• Tyler Ritchie

A Bond

The sweat seeps into my eyes. The safety belts force me to sink into the seat.

The wheel feels weighted In reality it’s only two pounds. My foot feels the pedal halt.

The engine seems silent but I know it’s screaming, it’s heat leaving a scorched mark on my elbow. The first corner appears as I rocket down the outside of the front stretch. I start to turn the wheel no more than 15 degrees left. I reach the middle of the corner. The left side of the kart skirts the yellow line on the inside of the track. The right rear riveted to the pavement. The left front seemingly floating as it’s put over the grass infield. The momentum of the kart threatens to throw me into the right side of the seat. I wash back up the width of the track as I exit the corner. Entering the back stretch I sit behind first place. Like a cheetah behind a gazelle. My front bumper aligned with his right rear. The kart yearns to dive underneath the gazelle, but it holds back. Understanding the need to stalk the gazelle's driving line. I learn the gazelle’s weak corner and as we enter I pounce. The gazelle fires into the corner. My wider entry launches me to the middle of the corner. I dive underneath first as he washes up the track, our tires rub as I pass. I end up half a car length in front as the checkered is waved.


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