble about it is that it's narrow and it's flat. No camber on it to help you get around. The thing to do is to change down at the hundred-yard mark to second and then gun her around. If you do it right, you can drift around the bend. But if you take it too wide, you'll hit the hay bales on the far side.
"Remember this. If you do leave the track, don't get back into the race until a flagman gives you a high ball. And if you spin out and your engine quits, hold both your hands up over your head as a signal to the other drivers to miss you—that is if they can.
"Tell you what. I know this track pretty well. I've raced on it twice before. The track will be open for practice in a few minutes. Why don't you take the MG and get in five or six laps to familiarize yourself with the turns? It'll help a lot."
"Gee, thanks," said Woody. He climbed into the MG and settled behind the wheel.
"Fasten your safety belt and take this," said Rocky. She handed him a heavy white crash helmet. "Here," she said, "I'll fasten it for you." Her fingers, when they touched the side of his face to fasten the chin strap, seemed cool and comforting.
Woody gave a little wave of his hand, put the racing goggles from his helmet down over his eyes, and drove the MG from the pit to the starting area of the track. A flagman signaled him to stop, and five cars, all in a huddle, zipped past. Then came two more. The flagman waved his arm and Woody swept out onto the track. He revved the MG up, and she took off so fast that he could feel himself pressed back against the seat. There was an angry roar from behind and a Singer stormed past him. Woody started to move over to the left instinctively. In the same instant a Porsche Speedster swept by him on the left.