ECRL Round 3: Vanhoover - Qualifying
Concorde propelled himself out of turn nine, through the first right kink and up the slight hill the back straight went over.
He’d dedicated the first half of third practice trying to increase his top speed ahead of qualifying. His first and second sectors put him in the top eight, but his final sector was so slow he’d end up outside the top ten.
He’d spent much of the evening, after the first two practice sessions, re-watching both Rainbow Dash’s and Lightning Dust’s rear facing cameras to see what exactly they did to fly at such speed, comparing their footage to his own. So far as he could see, their downward wing beats were much more forceful then his on their faster laps, which wouldn’t be possible to do over a race distance but for a single qualifying lap may just work.
At the end of the straight, he spotted his slowing point and spread himself out to create as big of an air brake as possible, going from supersonic speed to near enough gliding pace in seconds. He didn’t throw himself at the last few corners as quickly as he normally would as he needed a quick breather.
“Speed?” He prompted Maffett as he flew through the last few corners.
“You’re about three miles an hour faster tops.”
“Seriously?! I really flipping pushed that time!”
“Never said you didn’t, but you’re not getting much faster.”
“What’s Dash doing that I’m not?”
“Dunno, but it’s not worth getting worked up about. Might be that she’s just stronger then you, how many times has she beaten you at hoof wrestling?”
“What makes you think I’d record that to memory?”
“You seem to remember every time I thrash you at Paragon Fighter, but that hardly matters. We’ll see if we can get you a tow through sector three in qualifying, which should help.”
Concorde sighed as he slowly flew through the lap, moving aside as Zip Line came past into turn four. His direction change was incredibly quick and he was maintaining even more speed than Concorde could through those corners. Perhaps he should start focusing on something other than that dreaded third sector.
***
Waiting for qualifying to begin after lunch was a nightmare to Concorde. The slow, relentless march of time wasn’t quick enough to intercept his massing nerves as the first moment of truth of the weekend approached.
He could rarely eat when he was nervous and, after the last race, he had to force himself to eat something. He needed all the energy he could get for the fastest lap he’d set that weekend, for what that would be worth.
It didn’t seem to matter how fast of an exit he got onto the back straights of the track, his top speed would quickly reach its plateau some distance before anyone else would, dragging him back down the order before he’d reach the last few corners where he could claw some time back.
He needed to relax and take his mind off the unavoidable predicament, so he got out of the chair and went to where he left his guitar.
Except, it wasn’t where he left it.
He stared at the empty space next to the huge tool box belonging to the Bridleham team they were sharing the stable with in a strange state of shock. Most ponies considered it a mere lump of well fashioned wood, but for him it was his last link to his deceased, sweary grandparents on his father’s side.
He actually felt angry it had been taken without his permission.
“This thing’s not tuned in the slightest.” He heard someone muse and he instantly turned to see the culprit; Bridleham’s young mechanic.
Concorde stormed over without taking a moment to think.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” He demanded, the young mechanic turning to face him and instantly looking terrified.
“Whoa, whoa, mate! Calm down!” He protested as Concorde snatched his guitar back.
“Don’t touch my guitar, alright?” Concorde said in the same demanding voice.
“Well, ok.” Was the response as Concorde turned away and went back to his chair.
As he got himself comfortable, Fleetfoot walked over with a clip board.
“Are you ok, Concorde?” She asked brightly.
“I’m fine, alright?!” Was Concorde’s almost instant, somewhat irate response. He’d rather not be bothered at a time like this.
“Don’t lie to yourself, you’re not.”
“Just-” He started, the annoyed comeback staling in his head at the fact she was right. “I need to calm down, leave me be.”
“Are you really that bothered about your speed?”
“Yes, I am. Haven’t you seen how much time I’m losing in the third sector?
“Yes, but you were among the top eight in the first two sectors, which is really impressive. The tools worked out that, come the race, you could make up for any lose in the third sector in the first two.”
“That’s only if I have a clear track.”
“Either way, you’re getting too worked up about one part of the track. You need to focus on what you’re good at and that’s cornering. I’ll leave this clipboard with your sector one and two times right here where you can see it.” Fleet finished before turning and leaving.
Concorde ignored it for a moment while he tuned the guitar back to where he liked it. Once satisfied, he had a look at the times and was taken aback for a moment.
His fastest first and second sector times put him fourth fastest at that point on the track. He’d never truly stopped practicing his speed flying during his time with the Red Hawks, but he didn’t expect to be anywhere near that competitive in the grand scheme of things. The fact his fastest third sector time dragged him all the way down the ninth still grated on him, but maybe he could do something with a ninth place starting position in the race.
***
Two hours later, qualifying for the race was building to its crescendo. Ten minutes of the session were left and Concorde was stood in the mouth of their stable with his gear on.
So far, qualifying had been frustrating. He’d had two five lap runs so far and something had disrupted him on what felt like his best laps of those runs. The wind was still gusting over the track and had ruined his entrance into turn eight on his first really good lap, while suddenly encountering a slowing Skyline over the crest of turn three and missing his slowing point disrupted the flow of the first and second sector during his second. This had left him only fifteenth on the provisional grid.
Concorde exhaled as he checked down the pit lane for any on coming flyers. Half the grid was already on track and with the final few minutes of the session everyone else would soon join them.
After waiting for Wildfire to glide past, Concorde took to the air and joined the queue behind her, straightening his goggles as he went.
“Dawn Wisp’s going to be on your right when you exit the pits on a fast lap.” Maffett warned him over the radio as he reached the end of the pit lane where the speed limit was lifted. As the barrier to the right of the pit exit road ended, Concorde glanced over and saw Dawn Wisp rocket past through turn two.
First things first, he needed to find some space to fly in, ideally far enough way so as not to be disturbed through sector one and two, but close enough to pick up a tow through sector three. Wildfire ahead of him wasn’t a good choice as while she was slightly faster than him in sector three, he was faster than her in the first two sectors and she’d likely just get in the way. As such he decided to nip past her, giving her plenty of room as she weaved to warm her wings up.
Once past and through turn five, he warmed himself up slightly on the short straight that connected sectors one and two. Dawn Wisp was long gone now while Wildfire was a few seconds behind him, so he had the track to himself for the time being.
As he approached the last few corners, he knew he wouldn’t have a tow for sector three this lap, but he should at least be able to move further up the grid if he could string together a cleaner lap.
“First lap’s clear. You'll have two more after.” Maffett informed Concorde, letting him know he shouldn’t encounter anyone as he rounded the last corner and powered down the start/finish straight, slowing as little as possible as he went over the small crest and down into turn one.
He hugged the inside of turn two all the way up the hill to turn three, where he slowed slightly and snap rolled left into it. Once past the corner, he levelled out and slowed slightly before snapping into the tight right and going back downhill. He beat his wings twice to gain momentum before gliding into turn five at the bottom of the hill before propelling himself through turn six and up the straight.
“Yellow flag, nine.” Maffett said over the radio, warning Concorde of a potential to slow down.
He made a mental note to look out for it as he slowed uphill slightly into turn seven. He focused his mind as he approached turn eight, the first apex being unsighted over the slight crest but after all his time in practice he knew exactly where it was.
He clipped the first apex perfectly with his wing, but his trajectory was slightly off and he narrowly missed the second apex. He was now in the wrong position for the third apex, too close to it to smoothly hit the fourth apex without readjusting himself, but he didn’t think he lost too much time as he headed down the straight to turn nine.
He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the yellow flag was being pulled in, indicating the corner was now safe, but he may encounter someone and, as he rounded turn ten, he saw that someone.
Lotus Stream was heading down the straight ahead of him well off the racing line, so he got in behind her for a tow before realising she wasn’t going full speed. Concorde paused for thought before swerving around her as they approached turn eleven, where he had to tilt in further to make the corner.
He reached turn twelve and pushed his slowing point as far as possible, stretching himself out to get down to speed before tilting in. After the high speed corners early in the lap, these three felt like they took an eternity as he rounded turns thirteen and fourteen and headed to the line.
“Personal best sector one.” Maffett informed him as he reached the line. “Up to thirteenth. Second lap’s clear.”
It was a start, he thought. Certainly better then fifteenth but he knew he could do better still.
He thundered into his next lap, taking a moment to glance at one of the big screens to see that there was only two minutes of qualifying left. He’d only have one more lap to use after this one, so long as he didn’t crash.
He finished the first sector in what seemed to be roughly the same time and prepared himself for turn eight. He tilted in slightly less this time, but immediately realised it wasn’t enough as he missed the first apex and readjusted himself to make sure he hit the rest of the apexes.
As he went down the back straight, he had enough time to glance at another big screen, seeing that he had enough time to do another lap and that it was focused on Ekstrom, his times being compared to Mercedes. Ekstrom had a purple mark next to his name to show he was fastest in the first sector and looked likely to be taking pole on that lap.
Concorde decided to effectively abandon the lap, slowing earlier for turn twelve and taking wider line into turn fourteen to give himself as much of a run up onto the start/finish straight as he could.
“No improvement.” Maffett informed him. “Last lap. Traffic.”
He’d encounter one or more racers this lap, either slowing down or on their own last attempts. He had to be pixel perfect as he went down the small hill and into turn one.
He propelled himself as hard as he could through the corner, opting to beat his wings earlier than usual to find more drive up the hill as one of the other slowing flyers got out of his way.
He exhaled slightly as he approached turn three, not snap rolling into it quite as fast as he did previously and allowing himself to roll with the corners, propelling himself whenever he felt comfortable. Coming through turn five and six, he wasn’t sure if he was going to scrape the ground, but put the idea out of his mind as he prepared for turn seven, exiting it smoothly and heading for turn eight.
As he came over the crest of the hill, he tilted in at an angle that was between the two he’d tried on the previous two laps, knowing instinctively it was right.
Apex one, perfect.
Apex two, tilt in tighter.
Apex three, open up the angle
Apex four, fire forwards.
That had been his best run through turn eight; he just knew it as he straightened up in the run towards turn nine. Ahead, he could see someone slowing down for the next turn and he knew they were going to be the closest thing he’d get to tow in the final sector.
He didn’t care who it was as he slowed, pushing his slowing point a few inches further and throwing himself into turn nine before powering up the hill, around the small turn ten and onto the back straight.
He could feel the slight change in the air density ahead coming from the slipstream of the flyer he pursued. He wasn’t gaining on them, but the slight reduction in wind shear was enabling him to at least keep pace.
He also knew it would affect his slowing by giving him less air to work with, but even then Concorde opted to push his slowing point as late as he dared, throwing his wings and legs out as far as he could to slow as quickly as he could.
Slight nausea from the extreme g-forces passed almost immediately as he focused on the apex of turn twelve to the left, hugging the left side of the track so he could have the best run he could into turn thirteen before finally firing himself out of turn fourteen and over the finish line.
After passing the waving chequered flag, he swerved to the left to avoid flying into the flyer he’d just followed, realizing it was Quicksilver as he went by.
“How was that?” Concorde hurriedly asked Maffett over the radio, his focus instantly breaking as qualifying had officially ended. He look up at the big screen as he went past, not seeing much besides the fact it was focusing on Power Drive.
“Ninth at the moment, but Power Drive’s on a quick lap.” She replied, pausing a moment before continuing, though the screen revealed the truth first. “Make that Tenth.”
Concorde sighed in a mixture of relief and slight disappointment, not quite noticing Power Drive fly past him. He’d thrown everything he had into that lap and come away with a better result than he was worried he would get after practice.
“By the way, you got the fastest first sector.” Maffett added, snapping Concorde out of his relieved mind set into a state of actual shock.
“You what?” He asked after a few moments.
“You were fastest in the first sector by point zero one of a second. You dropped to fourth in sector two then down again in sector three, but it’s not something to sniff at.”
He was stunned by that nugget of information, after being about a third of a second down on the fastest through that sector all through practice. He wasn’t entirely sure where he found the time and he couldn’t really help but grin broadly at the thought.
Of course, that was all prelude and completely unimportant. Tomorrow was the important day and he’d have to make the most out of his starting position.
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