ECRL: The Wonderhawks

by WildFire15

ECRL Round 3: Vanhoover - Build up

Concorde rewound the helmet footage of his fastest qualifying lap for the third time, right back to the beginning of the lap before opening a second recording, that of Ekstrom’s pole lap in order to run it side by side with his own.

By one hundredth of a second, a matter of centimetres, Concorde was the fastest of the fastest Pegasus’ in the world over a third of a lap. The exclamation marks from this revelation were still flashing in his head and drawing all his focus.

He had to know how he’d done it. It must have been some sort of fluke, possibly even a one off. He knew he was fast, but he never thought he’d be fast enough to best the best in the world as he hit the play buttons on both recordings.

From what he could see as he watched the footage through the first sector of the lap, Ekstrom had a slightly wider line that gave him more time to build up speed. Concorde hugged the inside of turn two and took a more direct route through turn three, four, five and six, leaving him ahead up the straight but the speed Ekstrom carried allowed him to catch up by turn seven.

Concorde paused both recordings and started to consider the details of his cornering in comparison, before something knocked him, causing him to stumble slightly to the side and bringing his focus back to the garage.

Lightning Dust and Spanner were arguing again, the former seemingly unhappy with the criticism she was given and being very animated in her displeasure, while Maffett and Fleetfoot looked on in amusement.

“You told me to fly as fast as I can through there.” Dust protested, pointing at her laptop which showed her flying through sector two.

“But you do need to slow down. If you keep flying that fast through corners, you’ll go wide and end up flying further then everyone else.” Spanner retorted.

“As much as I hate to agree with Dupont, he’s right.” Concorde injected, drawing an angry look from the former and an unimpressed look from the latter.

“Case in point;” Concorde continued, restarting the two recordings on his laptop. “Check my lap next to Ekstrom’s. He goes out a bit wider in turns one, two and three then I do and hits a late apex, giving himself more chance to build up speed. I take a slightly more direct approach to the corners, putting me in them for less time to make up for my-” Concorde paused, clearing his throat before continuing. “lack of speed.”

“How’s he on pole when he’s doing the same thing I am?”

“He’s doing similar, not the same. You’re pushing your slowing far later then you need to and you’re not slowing as much as you need to, putting you far wider than he is. His line helps him build more speed through sector two, hence why I’m losing out there.”

Dust pushed Concorde out of the way and looked at the footage.

“No need for that, lass.” Concorde remarked as Dust cancelled Concorde’s footage and replaced it with her own.

“Look here,” Concorde injected as the synchronised footage got to turn three. “You’ve slowed about two feet later then Ekstrom and only about seven eights as much. You then have to tilt in tighter for turns four, five and six to get through, scrubbing off lift and forcing you to spend more time flapping your wings to stay aloft then actually going forwards.

“As for turn eight, you do need to scrub off a little bit of speed before the first apex, while you just go in full beans and miss the first tw-”

“Just leave me alone, you stupid frog.” Dust cut in before he could finish, before turning and heading for the door.

There was a complete silence as her team watched her leave, interrupted by the tingle of tools from the kart team. Once she was gone, all heads turned to face Concorde.

In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how he should feel about being called a ‘frog’, but he couldn’t stop the corner of his lip from crawling upwards before he burst out laughing.

“Well, I’m not sure what I expecting.” Spanner mused before going back to what he was doing.

“Me neither.” Ratchett added.

“That’s actually the first time someone’s called me a frog.” Concorde managed after he’d stopped laughing.

“If I was going to call you anything, it’d probably be something to do with you being a Yorkshire pony.” Fleet shrugged.

“It’s a lazy insult, mind.”

“You’re more concerned about how imaginative the insult is, rather than the fact you were insulted?” Fleet queried.

“Have you really not listened to me and gari, over there?” Concorde asked, nodding his head towards an unamused Maffett.

“I try not to.”

“I get sick of listening to Percy Flankeney as well.” Maffett injected. Concorde chuckled after a quick moment to ponder her retort, though Fleet was left bemused.

“So you wouldn’t be bothered if Dust called you a ‘cheese eating surrender monkey’.” Fleet offered after a moment.

“By the insult, no. By her complete ignorance of history on the other hoof, yes. Emperor Marengo’s name’s down in history for a lot more than just his lose at Waterloo. Hell, French ponies don’t even eat frogs, that’s just a small group of French Griffins. It’s that sort of willing ignorance that really gets on my nerves.” Concorde finished, looking more annoyed as the sentence went on.

“Fair enough, but it’s not worth worrying about.” Fleet said, deciding they’d all had enough of this conversation. “I think you need to start focusing on tomorrow, starting with who’s around you on the grid.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll just get myself a cup of tea and get cracking.

***

Concorde glided through turns four and five on his way to the grid the next day. As was usual for him he hadn’t slept particularly well last night, not helped by Dust sitting with a laptop open until after two AM and seemingly radiating anger while refusing to acknowledge him, let alone say anything.

While a shower and several cups of tea got him through the morning, it was the wind through his wings and into his face that made him fully alert and relaxed, even if that would only be temporary.

Being fastest in the first sector in qualifying had drawn a surprising amount of media attention he’d rather not have. Microphones and cameras suddenly appearing in his face terrified him but while his quick wit enabled him to get him through the situation; he was worried he’d say completely the wrong thing or even casually swore as he’d do in private.

Even though he kept to himself and his own very small circle of friends, he didn’t want the larger world to think of him as a bad pony. He was serious about being friendly and sporting and really didn’t want a slip of the tongue to be twisted by some faceless tabloid writer or blogger to make him look bad and be made to look like Nicki Hest, who actively revelled in the fact he had been cast as a pantomime villain of sorts.

Concorde shuck the aimless thoughts from his mind as he arrived at the back of the grid, gliding over the assembled teams around the grid space and dodging around camera ponies in the air until he spotted Maffett.

“Feel a bit better?” Maffett asked as he landed before helping him take off his helmet and mouth guard.

“I’m alive, at the very least.” He replied as he rubbed his nose.

“You sure? You’re still making zombie-esk noises.”

“I thought you recognised the mourning for tea.”

“It’s either tea, pain au chocolat or fry ups. Never totally sure which.”

“You’re making me hungry now, mare.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll grab you something.” She said before quickly dashing off the grid.

Now alone, Concorde rocked back and forth as he looked around the grid. Being on the inside of the forth row was useful for getting the inside line into turn one, but would likely mean he couldn’t get to the inside of turn two. That was countered by the fact he’d have the inside for turn three, but again then the outside for turn four, should someone managed to stay side by side with him the whole way.

Various scenarios where things went wrong crossed his mind. Vanhoover wasn’t a stranger to big first lap incidents, usually when someone got the first corner wrong and t-boned someone else.

Aperto and Quicksilver to Concorde’s right weren’t known for being careful at the start, while Power Drive wasn’t the fastest starter. His best bet was to hold the left side of the track at the start, squeeze past whoever he could on the apex of turn one and hope Blitzen didn’t careen into his hind.

“Oi!” Maffett said, poking Concorde on the nose to snap him back to reality. “Have this.” She added, passing him an energy bar.

Concorde studied it for a moment, reading the ingredients on the back. It wasn’t long before Maffett snatched it out of his hooves, took the wrapper off and pushed it back into his hooves.

“Just eat the damn thing.” She scowled before going back to her clip board.

He looked at the energy bar again. He didn’t really feel hungry, even though he hadn’t eaten much all day so far. Fleet had chastised him more than once already over not eating, so he decided he may as well avoid another chastising and took a bite.

“Concorde, can we get a word?” Someone behind him asked as he finished biting, his eyes now wide open in surprise.

Concorde looked over his shoulder to see the EBC presenter DC approaching with a camera pony in tow. There was an awkward moment as DC realised Concorde was technically busy, while the Yorkshire stallion quickly tried to swallow the unchewed bit, indicating to give him a moment while he did so.

Concorde coughed once he’d swallowed, wiping a few beads of sweat from his brow before trying to compose himself, but by the time he’d done so DC had already moved on to speak with Power Drive. He sighed, partially relieved not to be interviewed while also disappointed to lose the distraction.

“That was embarrassing.” Concorde mused.

“Don’t worry about it.” Maffett reassured him as she checked his helmet, smirking. “Finish the bar and I’ll get your head back on.” She added, referring to the helmet.

Concorde did as she said, fiddling with the wrapper as he chewed the last bit. He looked up as the five minute board was shown and the media and guests started to head for the gap in the pit wall to get off the grid.

“Head up.” Maffett instructed as Concorde grabbed his mouth guard. He pulled it on as Maffett levitated his helmet over his head, putting it on once his mouth guard and goggles were in place.

Maffett grabbed her headset as Concorde fastened the helmet and put it on.

“Radio check; one, two, three.” She said.

“Four, five. How’s that fish?” Concorde replied, tugging at the strap to make sure it was tight.

“Well, you know me and pets.” Maffett smiled as she gathered up the stuff she had laying around the grid spot. Once satisfied, she fixed Concorde with a look and smiled, holding out her hoof. “Good luck.”

Concorde bumped her hoof, returning a smile she couldn’t see due to the mouth guard. She turned to head off the grid, following in the last few stragglers as the gate was pulled shut.

He focused forwards, seeing past the three racers stood directly in front of him. The wind was flowing over him, picking up slightly as the race start approached.

“Wind’s getting stronger, still from the west.” Maffett confirmed over the radio. “Wind socks are on the outside of turns one and seven.”

While he didn’t need it, the reminder was welcome. He didn’t normally reply to Maffett’s information unless he had something to say, so she wasn’t worried about his silence.

On the gantry over the start line, Concorde saw the green flag wave to indicate they could start their warm up lap. He took a deep breath, letting a few flyers pass him before taking off.

Comments

[High_Fidelity]

This is magnificent, combining my love of racing wth my love of Ponies!

[High_Fidelity]

I was just wondering about the nature of the karts you mention. At first glance, I envisioned them like our go-karts here on earth, but in retrospect, on a track intended to enable supersonic pegasi room to move, I have to wonder if they're maybe a teeny bit quicker than a go-kart, to hold spectators' attention. Until otherwise corrected, I shall now envision things more like a 1965 Lotus T38. Because, pretty.
3.bp.blogspot.com/-hSjYRgwQlUQ/TrKheWF0HsI/AAAAAAAAC_M/nu73PB4u1GU/s1600/Indy+Jim+Clark.jpg

[WildFire15]

5966566 Hi Liberty. I was thinking more of the 1957 Cooper when I envisaged the karts, sort of at the beginning of the engineering revolution that F1 enjoyed through the late 50s and 60s when they were at their most beautiful, in my opinion (for the record, the Lotus 72 is my absolute favourite racing car).