For the next two minutes it seemed to Woody everything around became very quiet. The row of cars on the opposite side of the track looked as grim as gladiators about to enter an arena. Woody eyed the Black Tiger, and in that moment he hated her. She seemed both impersonal and cruel to him. A cricket started a shrill chirruping in the grass behind him, and he experienced a sudden flush of irritation at the sound. The sun beat down bright and merciless on the asphalt before him. The starter stood talking to two other men. He seemed cheerful and untroubled, and Woody conceived an enormous dislike of him. Why didn't he just drop his flag and get it over with? Why stand around there chewing the fat when everybody was sitting with his nerves on edge?
The loud-speaker blared suddenly. "One minute to go," the announcer said. "I'll count out the seconds. Fifty-five. Fifty. Forty-five...."
It's coming now, Woody said to himself. Just a few seconds more. He felt suddenly panicky, as if he were paralyzed and wouldn't be able to run to his car. Kurt Kreuger was still shredding a cigarette.
"Twenty-five. Twenty. Fifteen," said the announcer. Suddenly it was time. The big green flag in the starter's hand came down, and Woody found himself sprinting on wobbly knees over to the Black Tiger. He was hardly in the seat before a Jag beside him started with a roar and shot off down the track. He saw Tom Wisdom and Kurt Kreuger take off while he was still fumbling with his safety belt. Two more cars roared by, and at last he got the belt fastened. He switched on the ignition, pressed the starter button, let out the clutch, and roared away himself. His hands and arms were trembling violently. He wanted to be sick, and he could hardly see. He denounced himself as a fool for having ever got into the race. But there was no getting out of it now. He couldn't call into the pits. He couldn't get out of the car. He had to go on.
The first lap Woody did in a kind of nightmare. Turns appeared unexpectedly before him, and he took them, fighting down a rising panic. Cars roared by, sometimes on one side and sometimes on the other, and he let them go. His only concern was to get around as many times as was necessary and then get out of the Black Tiger and leave it and never see it again.
Actually, in the first lap, he lost only two places. In the starting line-up he had been sixth. At the end of the first lap, he was eighth. He caught a glimpse of Worm as he passed by the start-finish line after the first lap. Worm was holding up a blackboard with the figure 8 upon it. Woody was surprised. He had been sure more cars than that were ahead of him. The news served to steady him a little. He pushed down on the accelerator and concentrated on a Mercedes ahead. It was green and had a big twelve on the back. He could scarcely see the top of the driver's helmet, and he did not know who he was. But he decided he would try to pass.
The distance between the two cars diminished slightly. Woody pressed the accelerator down farther. The Black Tiger's note changed to a piercing scream. Woody could feel the car pick up speed, and the Mercedes seemed to be drawn toward him. Then he saw the tail light flash red and knew the driver was braking for a corner. Woody touched his brakes also and in the same moment changed down.
Something inside of him said, "Now," and the voice sounded like Randy's. Woody stomped on the accelerator and pulled over to the right. He went by the Mercedes in a flash and found a sharp corner ahead. He braked again, changed down to second, and hit the accelerator once more. The rear end of the Black Tiger slewed around as he turned the steering wheel. But she straightened out like a champion and was off down the straightaway in a second. In his rear-vision mirror Woody caught a glimpse of the Mercedes he had just passed. It was gaining on him. Ahead was a sharp hill, and he could not remember what was beyond. He left the car in second and accelerated. The Black Tiger roared, breasted the top of the hill, and there ahead were three cars in a huddle, braking for what must be a sharp bend.
On either side of the track, perhaps ten feet from the shoulder, were pine trees, with barricades of hay bales among them. There was no room to get through the cars ahead, and the Mercedes was now pressing on his tail. Woody braked and skittered around the corner on the heels of the three cars. Then he saw, just for a second, a gap in them. It was about a foot wider than the Black Tiger. No more.
"Here goes," Woody said to himself and opened the throttle. The effect was as if a jet engine had been added to the Black Tiger's power plant. She literally leaped through the gap. There was a slight bump, and he knew that he had touched the rear fender of one of the cars. But other than that he got away clear. The Mercedes that had been challenging him was left in the melee of cars he had just passed.