Thirty-one seconds dead. Not even close.
I look up from the timing screen with a smile nopony can see, just in time to see Caramel glide back into the paddock. Engine dying, its aura dimming, Caramel’s blue helmet bobbing gently in the cockpit as he rolls to a halt. He hauls himself out of the car and wanders over to the snack bar for his usual ton of hay fries. He doesn’t look over, doesn’t wave at anypony, doesn’t take notice of anything that isn’t right in front of his muzzle. That’s his problem right there. Maybe one day he’ll learn.
Applejack’s next to run. She’s pretty tough, I’ll give her that, but this really isn’t her scene. She’d make a great manager with that stubborn refusal to quit. Trouble is, that’s also the part of her that just won’t let go of her dream to make it out here on the hills. And she’s never gonna do it. Put her in a Le Mare car and she could be a champ, but she doesn’t care for “the hifalutin’ stuff”. So she’ll only race on home turf. And? No chance. Sure and steady ain’t what’s called for right now.
I watch the clock idly. The split time appears and I allow myself a little “told you” grin.
I let my attention wander. Those hayburgers sure smell good; I just hope there are some left by the time we’re done with this. Flowers just don’t fill you up enough, especially when they taste of grit and oil and broken dreams. I look the other way and catch Soarin’s eye. We exchange grins – he can’t see mine under the helmet, but he knows me well enough that he can tell from my eyes. He gives me a wink, then he’s off to sign a few autographs.
The tannoy barks and I snap back to attention. Squirt’s up! She’s never qualified for a run-off before. Okay, not surprising since she wasn’t old enough to compete until this year. Her car’s pretty gosh-darn good, though it does have an awesome mechanic, even if I do say so myself. The engine note rises and... ouch. I wince; that’s gonna be a hard lesson in how to ride the clutch. Oh Scoot... she won’t be fun for a while down at the after-party. Back wheels just a half-inch over the line, but that’s all it takes. She’ll learn.
I shake my head to clear it, but it hurts. Not in my head. In here.
Still. Now it’s Twilight’s turn. I think Princess Celestia was a little... well... peeved about her going racing, but hey. That mare drives like she runs – with her head. You can pace yourself like that in the Running of the Leaves, but out here on the short hills? Not gonna cut it, Twi. She’s just like AJ – sounds weird, huh? Right now, though, it’s the truth. I can only see the first couple of bends, but it’s all I need to see. Like always, she takes the line the books say. Like always, she’s safe and precise. Like always, she’s pretty good. But – like always – pretty good just isn’t good enough. A low-points finish. Like always.
The line of cars inches forward and I move along with them. Again, I zone out for a little bit. Ponies say real racers never do that – but the ones that say that haven’t been sitting where I am right now. I look up at Shiresley Hill, plump and green, a few bristly pines and a whitewashed fence marking the path that runs up beside the track. A mere thousand yards. Such a harmless little knoll, really. Say the ones that haven’t been here. Pegasi are the worst, let’s be honest. We all think racing in two dimensions must be way easier than doing it in three. Foal’s play, you know? Say the ones—yeah, I guess you know the rest now.
By the time I shake my head and blink the thought from my eyes, Lyra’s already at the top. Normally she shares with Bon-Bon, but Bonnie’s not been too well today so she’s on her own. Lyra’s a little excitable, her car jumping and prancing across the road as she throws it around the bends. Half the time it ends in tears, but when she gets away with it, she puts up some good times. And then she—yeah, like that. Whoa, that's more than just good. You don’t get too many sub-25s around here. Finally, something worth aiming for. My smile kicks up a notch.
Even Lyra’s not as excitable as Octavia, who goes up next. She hardly even spins her tyres before she drops the clutch and launches the car from the line in a cloud of smoke and a shower of sparks. Amazing what a place like this can do to a pony, huh? I guess no-one’s too surprised when Tavi’s run ends early with the car wedged sideways, stuck between the grassy banks that fringe our narrow strip of asphalt. I don’t even want to know the words she’ll be using in there – but hey, a pony who can curse is a pony who’ll be back.
I think I’m gonna try telling Twilight she needs to curse more. She’d probably try it if I pestered her enough. Not sure “shoot” really counts though.
Ponies who don’t know racing think the worst thing about crashes is the noise. Nuh-uh. Noise is fine. Noise happens all the time in this game. What creeps us out is the quiet that comes right after. When everything goes still and silent, the air gets heavy like treacle, and just for a split-second you wonder whether that’s how the world’s always gonna be from now on. Then a hoof waves out the cockpit, there’s stomping applause and you’re back in Sportsville. “Racing can be dangerous,” it says on the tickets. Most times everypony’s fine. Most times...
...I need a break. Can’t take one now, though. I just screw up my eyes a few times and shake my head a bit. Need to get the sand outta my brain.
Tavi’s okay – still mouthing off ten to the dozen – but that car's gonna take some shifting. Looks like it could be a while, so maybe I do have a bit of time after all. I glance over to the Clerk of the Course, waiting for his nod and his “Eeyup”. Then I haul my rump out of the car and trot over to the juice stand for a bit, signing a few autographs of my own – heh, Soarin’s here again – and shooting the breeze with the fans. Gotta be good to the ponies who’ve been good to you, you know? Eventually the whistles blow and the red flags come in and it’s time to get back in my zone.
Rarity’s a strange one. Elegant, sophisticated, all that jazz? Heh, not out here. Remember that swan wings trick she pulled in the Derby? Wouldn’t work in a climb, sure, but she’d play like that right here on the hills if she thought she could get away with it. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised what a tough cookie Rarity is when the going gets hot, though. I saw in Manehattan what the fashion biz is like at the sharp end. Her cars always look amazing – but maybe she’d be better off entering the concours instead. You don’t get across that line quickest, you win nothing.
Not a bad time in the end, though: she’s sitting third right now. Sitting pretty, she’d say.
Heh, here we go. I said Rarity was strange, so Celestia knows what that makes Pinkie. Look at her. Just look. Her line’s completely off! Braking way too soon then taking the tighter corners at an insane pace – and waving to the crowd the whole time. I mean, how? She’s told me a few times that she doesn’t use Pinkie Sense out there. Says it’s “no use”. I have absolutely no idea what she does use; the only time I asked, I didn’t understand a single word of what she said. So I went around to Twilight’s place and asked her. She didn’t understand it either, so...
Oh yeah. Fluttershy there is the finest driver in Equestria, and that’s me saying that. Not the fastest, not the most committed, not the strongest – but the finest? You’d better believe it. I guess part of it’s ‘cause she’s a pegasus, so the aero knowledge is kind of built-in – and she's a mare who’s used to the ground. Most of us pegasi, not so much. Being stuck down here, strapped into this metal cocoon, it feels all weird and wrong to me. Not to her. Fluttershy understands the feel of the earth the way I just don’t – can’t. It’d be a killer combination – for a pony with a killer instinct.
Anyway, you know last year, when that hock injury knocked me for a loop? Couldn’t drive, couldn’t stay away. The hills do that to a pony. I went to see Derpy in the main office, did the induction and signed up as a track marshal on the high station. Every racer should do that at least once: without those guys, we wouldn’t be here today. Without those guys, I wouldn’t be here today... but I’ll tell that story another time. You also get an awesome view from up there, and Fluttershy was on it that day.
With most ponies, it’s straight-bend-straight-bend, all the way up the hill. Point and squirt, yeah? Heh, Scoot hates that phrase. That’s why I like it. The better ones, the best ones, the ones like me, we smooth it out way more. But ‘Shy? Just liquid. She didn’t drive up the course – she flowed up it, like... like wine. You know what she said to me afterwards? “Oh, I’m sure you would have done much better than me, Dashie.” Yeah... no. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’d have been faster, crossed the line sooner, but so what? What I saw from the sky that day was... I’ll never drive like that.
Flutters isn't on it today, though; can’t even beat Caramel’s time. No points at all. She won’t mind. And that’s why she’ll never be a champion.
Except mine.
Oh nimbus, here's Princess Luna. Of all the sports a pony her size shouldn't be doing, hillclimbing is right up there. Her car's just way too big; she can barely get it round some of the tighter corners. At Girthston one time she actually used her wings to pull her round the hairpin. There was a whole lot of arguing about that one. I guess when you're an alicorn princess, you're used to doing stuff your way. Luna, anyway. Not so much with Twi; she sticks to the rules, though she's lucky she's a little smaller. And... yep, Luna's another one slower even than Caramel. I can hear her voice from down here. Guess I'll steer clear for a while.
Oh, fantastic. I knew the good times couldn’t last: here’s Lightning Dust. Legal car my blue flank, but there's nothing I can do about that right now. I turn away again and watch a couple of foals tumbling and chasing each other along the grassy paths. Sure, they're not watching us race, but kids are smart. They know what's going on here; they're picking up the sound and the smell and the sight. Maybe one day they'll be back here, but on my side of the fence. Doing what I do. Being awesome.
There's a sigh from the crowd as the clock clicks to a halt. I don't even look. I just smile.
And now? Right now it’s my time. Another smile, but this one’s different. This one’s mine. I add in a little wink for Scoot, who’s standing by the fence now, cheering me on. She’s a tough filly.
I get the car up to the pre-start line and wait for the marshals’ say-so. I spin the tyres for a moment to warm them up – always three times, just a little superstition of mine. Every driver has ‘em, even if they won’t admit it. I give the crowd something to get them going with a rush of tyre smoke on the last spin. Then the visor goes down and the noise fades away and it’s all about me.
Me and the hill.
Green light. Any... moment... now!
The first part of the course is just instinct. The acceleration these babies have, you don’t get time to stop and think before you’re blurring the world. Up to the kink, trying to flow through it the way Flutters can. She’s poetry, I’m prose, but it works out. Hard on the brakes for the tight left-right. Not too hard: it’s steep here and you can scrub off way too much at once. Lose it here and you’re done. Between the high dirt banks, over the off-camber and all at once the world opens out. Head down, hammer down, through the line, slam the brakes again.
Whoa. That felt good. My smile kicks up a notch as my eyes search out the clock. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was a hill rec—
Horseapples.
Third of a second off the record. Not even good enough to win! I’m second, a tenth behind Lyra. Can’t work that one out, but hey, that’s racing for you. I’ll talk it over with Squirt later, see if she spotted anything. Maybe it’ll cheer her up a little if I ask her advice for once.
I manufacture yet another smile and go congratulate Lyra. She’s talking with Minuette as well as Bonny, who’s smiling too but still looks a bit green. With that pair around, it takes me a while to get a word in edgeways. Still, I wait it out. Lyra deserves that. The win’s probably gonna be a one-off – she’ll overdo it and end up in the gravel next time out – but you know, I like Lyra. She’s a cool mare, and I’m happy for her.
I remember to pick up that hayburger. It is good. Maybe the day hasn’t been so bad. You know when ponies say that “Second place is just first loser”? Sure it is – but first loser is way better than last loser.
And things get even better just as I’m gearing up to fly home. As I turn away from Lyra’s little group, Dust stomps past, grouching and grumbling at the air. She slips heavily on the grass and falls right back on her rump, spraying mud everywhere.
I hold myself back from trotting across to laugh in her face.
Just.
Author's Note
Here's the real-life Shelsley Walsh; it's just a few miles from me, and I've attended events there many times. From the top, the numbers are elapsed time, engine revs and speed in mph.
