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The engines are started, the
mechanics run to the side of the circuit, which is now clear.
The marshal raises his flag.
I no longer look at him but at the
signal lights on the timekeeper's hut. Perhaps that is the quickest start technique, I say
to myself. When the green light comes on, I am off. That is all I think about.
4...3...2...
There's the light.
I am in gear and off, past the
others, in the lead.
Full throttle into the
straight. Every action is almost mechanical from sheer practice. I know the circuit well
enough to drive on it in my sleep. There, the white tower, the stands and the pits! I pass
them; there is no signal.
First lap, second lap.
Past the pits again, now they signal:
CAR(acciola)
NUV(olari)
VAR(zi)
So the two Italians are
behind me. It'll be a tough battle if they start pressing. I must be faster still. Fourth
lap: CAR, VAR, NUV. So Varzi, the man from Milan, has overtaken Nuvolari, the Flying
Mantuan. He's hot on my heels, a dangerous opponent and driving the Auto Union.
Sixth lap: The white tower is in sight and
the enormous grandstand. Suddenly my left front tire becomes long and thin, something
whistles past me. I've thrown a tread again.
Cut off, brake, and stop at the
pits. A white car flashes past...Varzi. A swallow of water, a damp cloth on my head. Two
cars pass, Stuck and Fagioli.
The last blows with the copper
hammer on the front wheel. Press on, 20 seconds lost. Thank God only 20 second. Stuck and
Fagioli are not far ahead. I drive into the dust cloud they have stirred up on the bend. |