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Show Flying - 170 intention, flying along the narrow line of my destiny like a paper boat in a storm gutter. "Aren't you going a bit fast?" says John Henry. "No sweat," says Thompson. "In Toledo I used to drive the stock cars out at the Fort Miami Speedway. My old Hudson could hit ninety down the back stretch, and that's only a half mile track." He makes a crisp double-clutched downshift into third and swings into a dirt road, catches the slide as they hit the loose dirt with an expert twist of the wheel and a burst of throttle, lets the truck straighten itself out down the middle. "Short-cut," he says. "Wilberforce showed it to me on his map before we left. It'll cut twenty minutes off our time." O'Connell leans against the door and looks unconcerned. John Henry, sitting in the middle with nothing to hang on to, Jams his helmet down tight on his head and hopes Thompson knows his trade. It's a winding road and he's taking the corners Just like he did at Fort Miani, coming up on them wide, setting up his slide and cutting for the apex. Like a good shortstop rushing a ground ball, he turns on full power just before the half-way point in the corner and shifts back into fourth gear Just as they come out of it, using the full width of the road. |
