MA Ford‘s Track Limits brings European motorsport to life in a way I’ve rarely seen in contemporary fiction. The excerpt I’ve chosen to share with you all comes from the chapter ‘Spa Francorchamps’ in which the heroes, Mark and Jordan, have joined up with Mika and Matteo – the drivers of their team’s number two car – in order to enter an unfamiliar car in a 24-hour endurance race. At this point, Mark and Jordan haven’t quite got together, but on the other hand, European racing drivers are very tactile at the best of times – just watch any Formula 1 race for examples.
Ford does a really good job of capturing the excitement on and off the track, as well as the camaraderie between team mates. In this excerpt, Jordan is out on the track, trying to set a good qualifying time to get the best starting position he can, while the other drivers in his team watch from the pits. The session has almost finished, and the weather conditions have started to improve…
Summary:
Is motorsport ready for a gay driver?
As the opening race in the Global GT Challenge approaches, lead driver Mark Hunter struggles to regain his confidence after Randolph Racing’s last disastrous season. Mark hesitates when owner Randy says he’s found the perfect replacement for their arrogant previous teammate, Brad Wilkins. Former single-seater star Jordan Matthews is excited to join the crew and ready to put past troubles behind him.
Trust builds as Mark and Jordan become a fine-tuned team for the number 17 Saleen, earning a podium in Abu Dhabi at the season opener. Their friendship develops into more as they continue to earn prestige for Randolph Racing. But their success sparks jealousy, and people from their pasts threaten vengeance. Jordan is reluctant to ruin his fresh start in racing by exposing the secrets that almost cost him his career ten years ago. If he can’t take the risk, he’ll never realize his dream of kissing Mark on the winner’s podium.
On leaving the pits, Jordan was lying twelfth, his best time on the old tires and two seconds slower than the provisional pole. Immediately, his sectors began to come down. There were only a handful of cars still out on the track, a number of them having decided to forfeit the final session after the rain spoiled the earlier qualifying.
Mika came over and stood behind Mark, following number 63’s progress with a finger. “He’s doing well,” he said, close to Mark’s ear. “Come on, Jordan… yes… I wish we could see what he’s doing… that was a good sector! Come on, yes…. Yes! Fourth!” He thumped Mark’s shoulder and grinned. “Second row. That’s not bad!”
Mark nodded, his gaze still glued to the screen. He knew Jordan could go faster, if he was confident enough. The cars that had taken the time to make the most of the drying track were all improving. It was going to be a case of the last man out with the freshest tires who took pole.
Another lap. First sector suddenly flashed up in pink, as Jordan set the best time so far. Then the Ferrari on provisional pole improved again. Jordan improved his second sector too—green for personal best. It was all down to the third sector….
Mark was still listening, but there was no sound on the radio. Jordan was going for it. As for him, he realized he was holding his breath. “Come on, Jordan,” he muttered, picturing those bright-green eyes focused on the dark. So gorgeous….
Where had that come from? Mark, briefly shaken by the thought, shivered. He stared down the pit lane, trying to recognize the Porsche’s headlights. Was that it? And as he looked back at the screen….
“Pole!” Mika screamed behind him.
“Too soon,” Mark said between gritted teeth. “There’s five minutes to go.”
But suddenly the flag in the bottom of the screen flashed red. “Nissan 23 off at Raidillon,” he read on the message screen. And then, a second message underneath. “Session will not resume.”
Mika looked at Mark, then back at the screen. “He’s done it! Hasn’t he?”
Mark, unbelieving, unwilling to believe, shook his head. “Wait a bit….”
“But if anyone improves, it will be under reds… he’s got it.”
“You’re right… you’ve got to be right! Come on, let’s go and celebrate with him!”
The cars were being placed in the pit lane for parc fermé; the circuit’s F1-style facilities did not cater for over 60 GT cars. But the pole car in each category was due to be stopped under race control, and the TV cameras were already gathering there. Mark and Mika, followed by Matteo, dashed up the pit lane toward the barriers.
The garish red Porsche, with “Randy Bar” stickers all over it, finally came down the narrow pit lane and into the enclosure. Jordan got out, looking slightly dazed. Mark, not caring about the scrutineers, pushed past some of the members of the press. “Jordan!” he yelled.
The driver, who’d been looking rather lost, turned and saw him. He dashed into Mark’s arms and held him so tightly the other man felt all the air squeezed out of him. “You did it!” Mark almost screamed in his ears.
Jordan pulled back slightly and looked straight into Mark’s eyes. “Thanks to you. For everything.” He leaned back in and kissed Mark on the cheek.
Mark, holding him, feeling him so warm, so alive, so joyful, felt something stir inside him. He wanted Jordan to always look like this. To be so very much alive.
“Jordan! Over here, please!” Television was calling, and Mark reluctantly released Jordan. “Go! They want you over there,” he said. But Jordan was having none of that. He grabbed Mark’s hand and dragged him through the crowds to the interview panel. Mika and Matteo followed.
“Jordan! This is only your fourth major GT race, and you’re already on pole position for the greatest race for these cars. Congratulations!” the TV interviewer said, thrusting a microphone under his nose.
Mark watched with amusement as Jordan looked embarrassed, ruffling his helmet hair. And then suddenly, strangely, as if a lightbulb had been switched on, he smiled and began speaking fluently, thanking the team, his teammates, the tire manufacturers. Puzzled, Mark gradually realized it was like seeing images from ten years ago. This was the Formula 1 driver, the man who had graced the cover of motorsport magazines, who had spoken to the world’s press at major launches. This was the star, with all his media training, all the poise and practice that he, himself, lacked.
And then, as quickly as it had started, the image was broken as Jordan scratched his nose and grinned. “Mark, get over here!” he called. “I just wanted to say I wouldn’t be here today without this man. He’d be able to tell you that even yesterday, I was terrified of night driving. He’s made my move to GT everything it has been. Mark, thank you!”
Mark was dragged into the circle in front of the cameras, and Jordan reached out, pulled him close, and put an arm around Mark’s waist so he could not escape. Mark smiled as the microphones were pointed toward him. “What can I say? He’s been a great addition to the team, and a really good pupil. Now we want to go on to help our team do well here at Spa, and then on for the rest of the season in the GGTC.”
Thanking them, the cameramen moved on Johanssen, who had placed the Corse Italia Ferrari in second place. But Jordan kept his arm round Mark, who was intensely aware of the heat emanating from his teammate. “Hey,” Mark said, poking Jordan in the side. “Don’t you have a press conference to go to?”
