© 2006 Steve Lyzenga

"Green, white , checkers, Honey. Two laps and one mile and you’re a champion!" came the voice with the drawl across Wendy Stokes’ two way radio. The caution had just come out for yet another wreck on the high banked half mile oval, and the smell of tire smoke and exhaust fumes filled the stagnant and humid air. With less than three laps to go, the series rule was that these trucks would race to the finish. Never finish under yellow. That’s the rule.

Wendy had entered the truck series two seasons ago when no one took it as serious racing. That made it cheap to get into. Wendy and Todd Korgel, her crew chief and head mechanic since her late model days, sold it all and ran an unsponsored team in the truck series with the remnants of a defunct first year team that auctioned its equipment off at Ebay. For $250,000, they went racing with the up and coming stars of NASCAR.

The first two seasons had been rough on and off the track. This year was different. It all was coming together for Wendy with a season featuring seven wins, four top fives, and thirteen top tens. With two laps to go in the season finale, and four points separating her and points leader Jack Stakowski, this was her big chance. This was the season finale with no tomorrows left. Thunder Valley was the most popular track with both the drivers and the fans. Its high banks and narrow lanes made it a racer’s track where pure horsepower didn’t rule over all.

Through her windshield, Wendy could see the rear of the green and blue #27 Ford of Stakowski as they ran around Bristol Motor Speedway under caution. The sponsorship of the Southern Christian Conference was tattooed on the tailgate. Stakowski’s clean cut California boy good looks and on camera God fearing persona betrayed who he was behind the wheel. Jack was universally hated by those who raced against him as his was a race with his bumper style, hence the nickname, Bumper Jack.

Jack’s truck was part of a multi truck team and awash in sponsor’s logos, a stark contrast to the black and hot pink Dodge that Wendy drove. The only stickers on her truck were that of Teddy Bear Child Care, a Florida based small chain of daycare centers. They had come on board in a small way with eight races remaining in the 27 race schedule. They provided some funding as well as some child friendly logos for the #7.

Wendy’s team was at the front all year, a popular sight to the fans. As the trucks came by the start/finish line, the fans came to their feet with cheers and pink handkerchiefs a waving. Wendy and her team had become the darlings of the series in the light of their unexpected competitiveness. That, and the fact that Wendy wasn’t hard on the eyes once you got her out of the fire suit that matched the paint on the truck. She was confident in her looks, and wasn’t shy about putting it out there. The camera loved her as did her fans.

"OK, listen up Wendy," came Todd’s voice again. "Jack been loose in one all day, so you can pass him on the bottom on the restart no problem. How’s the truck in four?"

"Still climbing up the track there," Wendy replied. "I can’t keep it on the bottom."

"That’s OK Honey, ‘cause we’re a ton faster on the backstretch than the 27, so open up as big a lead as you can. Don’t want this asshole on your bumper in four. He’ll turn you around, we know that. Let’s win this thing! We don’t want another Dover. Going green this time by..."

Wendy didn’t respond as she thought back to Dover. Stakowski had put her hard into the wall late in that race a month back, a wreck that kept her out of the truck for a week with head injuries. She tried hard to put that memory out of her head.

After a pregnant pause, Wendy keyed up her mic. "Should I let him go in one and finish him in two?

"What? What are you talking about? Todd chirped back.

"Never mind! Nothin’. Never mind." Wendy weaved her truck back and forth at caution speed to scrub the build up off the tires and keep the heat in them. Grip would be very important as the track temperature was 120 degrees at the racing surface. She could see the waves of heat billowing off the track in front of her truck. She thought about how easy this could be. Let Bumper Jack have the lead in Turn one, creep up on his rear in two and show him the wall. That was the route to the championship she figured. Wendy had been crashed out of two races already this year, and could not help but wonder what these last few laps would bring as she dueled with Jack yet again. The two DNFs, a failure to finish, Wendy suffered this season were at the hands of Stakowski. He had also taken team manager and relief driver Melissa Stokes, Wendy’s kid sister, out of a race when Melissa subbed for Wendy while she was injured.

The emotion of vengence raced through her body. She had Stakowski right where she wanted him, and knew right where she wanted to put him as she eyed the Turn two wall. The green flag fell.

The trucks roared to life, and as anticipated, the 27 slid up the track in one. Wendy stuck the nose of her Dodge under Jack’s Ford. She started to pass him, then feathered the gas to allow him to catch up between one and two. She rolled up the banking and gave him a door to door shot. Both trucks broke loose as the tires rubbed sending a plume of blue smoke to the rest of the field that trailed them. Simultaneously, they both gathered up control of their trucks and raced through two. Wendy put her foot down to a two length lead down the backstretch. 

Hard on the brakes in three, she gave back all but a half a truck length to Stakowski as he made a charge to the high side. Wheel to wheel in four, and back to the flagstand, they bumped hard door to door as the white flag waved One lap to go. Back into one, Wendy outran the 27 as she had all day. Neither truck had a straight fender left on it from the frontstretch battles. Wendy powered out of two with another two length lead.

Hard into three, Stakowski reeled her in as she slowed her truck to protect the bottom of the track where the preferred racing line was all day. Entering four, Wendy felt a hard shot on her right rear. Jack was being Jack, she figured, and she collected the truck and held her line through four into the frontstretch, maintaining the lead as the checkered flag was in sight.

Nose to tail they came down for the dash for it all, the race, and the championship. Stakowski got on her right rear again, this time without the same aggression. He parked his bumper on her loose corner and started to push her. She couldn’t hold it this time as the back of her truck started around. Now, completely sideways and hard on the brakes, she tried to countersteer her way back into contention. She was able to keep it on the track, now sliding sideways down the frontstretch with Jack’s bumper parked in her door. The #7 slid up the track as it broke free, backing hard into the turn one wall, and the #27 darted down underneath her.

"You okay, you okay?" came Todd’s voice over the radio. Silence as he looked out from his perch on the pit box. He was worried. She could ill afford a hit like that. Finally, Wendy keyed her mic.

"Yeah...I’m okay. That bastard did it again!"

"Yes he did...champ! After you crossed the line in front him! We beat that sunofbitch!"

What was left of the #7 was pinned up against the turn one wall, yet it was still a championship truck. Wendy dropped her window net down and unbuckled her helmet. She refused to be towed to Victory Lane, so the celebration would come to her, she would see to that. As the remaining trucks came by on the cool down lap, she got out of her truck and looked hard for the 27. She removed her helmet, and the waist length shock of thick auburn hair fell out to the cheers of the crowd. She spotted the 27 and waved him over. Jack made the trip up the banking to Wendy’s position as she reached back into the wreckage of her truck and produced a bottle of champagne. Jack came to a stop. Wendy took up a position right in front of his truck. The in car camera provided by ESPN would broadcast the scene about to unfold to a nationwide audience.

Much to Jack’s delight, he watched from the cockpit as Wendy began to remove her firesuit. Jack had never seen anything like this in sixteen years of racing. Under her suit she was wearing a very brief bikini. The colors matched her truck as the top was hot pink with black 7s across both cups. The bottom was hot pink with black piping. She smiled coyly at him as she opened the bottle and began to pour it over her supple body. The champagne cascaded over her shoulders and full cleavage as she relished the moment of victory. The liquid glistened off her body in the hot Tennessee afternoon sun. She turned to give him the rear view where he saw the word "Champ" embroidered on the bikini’s bottom. Apparently, Wendy knew she had the right stuff in more ways than one. The crowd was stunned, yet they reacted with wild applause and cheers.

Wendy took a sip off the bottle and set it back down on the racing surface, still smiling at Jack. She beckoned him to exit the truck and join her. Now pretty boy Jack wasn’t one to pass up a photo op. or any chance to grease the sponsors’ wheels. He hurried to exit the truck and take up a position next to the new champion as the press descended on the melee in turn one.

Wendy strutted back over to her truck and retrieved her helmet. In a blur of motion, she spun and threw her headgear at the 27 truck, shattering the windshield. Before Stackowski could protest, in a move that was half Judo and half barroom hip toss, Wendy pitched Jack ass-over-teakettle to land flat on his back, to the roaring delight of the crowd. She put a foot in his chest, and a finger in his face. "That’s absolutely the last time you wreck my truck! LAST TIME!!" she said with undeniable conviction. " I could have beat you YOUR way you son of a bitch! But I chose not to. I just plain out raced your sorry ass!"

With that exchange, broadcast track wide on the Jumbotron as well as coast to coast, all members of the 7 and 27 teams were over the pit wall heading for turn one, ready to do a different kind of battle on the track. As Wendy let Jack up off the racing surface, he vehemently motioned his team back to the pits. His on camera personality had taken a bad shot already with the whole world watching. He sheepishly climbed back in his truck and slowly motored it back to the garage area.

Wendy jumped up on the bed of what was left of her truck, and acknowledged the cheers of the crowd. Her sleek and wet body still shone as a trophy in the afternoon sun. Todd pushed his way through the crowd and joined Wendy atop the truck. He lifted her up with a big bear hug followed by a peck on the cheek to the delight of the crowd. "We done good, Champ!" Todd shouted in her ear over the thunder of the crowd. "You done good, Wendy!"

With that, Melissa, and the balance of the #7 Stokes-Korgel Motorsports race team swarmed up to Wendy and Todd on the bed of the truck, and the celebration began.

Steve has worn many hats, many of which have been industrial hats, but the ability and the want to entertain with the written word remains his true passionate discipline. He's never met a creative process he didn't like.