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#Ferrari 488 Challenge
aliceeye555 · 2 years
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Ferrari 488 Challenge Evo @ Paul Richard
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dreamer-garage · 4 months
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Ferrari 488 Challenge EVO
by mtsgrg via instagram
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untouchvbles · 1 year
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Ferrari 360 Challenge Stradale
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viper-motorsports · 1 month
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The Liqui-Moly Bathurst 12 Hour returns to Australia’s Mt Panorama Circuit where Maranello Motorsport clinched the overall victory in 2017 with their N°88 Ferrari 488 GT3 despite being a Pro/Am entry.
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masoncarr2244 · 4 months
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2017 Ferrari #25 Corse Clienti 488 Challenge racing at Yas Marina Circuit in Forza Motorsport (2023)
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opelman · 1 year
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Ferrari 488 Challenge Evo / Danilo Del Favero / Formula Racing
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Ferrari 488 Challenge Evo / Danilo Del Favero / Formula Racing by Artes Max Via Flickr: GTWS GT WINTER SERIES BARCELONA 2023 / Circuit de Barcelona
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revesdautomobiles · 2 years
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tightrope. 04
Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language, I guess?  Word Count: ~12K
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As soon as we arrived in Verona, regret and shame hit me right in the gut. Seeing my grandpa's unsteady gait as he rushed to meet Rio, the tears in his eyes, and the quivering voice with which he whispered "my grandson works at Ferrari" made me realise the magnitude of his achievement.
"My grandson works at Ferrari." My brother works at Ferrari .
The words rang like a church bell in my head the whole week. Mixed feelings fighting inside— the fear of being alone, the disappointment to have it all hidden from me and the regret of having said such harsh things to the person I love and admire most in the world.
It didn’t matter how many times I’d tried to apologize, Rio would refuse to talk with me outside any mandatory meeting.
I’d messed up. There was no doubt about it. And I needed to do something about it.
But there were two races left to win and a championship to grab and if I wanted my name on that trophy, I needed to completely focus on racing. So, no matter how much shame and guilt weighed on my lungs, I needed to ignore everything going on outside the track.
That included my brother. That included Carlos, who had tried to call me twice during the week. That also included my dad and his constant talks about contracts and the promises for next season.
I forced myself to put a tampon over these feelings, stopping myself from even talking about them. And the worse thing about the roof of an empty hotel room is the fact that late at night it can become a mirror; Each night I was faced with myself, and the effects of all that had happened in the last weeks.
Regret and anxiety. Pressure and fear;
The weight of all these emotions and the expectations people around me held for that weekend weighed heavily on me. When I stepped onto the track on that Saturday for the first race of the weekend, the air was heavy and I felt like I couldn't breathe.
Passion fighting head to head with the anxiety. The emotions inside burst with the same intensity as the ones on the grandstands.
Imola’s grid was full, but my eyes couldn’t focus on the dozens of cars aligned on the track, not even on the black and red Ferrari parked in front of me, at the first mark of the grid.
The atmosphere was something I’d never experienced before.
The noise was constant, a low rumble that rose and fell with the action on the track. And now, they were silent, observing us. I had watched them the day before, I’d felt their passion at the end of the qualifying session in the morning, from where I’d gotten my sixth pole position of the season. Each time a car drove by, the crowd erupted in joy, a sea of red and yellow taking over the grandstands. It was an incredible sight and sound, either standing on the track or inside the car.
I had never felt that kind of energy; such an electric atmosphere, the crowd burning with anticipation.
The passion .
To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it.
“10 minutes.” Rocco’s voice snapped me back to reality. He was standing next to me, headphones over his head. “They need you back in the car.”
Right . I just nodded. My mind was focused on just one goal: to be the first car to reach the finish line, whatever the cost. And, by starting in pole position, it didn’t seem like a hard challenge.
It was a hot day in northern Italy. The tarmac was hot under my feet and the air was hard to breathe in. I could feel the sweat forming in my temples and my chest, even before having my suit on. I had it hanging down my waist, a cold vest around my torso, trying to stay cool amid the heat wave happening throughout Europe.
As I approached the car, I felt the adrenaline taking over.
Rio was standing next to the door, already opened to welcome me. My helmet, mainly black with red and yellow stripes framing the vizor, was resting on top of the Ferrari 488 EVO. I got my balaclava and suit on, feeling his gaze burning on my skin. Before entering the car, I dared to look at him.
My eyes travelled up and looked into his.
A dreamer's gaze. Hopeful smile and deep green eyes, always looking beyond the horizon that lay ahead of him. The gleam. A deep, calming voice that inspires confidence. He had always been like this. Strong-willed, driven by ambition, by the paths he waves for himself, by the paths he chooses for himself; never turning back, never giving into somebody else’s dreams, no matter what obstacle he encountered along the way.
A dreamer, not a planner.
And there I was, blaming him and someone else for making it real.
Carlos’ meddling was more about not postponing the step Rio was meant to take, rather than coming up with one for him.
We were doing well in the Challenge, but as I looked around where I was standing, I knew we had done everything we had and could do here. We both knew it was time for a new future, time to take the step. And even if I was not ready for it, he was. I knew he was. He knew it too. And his apologetic look, as I got ready for what would be, possibly, the first of our last races together, told me everything I was trying to ignore.
There was a lot at stake. Even more than just a championship.
This was for Rio, too. For his future.
“You’ve done it loads of times,” he straightened my suit, tucking my braided hair snugly between the black and red suit and the dark fireproofs. “You’ve got this.”
Rio left me after a short hug. I looked around at the dozens of people walking around the grid, their hurried footsteps and the voices that overlapped each other creating a murmur that screamed louder than my thoughts. I remained silent, straightening the balaclava lines around my eyes and nose as I watched the other pilots.
“Ready?” Pietro’s voice made me turn to the car. The old mechanic stood with my helmet in his hand. “You seem tired, Evita.”
“Tough weekend,” I said, taking the helmet he extended in my direction.
He scrunched his nose. “Not ideal,” he said before patting my shoulder. “But I know you’ll get around when you get inside.”
I nodded, sliding the helmet over my head. “We won’t disappoint you today, don’t worry,” I reassured the old man, before completely lowering the helmet around my head.
The second I slid into the cockpit, I felt my heart rate picking up and the heat becoming almost unbearable, as the height of the expectations slowly took over my mind and manifested themselves on my body. While the mechanic made sure I was secure and all the seat belts were adjusted, I focused on the track ahead. No car in sight.
Yet.
They would come.
I waited for the sign, my hands resting on the wheel. My door was still open.
Silence fell on the track.
The calm before the storm.
Pietro leaned inside and my hand left the wheel to hold his. The old man squished it, looking into my eyes. He was a bit older than my father; he carried his age on his grey hair and moustache, and around the lines near his eyes, where the skin wrinkled when he smiled. I closed my vizor with one hand and squished his with the other.
“Ti aspetto al traguardo, donnina ,” he said, still holding my hand in his. It was a promise he always made and one he always fulfilled. I’ll wait for you at the finish line.
And then the door was closed.
Looking at my rearview mirror, I could see the last of the personnel leaving the track with urgency as the engines started to roar. Pietro was among them, now joining Rocco, waiting on the other side of the pit wall.
The storm was arriving.
Gradually, the grunt of the engines took over the circuit. My car awakened around me, vibrating, singing in my ears. A perfect melody. My lips were taken over by a smile as my hands settled on the steering wheel.
The race began on the formation lap, with Pulcini’s not-so-subtle taunts. I could see the black and yellow car appear in the peripheral field at every turn, remembering he was there. He would be there at the start, posing a threat to my much-envied position.
Besides my car and the nineteen turns ahead, Andreas Pulcini was my only worry. My direct competitor for the championship. We had a comfortable margin between us but I knew a bad race could switch things around. If he knew how to push my nerves on and off track, I knew how to retribute.
Each time he tried to poke at me and threaten my position, I returned the favour by playing my part in that mental game that began even before the lights went off. I was the one who held the power. The one in control. And that fed my ego.
As always in the Ferrari Challenge, it was a rolling start. I had the power to control the rhythm. I stepped on the brake as I entered the last turn. The Safety Car was no longer in sight. My eyes were focused on the lights. The cars were slowing down around me. Slow, slow, slow.
At any moment those lights would go off. The red would cease.
And then, the whole grid would step on the accelerator.
And at that moment, it was only me and the car, the embodiment of power and speed. The second the lights went off, I pressed the accelerator. My car lurched forward easily, cutting through the main straight, side to side with the blue car.
First turn, Pulcini was closing in dangerously, Fox just tenths behind him.
The car was handling them beautifully. I was flying. As I got to Tamburello, I had them behind, fighting each other. I could see them in my rearview mirror, but my focus was on the road ahead.
Each turn, each straight, a dance.
Grande macchina! Adrenaline was taking over. My blood was rushing through me quickly, energy building up in my body. My eyes followed the curves, the car drawing the correct lines. A comfortable margin grew between me and Pulcini. I was in the right headspace, my car was behaving beautifully. Everything seemed to be working as planned.
“Car stopped at turn 12.” I heard it on the radio. “Be careful.”
“Safety Car?”
“Yes,” the answer came quickly. “You know what to do.”
As I went through Aqua Minarelli, I saw a purple and yellow car over the grass; no signs of impact.
“Is she okay?” I asked after not seeing the driver next to the Ferrari.
“Driver’s okay.”
A Safety Car could be both salvation and doom and at that moment, it was a threat to my lead. I had to stay calm. The distance that had grown between me and Pulcinni was beginning to shrink. The three laps we spent behind the Safety Car were enough to turn the seconds I had managed to win over both Pulcini and Fox into tenths.
“Safety car in this lap.” I heard and looking in my mirror I could see them at my heels, so close.
As the green flags were waved and the race restarted, the engines roared louder. As I got to the main straight, while trying to keep away from my two competitors, I felt the car struggling.
“Something’s off. Losing power.”
“We’ll take a look after the race,” the answer came quickly.
Pulcini was right behind me, taking advantage of my power loss. If you can’t be fast, be smart. I remembered my Sainz Sr’s old advice. I took a deep breath. Turn by turn, that’s the plan. Despite the power loss, the car was behaving beautifully. As we got to Tamburello, I could feel Pulcini’s car close to mine but I held my line and came out ahead.
“Brava, Eva!” I heard on the radio. “Keep going.”
I couldn’t pull away from him.
He was smart and fast. I kept defending as best as I could, but it became harder every time he tried to get past me. The second time we went through the main straight we were side to side. My heart was in my throat as I saw the other car right behind him.
Fuck no .
“I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off.”
As we entered Turn 1, he was still there. I refused to give up the fight. There was no way I would let him go away and take the lead from me. I knew him, I knew exactly how he would try to overtake and all I could do it take it difficult for him. Block his moves and think ahead. I braked as late as I possibly could and, as expected, he did the same. What I didn’t expect was to be pushed off track.
“Stronzo! Imbelice!” I yelled to the silence, feeling the car spin on the grass, after a strong impact on my rear.
There was no friction as the car turned on the grass. I prayed to not make contact with the barrier or another car. My head was bobbing in my seat, preventing me from having a clear view of the circuit. The cars passing by me just looked like blurs.
My chances would be gone if I didn't finish that race.
“Are you okay?”
As soon as I regained control, I accelerated. The car was back on track. Pulcini was not behind me, I couldn’t see him in the mirrors.
“Fine. Position?”
“P4. Fox is P1. Pulcini next.” No. Fuck, no. These men won’t take the win away from me. “Just bring it home, Eva. We have tomorrow.”
Andreas was ahead? Fuck no.
“That fuc— Ah!” I stopped myself from cursing in my engineer's ears. I repeatedly slammed my clenched fist into the steering wheel, immediately grunting in pain. What a fucking disaster.
“Pulcini is 0.7 ahead,” I heard Dante’s voice on the radio, a few laps later. “Fox, 3.5.”
“Copy that,” I just said, my focus on the car ahead. He was faster, I knew it, but he was losing time just like me. Although my car wasn’t okay, neither was his. We were in the same position. It was a fair fight.
“Krogen behind,” a pause, “she’s faster than you.”
No, no, no.
I was shaking my head, even though he couldn’t see me. I could see the pink car in my rearview window. I was ahead, the margin was not too short but it was enough to make me worry.
I knew what I had to do, I was trying to do it but the car was not responding.
Besides, I had Pulcini less than a second away. I needed to focus on him, attack him and move forward and not let him escape while I was busy defending from Krogen. The main straight was the longest part of the track and the perfect place to regain my position but when I got there Pulcini was too far ahead to reach. I needed another lap.
“Time left?” I asked on the radio.
“Five minutes, plus one lap.”
Okay. That could be three laps, four maybe. I could do it.
I had absolutely no chance to overtake him that lap. My car didn't cooperate and I felt like I was fighting the tide. I felt my blood boiling with frustration, especially seeing Pulcini so easily evade my attempts to overtake him.
“Krogen is half a second behind,” I heard again. “Pulcini, 1.3”
Fucking hell.
I was trying, really fucking trying, but the car was unresponsive. I was pushing to the limit, but it just wouldn’t go any faster. I was shaking my head, trying to get rid of the thoughts, fears and doubts. I was trying to focus, but it was impossible. Everything was happening too fast.
I had been so focused on Pulcini and Fox that I had neglected Krogen. And she was taking full advantage of it. She was right there. She was coming too fast.
“What is happening with the car? Do I have damage?”
“We believe so,” Fuck . What a shitshow. “Bring it home. The fight’s tomorrow.”
Fuck that.
My eyes were on the mirrors. Krogen was close, way too close for comfort. And Gostner, in the blue and white car, was right behind. I needed to defend like hell if I wanted a chance at winning the championship that day, in front of that amazing crowd.
But as we got to the last turn and faced the straight ahead, I came to the realization: there was nothing else to do.
Even though I exited the corner better, my car just couldn’t keep up with her speed. She overtook me in the straight. Gostner was very close to doing the same.
“Last lap.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I screamed in the silence of the car, my screams being muffled by the helmet and the roar of the engine.
Gostner became my challenge. He was young, with little experience. That was my salvation. The lack of experience and confidence made it easier for me to hold him behind in the last lap remaining.
I crossed the finish line in P4, 0.4 seconds behind Krogen. 0.4 seconds away from my championship. It was not lost, but, at that moment, the disappointment rushed over me, taking me whole.
There was a dark haze floating around my mind when I parked the car on the pit lane, vision blurred by tick tears, weighted by anger. Pietro was there to unleash me from the seatbelts, as he promised. I didn’t take off my helmet or even raised my vizor.
“I’m sorry, donnina ,” he put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll do better tomorrow.”
I just nodded, not trusting myself to say anything. Behind the tick layer of tears, I could see Fox celebrating his win. I would congratulate him on it, but right now I felt as like being crushed by the weight of the world. I raised my vizor to clean the tears and the sweat forming around my eyes. And then, feeling like I would explode if I continued sitting there, I got out of the car.
My helmet shielded me from the chaotic atmosphere that had settled in the pit lane. People would move out of the way as I crossed through the crowd, walking towards the garage. I left my helmet on one of the counters and desperately tried to get rid of the balaclava. Lungs aching for a breath of fresh hair. Pressure grew on my chest. A cloud blinded me.
I grabbed a bottle of water and left.
Some strands of hair were sticking to my face as I walked aimlessly around the paddock, the sweat pooling on my temples and cheeks, as I tried to find a safe place to be left alone with the ticking bomb my mind had become.
I ended up sitting on the floor, my back against the wall of a truck, hiding from the curious looks that shamelessly followed me. I was still shaking when I sat down, feeling like I was going to vomit. So much was happening inside. I willed myself to take deep breaths.
Each second of the desired silence and quietness was making me overthink every lap of the race and each decision that led me to my result. The voice of the inner impostor was taking control of my own mind. I felt powerless. The pressure in my chest increased as my rib cage seemed to shrink around my heart and lungs, working faster and faster.
My arms were shaking.
I felt my muscles tense and darkness took over my vision.
Without feeling it, I was rocking my body back and forth, with the palms of my hands resting on my chest. Trembling, I brought my fingers to the zipper of the suit, opening it up, and then to the collar of the fireproof, pulling the fabric down. I wasn’t breathing. I was slipping into some sort of deep panic.
I was crumbling under the pressure and frustration, the fear and insecurity. I had been reckless and immature. I didn’t read the race well. I underestimated a driver and suffered the consequences. I ignored my team, which was waiting for me at the pit lane.
I opened the water bottle. My dry lips, relentlessly wrapped along the bottle, drinking the cool water with desperation, trying to escape that living nightmare. I poured water into my hands and splashed the cold liquid over my face. I leaned my head against the wall, my hands at the side of my body, touching the hot tar where I was sitting.
I can smell burnt rubber. I can see the flag that the wind waves. I can hear the crowd. I can feel the heat of the tar on my fingertips. I can feel the cold drops of water running down my neck. I can see the pigeon crossing the sky. I can smell the fuel. I can feel the texture of my suit. I can hear the giggle of a child. I can hear the engines. I can smell the sweat. I can taste it on my lips.
                                                        *  
I don't know how much time it took until I felt grounded enough to get back to the garage. Head down, suit secured around my waist, and my hair up in a ponytail, I made my way back under the curious eyes of a couple of people in the paddock. A couple of feet ahead, Pulcini stood next to Krogen. His lips turned into a small smile, and his hand went up in the air, waving in my direction. His long dark hair was still wet from the champagne. I waved back at him and before he could catch me to exchange some words (and probably apologize for whatever had happened in the race), I rushed to the garage.
Rio was in the middle of the mechanics, all of them hunched over the hood of the car. Their heads turned to me when I entered, and slowly each one of them went back to work, except for my brother, whose eyes lingered on mine for one more second.
“Is it too bad?” I asked, and like my voice was a trigger to his action, his head went back down.
The air in the garage grew tense. Immature. I just turned my head to Pietro, standing next to him, whose eyes were shifting between the two of us.
“We can fix it, don’t worry,” Pietro said, patting my brother’s back as he stood up straight. I walked over to them, stopping on the other side of the car. In between us, the car, Rio had his hands dirty with dust and oil.
“Sure we can. What can I do?”
“Nothing, Eva. Go back to the hotel and get some rest,” replied my brother.
Pietro brought his heavy hand to my shoulder. “You can help me once we start working in the rear, donninna .” I nodded. “Now, go eat something. Rest.”
Once again, I nodded before walking to the back of the garage where a small workbench and a couple of tools were. I sat down, my attention on my brother and the group of mechanics. Their hands moved with the precision of a machine. A couple of movements, a couple of voices and sounds echoed throughout the garage as if it would be the one thing that would guide me out of the miasma.
“She’s okay,” I heard my father’s voice. My head turned to the door, watching him walk through, with the phone glued to his cheek. “I’ll go check on her.” He was talking to my mother, perhaps.
Pietro was back with the group, my dad was still on the phone. My head dropped down, tired and disappointed. I was tired. So tired. My body and mind. My hands were still shaking, and I felt like they were feeding on the last bit of energy my body still retained. I had been doing just fine up until this week. In a week, my mind had collapsed. I’d failed.
“Good job out there,” my dad’s voice pulled my attention, as he sat down next to me. “You did your best. It was not enough today, but it’s your best. I’m proud.”
I simply nodded. My rib cage tightened around my chest again, with all the restlessness coming back around to hit me as my eyes met my father’s. The dark haze floating around us prevented me from seeing the pride in his eyes. There was none. He handed me a protein bar and went back to his phone.
“I am sorry, papa, ” I muttered, as I took a bite. He looked back at me. “The way I acted at the end of the race, on the radio, and…” I sighed. “The dinner, the other night. The way things have been these last days too.”
“Eva,” my dad said as he shook his head. “It’s passion. You’re passionate. I would be worried if you didn’t get frustrated.” A faint smile. “We have tomorrow.”
He was avoiding it, as he always did with all the sensitive aspects within our family. It was what frustrated me the most about him: his neutral and always perfect facade. I had never watched him cry, or be actually angry. At that moment, I wanted him to correspond to my feelings, to feel the same emotions in their enormity as I did. I wanted to see a bit of me in him, to feel understood.
That could possibly make it easier to understand his vision for me.
“I just…” I just can’t trust myself to take another step and this just proved it. I can’t do it alone. I just know I’ll fail. I know I’m not capable. I need you. I need Rio. I can’t do it alone. I can't be alone . My mind was still racing, leading me down agonizing paths. “I’m just so frustrated,” I said.
That wasn’t half of what I was thinking.
“I know,” he said. That wasn’t half of what he was thinking too. His hand caressed my hair; my mind eased at his touch.  “Nothing is lost.”
                                                        *  
I spent the final hours of the afternoon in the garage.
The race ended around 4 pm, and from there until sunset we stayed working, completely oblivious to the reality outside our garage, only the roar of the engines reminding us of the other races happening just a few meters away.
With the garage doors down, with only the too-bright white lights coming from the ceiling and some lanterns scattered around us, we joined forces to understand what was wrong with the car and get it ready for qualifying, happening at 9 am of the next day.
There was a problem with the engine, alongside the damage in the rear, caused by the impact with Andreas. The team divided itself into two groups; I stayed with Pietro and Eddie, his son. The boy, three years younger than me, was sitting on the floor next to his dad, lying under the car. At Pietro’s command, he would pass him the tools.
The scenery took me back to my early years as a driver.
Everything I had learned, I had learned like this - kneeling on the floor of the garage, or leaning over the hood of a car, with Pietro’s voice narrating whatever he was doing. We had met years ago when Rio joined the team. At that time, he was meant to be the driver. He gave up the wheel when he decided to go to college, after a year of competing in the Challenge as an amateur.
I was still wearing the racing suit. My red knee pads had oil stains on them and my suit probably had them too, but I couldn’t perceive the stains on the dark fabric. The fireproof was sticking to my skin, leaving me uncomfortable. I needed a shower and a good night of sleep.
The old man’s head slid from under the car.
“You can go now,” he said, cleaning his thin and agile fingers from the black substance, with a yellow cloth that was beginning to take on the same hue as his fingers. “It’s done. I just need the guys to check a few values and we’ll be done for the day.”
“I won’t leave until you do,” I insisted. If they were working to fix my car, especially because of damage coming from an impact, it was my duty to be there with them.
"You're not going to sleep here, are you?" the old man raised one of his thick grey eyebrows.
"I said what I said,” I shrugged as I stood up, my legs and back struggling to fight gravity.
"Eva, go. We won't be here for much longer and you need to rest." Rest, a shower, a meal , I thought. "You've had a tough day. Rest. You need it for tomorrow."
Tomorrow . I wanted to postpone tomorrow. Delay as much as possible the night, and consequently the morning.
I went around the car, wiping my hands on my tights. The car was looking good. No visible damage in the back, at least. Over my shoulder, the old man watched me, with an arched eyebrow.
“Eva…”
"Okay, I'll go," I gave in. "But please, call me as soon as you're done."
Pietro called me not even an hour later. I heard the muffled ringing coming from the bedroom as I was leaving the shower. The phone was still inside my backpack. I hadn’t paid attention to it the whole day.
Our brief talk didn’t take more than three minutes. Everything was okay.
I sat on the bed in front of the window. A tiny breeze entered the room to kiss my skin, not yet totally dry. A dusty orange lustre was breaching in through the curtain. I looked over at the clock on the nightstand. Almost 9.30 pm. Dinner would be served in half an hour.
Looking down at the phone in my hand, a wall of notifications stared back at me. They were mainly messages from friends and family, especially from Marjorie, who had to stay in Spain with the twins. I read them without much care, just taking the time to hear the audio message she had sent last: the delicious confusing mumble of my nieces, wishing me good luck for the next day.
And then, messages from Carlos. Plural.
“I’m so sorry.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Call me if you need.”
And a couple of hours later:
“I know you are winning this tomorrow. Can’t wait for it.”
And half an hour later:
“I was serious. Call me if you need.”
"Anytime you need.”
I couldn't help but crack a smile. This was what I had been missing for so long, what I had silently asked for and never received. These seconds that he never managed to dedicate to me. But at the same time, so many questions, and so little trust.
“disappointed. stupid mistakes."
"i could have avoided all of this.”
“It happens. Don’t be too harsh on yourself.”
“You are still leading the championship. You still have tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
Looking at the mirror at the side of the bed, I barely recognized the reflection. The image in the mirror looked back at me with a tiredness that matched my own. My eyes, usually so full of life and light, were now dull and sunken in, the skin around them darker than usual. The long blonde hair on my back was still wet. My face was free of makeup, revealing the cracks of my so imperfect facade.
I let out a deep breath, feeling my shoulders drop as the tension left my body. So, so many mistakes that could have been avoided.
Looking at the messages one more time, I felt a warmth in my chest.
“not that easy. you know that.”
“I do. I’ve been there. What’s done is done. You can’t change it.”
“Amaze us tomorrow. Read the race. See the lines. You have it in yourself.”
At least he understood.
I put on a black tank top and some washed boyfriend jeans and left the room with my hair still wet since I was feeling so tired I couldn't bother to style it. I felt like I was in a daze — tired, emotionally and physically. I was still trying to make sense of what had happened in the race.
The phone vibrated in my hand when I stepped outside the elevator.
“Maybe I can call you later?”
“please do.”
I felt the void in my chest deflating. I looked at the phone for a second longer, taking in a small victory, before taking the last steps to reach the dining hall. Tables and chairs were scattered around the dimly lit room. Groups of people, some of them familiar faces, were chatting and enjoying their meals. It wasn't until I saw the food that I understood how famished I was.
My mom and dad chose a table in one of the corners of the room beside a large painting of a 248 F1 crossing the finish line at Imola. On the corner of the painting it was written “Michael Schumacher, 2006”. I greeted them with a small nod of my head and a tired smile as I took my seat. Rio was not at the table.
“Where’s Rio?” I asked as I reached for the napkin.
“He’s already eaten,” my mom answered with a tone that I knew meant she disapproved of his decision.
“Did you watch the race?” my dad asked. Eyes on his plate.
“I didn’t have the chance yet,” neither I wanted to , I desired to add. My mom filled my cup with water and raised a hand to call the waitress. “I just got back from the track. I was helping with the car.”
“I see,” he looked at me over the rim of his glasses. I knew that look. “Make sure to watch it before bed.”
He was not asking anything wrong of me, but there was nothing to learn from the race. I knew exactly where my mistakes were made and why I had made them. Figuring out the reasons behind my bad judgements was something I had to reflect on, but I wouldn’t solve this by watching the race.
I resorted to nodding in silence and playing with the cutlery. For my dinner, I picked the first option from the menu and ate in complete silence. My parents seemed to be lost in their thoughts, just sharing casual words about the food trying to make the dinner less uncomfortable. It didn’t work. I couldn’t stop thinking about the race and the awful things I had felt right after that were making me doubt my capacity to battle the next day.
“I’m going to bed,” I announced as I got up from the table. I kissed the top of my mom’s head and lightly stroked her shoulder. “See you tomorrow at the track.”
“Get some rest, my love,” she said. My dad didn’t speak a word.
Walking away from the dining hall and looking outside to the big golf course extending past the back of the hotel, I felt tempted to go for a walk. Just the thought of it made me feel even more tired than before.
Bed it is , I thought.
The light from the laptop screen was too bright for my eyes. The roar of the engines and the fast voice of the commentator were too much for my head. I felt it implode as I tried to focus on the race. I turned off the volume. There was nothing but the hum of my breath and the laptop fan whirling.
I kept reviewing the same moment. The impact at Turn 1. The car spinning in the grass. I watched the slow-motion replays and the onboard cam and I went back to the restart to watch it over again. And again.
Anger swelled up inside of me. I was frozen in front of my screen, sitting in bed, watching my own race over and over again, looking for answers that weren’t there. I was torturing myself with the thoughts of what could have happened if I didn’t regain control of the car.
Where would I be if the car had ended up in the barrier? Or at the middle of the track? How many drivers would I take with me?
And I felt it again. That pressure on my chest, the void in my lungs, as if those thoughts were taking the life out of me. My mind was racing as fast as my heart, weaving horrible scenarios, and poisoning me with a reality that was just another mistake away.
Before completely losing control of my own body and emotions, I got up from bed and walked to the window. The feeling of the carpet under my feet was enough to ground me in my current reality and as I parted the curtain to look outside, I felt peace taking over.
The empty golf course stretched across my vision until it was taken over by darkness. I looked through the darkness at the tiny dots in the clear sky, way more numerous than the ones I could see in Madrid.
“Breathe,” I whispered to myself. “Just breathe.”
As I inhaled deeply, I felt the pressure on my chest release its grip. The darkness in front of me started to take shape. The golf course, the trees and an artificial lake in the distance. The moon was bright enough to cast a pale light over everything.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand, startling me. Carlos. Our photo.
“Hi,” I walked back to the window.
“I’m glad you picked up,” a tired voice emerged on the other side. “I tried calling you a couple of times.”
“Sorry, I was…,” I looked for the right words; anything else than almost having a panic attack for the second time today would work. “Watching the race.”
“How are you feeling?”
His voice was clear. I pictured him in his room, about to go to bed, with the same worries as me, not knowing what to expect from the race he would have to battle in.
“To be honest,” a sigh. I sat on the floor, my bare tights touching the comfortable creme carpet. “I’m tired of being asked the same thing over and over again.”
“Sorry, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I am,” a lie. I could still feel my restless fingers shaking from the anxiety. “I’m just— you know, getting ready for tomorrow.”
“How many times have you watched it?”
“Three, I guess?”
“Don’t you already know what you did wrong?” a pause, my eyebrows frowning as confusion took over me. “I’ve watched you race before; You’re methodical. I know you are fully aware of the reasons behind the incident today,” another pause, not big enough to make me feel the need to fill the silence. “Don’t make yourself go through it again. Sometimes it’s not worth it to watch a race.”
“That surprises me,” actually, a lot of what he said surprised me.
I didn’t want to mention Rio’s new job or the fact that my heart had skipped a beat when he said that he had watched me race. Hearing it from his mouth was way different from hearing it from his mother’s.
“I would think an F1 driver would encourage me to watch and rewatch it,” I continued.
“I want you to win and to be better, but not at the price of your mental health. You need to be in a good headspace tomorrow.”
Tomorrow . I closed my eyes for a second. Focused on the deep tone of his voice in my ear, the warmth of his words, loaded with genuine care and understanding. He understood. He had his fair share of bad races and disappointments.
“How did quali go?” I asked, remembering that I didn’t have the chance to look at his results. For a second, I felt bad.
“George snatched pole within a very tiny margin, at the very last second,” Oh . His tone had said more than his words. He was pissed .
“Ouch,” he chuckled on the other side. “Did you get frustrated?”
“Of course,” a chuckle again, this one way more sarcastic than the previous. “I still am.”
“And how do you overcome that?”
“By remembering that there is always tomorrow,” a brief moment of silence. “Just focus on the next one. That's what life taught me. That’s how I do it.”
His words resonated with me. There’s always tomorrow. I repeated them in my mind.
“Thank you, Carlos.”
“For what?”
“Texting me. Calling me,” I looked over at my reflection in the dark window, the shadow of a lonely girl. “Even before everything the other day. For being here,” sometimes it feels lonely, I wanted to add.
“That’s what friends are for.” Friends . A brief moment of silence. I couldn’t find the right words, I couldn’t feel the right feelings either. “Will you watch it again or are you ready to get some sleep?”
“Just once more, I think.”
“I can do it with you. I know Imola and it wasn’t very kind to me this year as well.”
“I think that could help.”
“Alright,” I heard some noise, “Give me five minutes. I need to grab my laptop. Should we do this over the phone or… video?”
I looked at the window again. The messy bun, the tired eyes, the oversized t-shirt. Then I thought of him and the way his gaze grows more powerful when he’s focused on something or the very unique way the corners of his mouth twitch when he speaks. I didn’t want to have him as a distraction.
“Phone, if you don’t mind.”
And he hung up, just to call me again a few minutes later when I was sitting in bed with my laptop open in front of me. The recording was paused on the frame of my back as I walked away from the car at the end of the race. We analysed the race lap by lap and we also talked about the track, examining the curves I wasn’t taking so perfectly. Carlos explained to me his methods, tricks and tips to defend and attack in particular corners. Time flew by.
“Any questions before going to bed?”
I laughed at his tone, leaning against the headboard. “You’re taking this way too seriously, professor .”
“Well, I want you to win.”
“I know, I know.” I closed the laptop and put it on the nightstand. “Do you feel ready for tomorrow?”
“No,” he said, softly. “I’ll need to get ready tomorrow. There’s no such thing as just being ready.”
"I know," I replied. “Do you… fear it, sometimes? Racing?”
The flames from Austria came to my mind. I would fear it. I would hate the thought of having to be back in the car a few days after and race like nothing had happened. Perhaps he thought about that too, because he stayed silent for a few seconds.
“Racing itself, or the results? Or the danger?”
"Everything," I replied after a few seconds. "The unpredictability of it all. There’s this thing my mind does,” I admitted. “I think about the worst-case scenarios, all it takes is a single thing to go wrong and my mind and confidence just crumble.”
“I think we all do it sometimes.”
“And how do you enter the car when you’re not sure about anything?”
“I don’t,” he said, with a small laugh. “I go in with the same headspace I have every time, I put my helmet on and I try to concentrate on the race. In the car, it’s just me and the machine. My mind is blank. If my car is not my safe space, I know something is wrong and I need to do something about it.” A pause. “You can think about the race in your mind, imagine the most important corners and how you’d attack them. Beforehand, you can think about it all the time, but at the moment, while you’re racing, you can’t think too much. It’s a matter of removing unnecessary things from your mind and trying to focus on what you need to do. If you’re second doubting yourself, things won’t go well.”
“How are you so confident in the car? In life.”
“I guess it’s just experience,” he replied. “Seeing the amount of times that things went wrong and being able to learn from them. We are constantly learning, every time we drive. I know you learned something new today.”
“I did.”
“What was on your mind?”
“So many things I can’t tell you what they were,” I dragged my hand over my face. “Rio moving, this incredible pressure, the talks about next year… you .”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You,” I replied, a little absent. “The issue is not with racing. I’m happy when I’m in the car. It’s just… everything happening around me right now. I need a break.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve…” he paused, probably unsure of his words.
“Don’t be sorry.”
“I didn’t want to disrupt you. At all.” He paused again. “And here I am, calling on the night before a race, once again.”
“Well, I won the race last time, let’s see if the same happens again tomorrow.”
“That’s all I can wish for,” a laugh against the phone. “Go sleep, now. Goodnight, Eva.”
“Goodnight,” I said almost in a murmur. “Good luck out there too, Sainz.”
“We talk tomorrow,” he said before hanging up.
                                                        *  
Rio joined me and Rocco for a workout the next morning. Just like in the previous days, we didn’t exchange more words than the ones the activity obliged. The cold air of the morning invigorated me and by the time we had finished, I felt ready to take on the world.
Qualifying went smoothly. Another pole position. Andreas would start the race in fourth place, which gave me an advantage that I gladly welcomed.
By the time the race start procedure began, the sun was high in the sky and the air was still and dry. The asphalt was sizzling under my boots. There was no breeze entering the car when Pietro leaned in to say his goodbyes.
“Ti aspetto al traguardo, donnina. ” This time I squished his hand with more strength. It was all or nothing.
I had a chance to redeem myself and make history for this sport. That could be a greedy way of thinking, but I wanted that trophy as much as I wanted to have my name connected to the Challenge and Ferrari for years to come. That could be the last chance if I was to part with the category and chase other aims.
The start of the race was uneventful. Lap after lap, I kept my position. I was in control, completely dominating the race. I had them at my back during the whole race. In front of me were just the support of the crown, the red and yellow flags, and the prancing horse; all weaving in the grandstands.
A hard-fought victory, but a victory nonetheless.
The noise of the machines and the ecstasy of the crown echoed around the circuit as I left the car. I climbed to the top, my arms raised in the air, my clenched fist pointing to the sky, as my team celebrated around me. What a beautiful feeling.
No mistakes, no fears. No doubts. No more uncertainties.
I had done it.
My chest got lighter and lighter as the ecstasy took over my body and mind and the chants of my team set the rhythm of the celebrations. I jumped down and immediately was taken in a hug. I could feel the patting on the helmet. I could hear and feel them singing and jumping around me. I lifted my vizor to look clearly at their faces.
My dad took me into his arms the second I got rid of my helmet and balaclava. He kissed my warm cheeks, over the tears running down my face, which I didn’t even notice I had shed.
“I’m so proud of you, Evita,” he whispered in my ear, lifting me from the ground. His heart was beating as strong as my own. “So, so proud,” he cupped my face in his hands. I never saw him smile that hard. “Never doubt that. Never doubt yourself.”
Rio pulled me in a tight hug. His arms wrapped around me with a strength I had never felt before from him. It was a goodbye. He stepped back. His teary eyes, the big smile, the messy hair, the undone shirt from all the jumping.
I felt my lips tremble and I made an effort not to cry. He was an extension of me. I had never spent more than two weeks without seeing him. He embraced me again. Even tighter. Even more meaningfully.
“You’ll be great,” I muttered while he sniffled next to my neck. I stroked his back gently as I spoke. I could feel his hands clinging to my suit. “You’ll be one of the best.”
                                                        *  
His words mingled with the cacophony, making it hard to understand what he was saying. I sat down on one of the benches, of the outside garden. Dinner and the prize-giving ceremony were happening inside.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“In a bathroom,” he replied. “I had to hide from the team. I wanted to talk to you before this dinner. How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know…” I said, almost in a mumble. Hours had passed since the moment I crossed the finish line and I couldn’t seem to put some sense into what I was feeling. Utter happiness and disbelief and, at the same time, fear and uncertainty of what the future was saving for me. "Hard to put it into words," I said, a short giggle coming out with my words.
"I can imagine." The smile in his voice was easy to perceive. Instantly, my mind pictured him leaning against the wall, with his phone pressed to his ear. "You were great out there."
“I don’t think I could’ve done it without your help.”
“This race didn’t win you the championship,” he paused for a second. “You were amazing all season.”
“That doesn’t mean that I don’t need to thank you for what you did yesterday,” I insisted. My fingers were restless in the fabric of my dress, gripped by my inability to discern what last night had awakened in me. “And I need to say sorry. For the other day.”
For the first time, I could feel that we were going through the same thing. After years of parallel lives and not being able to understand his world, or even trying to, I finally felt like I could relate to him. That we weren't that far apart. I felt him close. Closer .
“You’re welcome,” he said after a short silence. I could hear the smile in his voice, even if I couldn’t see it. “And don’t worry about it.”
I didn’t really know what to say. The words were building up in my throat as quickly as they were disappearing. I didn't know how to deal with him. To be fair, I don’t think I ever knew. It was impossible to resist the sensations he ignited in me, which so easily took me back to the times when just the sight of his face made me blush.
"I should probably go," I said, seeing Nicola and Lina calling me inside.
"Save some champagne for me.”
“Of course,” I said. “Enjoy that dinner.”
“Enjoy that win. You deserve this.”
I mumbled a thank you and a fast goodbye and the line went dead shortly after.
                                                        *  
As I walked down the red carpet flanked by several Ferraris from various eras and categories, my attention was locked on the trophy weighing heavily in my arms. Striding through the aisle with confidence, teary-eyed but donning the biggest smile my lips had ever formed, my gaze dropped to the silver plate, with a thick gold rim and a yellow medal in the centre, on which the prancing horse was drawn in black. Around the rim, the title I had just conquered was imprinted on the golden metal.
I couldn’t help but smile as the flashes of the cameras lit up in my face. I had done it. Against all odds, I had become the first woman to win the Ferrari Challenge. At the end of the aisle, around the long rectangular table, my team was applauding me. Around the huge room, hundreds of people clapped.
I raised the trophy over my head, my arms reaching for the higher aims I always wanted for myself. I had finally conquered them. I did it under the weight of the stares and the pressure of expectations. And if there was a day where it weighed me down, this day it inflated my glory.
I had been living under a magnifying glass that whole year, but this time it was different. I had won it, despite all the scepticism. I looked around, still with my arms outstretched. In between intervals of blindness caused by the intermittent flashes, I watched the faces of the crowd clustered at the tables on either side of the aisle. Among them, I saw the sceptical faces that once told me that it was too late to turn pro, that I could continue as an amateur in lower categories and not waste my father’s money in racing. Those who, years before, had tried to convince my father to invest in other teams when Rio decided to stop racing and I proposed to take his place, were now applauding me as I walked back to my table, carrying the most important trophy of the room in my hands.
I reached the table in a few steps. The familiar faces smiling back at me, their eyes as teary as mine. Every single one of them was happy for me. Proud of me.
Rio looked at me with pain in his eyes, an uncertain smile, a duality that took over his expression. My chest ached to feel such an antithesis in his features, aching to feel him so restless, overwhelmed by scattered feelings. I set the trophy down on the table.
"Go hug your sister, Fabrizio," I heard my father say, pushing him towards me. The second I opened my arms to hold him in a hug, he was already there. Holding me in return.
"I'm so sorry. I’m so so sorry." I murmured as I caressed his back, hands open.
I pulled away and looked at him. He was wearing a tuxedo, but no tie. The top buttons were left unbuttoned and his face was perfectly shaved. His hair was slicked back, leaving his green eyes uncovered. The deep green stared at me, a tiny smile that barely reached his eyes. I had changed, Carlos had changed, but I had forgotten Rio had changed too.
He had always been my older brother, that unshakable figure who resisted everything and gave up nothing. The ambitious Rio, objective and analytical, with dreams and ambitions. The guy who taught me how to drive, how to make donuts and how to rollerskate. He was all that, but he had also grown to be a father and a husband, he had cultivated in him a huge sense of responsibility to care for and think of others, sometimes putting others ahead of himself.
“I want to make sure you understand my choices,” he took me by the arm and walked with me to the other side of the table, where we were previously sitting. “Don’t want to leave anything left unsaid.”
“I do. It may have taken me a while, but I do,” I sat down and Rio occupied the seat by my side.
I looked over at my parents, still standing near the rest of the team. They were beaming with pride. My father had his arm around my mother's waist and she was resting her head on his shoulder. I felt a lump in my throat and turned my gaze back to Rio.
“I won this for us ,” I whispered. “It has our name on it, not just mine.”
My body leaned over the table to pick up the trophy, which I then placed on my lap, over the silky red fabric of my dress. Around the trim, “DiMaggio” was imprinted in the space just before the title. I showed him the detail.
"I asked them to do it this way," I explained. "I wanted to share it with you."
"Eva," he looked deep into my eyes. His voice cracked and he had to pause to compose himself. "This is yours. You won it. You did an amazing job this season."
" We did an amazing job," I insisted. “I don’t care where you’re going next. Why you’re going, even. We deserve this.”
"Yes," he conceded. His finger traced the outline of the brim. "We do."
We looked at each other for a few seconds, in silence.
"I'm going to miss you," I said finally.
"I'm going to miss you too." He took my hand and squeezed it. "Maybe for just one day or two.”
I turned my head down and laughed again. When I turned to him again, his eyes were now locked on the golden band on his finger, “Marjorie told me I should talk to you first. I didn’t listen. I don’t know why. Do you think I’m ungrateful?”
“Rio…” I laid my hand on top of his and did a gesture with my head as I got up. I felt the weight of the stranger’s eyes on us. He got up after me and walked by my side until we reached the outside.
The icy night air seeped through the slits in my dress, touching my skin everywhere and making me shiver with cold. There were a few people scattered around the terrace - some were alone, drinking or smoking, and some were accompanied. I walked to one of the corners of the terrace. The cigarette butt in the ashtray, still scattering a line of smoke, told me that until a few minutes ago someone had been there. I sat on the wooden bench, positioned under a still small and fragile tree and looking out over the golf court, from which the terrace offered a beautiful view.
"I said it out of fear," I began to speak as soon as the background noise of the ceremony died down. "I never believed you were really ungrateful. I saw the things you’ve done for me and the team. There’s nothing ungrateful in this. But you made the decision by yourself, spent weeks keeping this away from me and I admit that hurt me.” That was no lie. Looking at him, his painful expression and the look on his face throughout the whole weekend, I could see he was going through a lot. “Perhaps you were being a bit unfair, but not ungrateful.” I paused.
Rio leaned against the glass railing that surrounded the terrace, facing me. His body blocked the view, making the darkness disappear and filling my field of vision with the image of his tired and remarkably upset face. Now, maybe, even a little confused.
“Unfair?”
“Yes… To yourself and to me too. It was a tough decision to make alone,” I explained my point. “And it saddens me that you didn’t feel you could share the burden with me. I’m not a teenager anymore. I could have helped.”
He nodded. Just that. No words, no dry smiles or sarcastic remarks. Silence took over, which was not common between us. We would fall into disagreements and arguments every time we had a tough matter to handle. That’s how it had been the last week. The gut-wrenching silence that fell whenever we weren’t obligated to talk over any work-related subject.
He had his lip caught between his teeth and his gaze focused on the perfectly polished sailing shoes he was wearing. And if I knew him, I knew that hard-to-decipher gaze was a sign that his mind was full. I wondered what words he was saving and what was the reason to do so.
“I didn't want to approach you and simply say I was bored at the Challenge,” he raised his eyes to find mine. “At one point, I felt like I was doing nothing, that I had barely any service to the team. You were doing all the job.” He paused quickly. “And you did it amazingly! But there was nothing more for me to do than gather data and pass it on to you. I was not being challenged .”
A dry chortle from his part, noticing the play on words.
“So you decided to send out resumes?”
"Not only that," he shrugged and leaned away from the fence. He took a few steps, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants. The night was unusually cold for July. I warmed my arms with my hands. "But yeah, essentially that was it. I started to send them out until the day I was talking about the season with Carlos and he decided to act on it.”
Carlos. His name didn’t take long to surface in the conversation.
“How involved was he in this?”
“Not much.” He sounded honest. “I didn’t want it to be any other way. I just needed him to tell me if there was a chance for me or not.” He paused. I raised an eyebrow and gestured with my hand, encouraging him to continue. "Two, three, weeks later I got a call. They asked me for some reports. And a few days later, when I travelled to Silverstone, they surprised me with an interview."
“What did Carlos do, exactly?”
I wasn't sure where I was going, there wasn't much thought behind my questions. I knew Rio had gotten the job on his own merits. All the work my brother had done with the team, the way his insights managed to unify a set of strangers and turn them into a winning team was remarkable. It was more than enough to promote him to any category above the Challenge.
So my question wasn't what Carlos had done to get him a job. And I think he knew it.
“He mentioned my name? I think. I don’t know.” A pause. “I didn’t talk to him about the job until after I got an offer. Why so many questions?”
I shook my head. There was no reason for so many questions, other than the lack of trust I had in myself and Carlos. With each barrier he broke down, another one rose.
I hadn't been naive enough to think that it was really the longing that made him take a step towards me, but I had let myself bathe in the happiness that thought brought me. However, it was one thing to allow me to think about it and use such excuses as a justification for not trusting him, and it was another thing for Rio to confirm to me that he had indeed encouraged Carlos' action.
“This might sound dumb, but,” a dense exhale left my lips, taking with it the restlessness of my ideas. The answer Rio would give me wouldn't be black and white, but maybe it would be the ideal shade of grey. “Did you ask him to talk to me?”
He didn’t take long to answer, nor did he hesitate with his words.
Rio had no reason to be careful with his words and spare me the answer. It was a yes. Simple as that.
"Asking you would be a dead end," he completed.
That was a certainty. I was too stubborn to deign to talk to him, even if my brother asked me to. Rio had leaned back against the fence again, his hands now in his pockets, one leg crossed in front of the other. The night accentuated the expressions on his face, especially the frown lines on his brows and his clenched jaw as he tried to read my face.
I didn't realize that I was silent.
That was one hard shade of grey to decipher. Only then I realised I was grabbing onto the hope of a different answer. That maybe, even if Carlos’ motivation had been Rio’s well-being, at least he acted by himself, without any interference from my brother. Once again, my hopeless romantic streak jumping ahead of me.
"I'm guessing you two have talked by now.” I nodded without saying a word. I needed a few seconds to think. "Things didn't go right, did they?"
My torso heaved with the dry laugh that had escaped. I couldn't say things were worse, but they weren't right. They would be if desperation and longing hadn't clouded our minds and had put us in that position . Literal and figurative. If only he had never gotten so close like that, or if I had retreated at once instead of allowing us to levitate so close to each other, harvesting feelings I thought had long since withered and disappeared.
"Didn't he say something about it?"
"Not really," he said. "Until now, I had no idea if he decided to try to talk with you after his failed attempt in Mugello."
I looked into his eyes, my mind trying to think of some way to put my feelings into words. I was confused, upset, angry… Everything I felt was too tangled up to be able to answer in one go. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
"Eva,” he sat down by my side and clapped his hands on his tights, “I just need you two to get along well. I don’t need you to become best friends, I just want you to be able to share a room, or a table, without any of you feeling uncomfortable with each other’s presence.”
He had a good point. Avoiding us sitting close together at the same table will be the least of his worries the moment they start to work together. Until now, it was Rio who occasionally visited Carlos wherever he was racing. In a couple of months, it would be me who would have to go to Rio. And Carlos would be there.
Imagining a future where everything stayed as it was, Rio would be destined to live a nightmare, running through a complicated labyrinth whenever he needed me.
“You two were really good before,” he continued. “I don’t see why things won’t get better.”
I sought comfort in him. I laid my head on his shoulder and stared into the darkness, imagining lines between the points of light that marked the paths through the grass a few feet away from us.
“I don’t think things will go as well as you deserve them to go.”
"No worries," he answered with a tender smile, looking at me. "I just need them to go a little bit better."
We stayed silent for a bit, my mind finding the rest it needed on the good memories of the three of us, especially the weeks in winter we would spend in the snow with our parents, or the long summer days we used to spend by the pool.
“Don’t be mad at him for only speaking to you now,” he continued and I moved my head to be able to capture his face. “I'm sure I'm not the only reason he decided to finally do something about it. If what I asked him to do had any impact, it was just so he could blame me if things didn't go well,” his lips turned into a funny smile and I chuckled. “You two,” he paused, “have a problem with empathy. Not the lack of it. The total opposite. And both of you are so stubborn… It was difficult to see you drifting apart and not being able to stop it.”
His words brought the restlessness back. I got up, pacing around between the bench and the fence, trying to settle my unquiet mind. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That each step he takes to reach you is way heavier than you could ever imagine,” he explained. “He has a way to deal with his feelings, a way to show them… he talks, he acts, he…”, Rio stopped for a second, thinking, “he doesn’t let himself be vulnerable. He uses his tough guy attitude to hide it, but you know he’s not all that.”
My mind pictured the beautiful sight of his face so close to mine - the perfectly shaped brown eyes, the thick lips parted, ready to take mine. I could hear his laughter in my mind and the murmur of his breath. He had been vulnerable with me.
“I would pay to know what you’re thinking about, Eva,” he disrupted my thoughts. “Don’t use this to create a glass box around you, thinking it will protect you from him while giving him the illusion he’s getting close.”
“I’m not like that,” I interrupted him.
“He protects your feelings more than his own, Eva. That’s why he let you go,” my brother's countenance changed as his patience wore thin. “I was there to witness the way he looked at you, the way he used to get jealous when you talked to someone else. He was crazy about you. But he…” Rio hesitated, “ respected you so much he was not capable to stop you from living your life to live by his.”
From this moment on, my mind was blank to anything but his words.
"You were way too careful with each other," he continued. "You take a step forward, or a step back, but never to each other’s pages. Because you are too afraid to let yourselves do it. You’ll find every excuse to not do it. Just like you’re doing now.
“You’re waiting for me to say something that will either make you trust him or verify every excuse your mind has been weaving since the last time you talked. And he’s probably doing the same. He doesn't have faith in his feelings. And he definitely does not have faith in himself, to the point where he thinks it’s acceptable to jeopardize his relationship with me or our family if he takes the step."
"I want it to go well," I said.
"I'm sure you do," Rio took my hand and smiled. “But if you're waiting for me to make you feel comfortable, you'll have to wait a little more." I nodded at his words, a fragile smile taking my lips as I saw the corner of his curling. “I can’t tell you to follow your heart, or whatever saying you or anyone else would say,” I chortled and he continued, “especially because I don't know what the hell is going on in your head, but I can just tell you to admit to yourself that you miss him and that you want him around.”
His words reached me and if it hadn't been for his usual sunny disposition that was being brought back by the smile emerging on his face, I would have probably started crying at that moment.
Next chapter: 05.
Next chapter we'll have Carlos in a suit roaming around Eva's backyard. Keep that in your mind, eheh. Hope the race narration wasn't too boring. Thank you so much, see you all around! <3
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itracing · 5 months
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First Look: The Ferrari 296 Challenge
On the eve of the Finali Mondiali, which take place at the Mugello Circuit between October 24 & 30, Ferrari will present the 296 Challenge, the ninth model in the history of the Ferrari Challenge Trofeo Pirelli.
Due to debut in the Europe and North America series in the 2024 season, the 296 Challenge introduces a slew of new features with respect to the Ferrari 488 Challenge Evo and, in certain respects, is a revolutionary design.
The new 296 Challenge is the embodiment of an innovative new philosophy that has seen far-reaching work carried out on the road car to optimise its specifications for track use. Both in terms of performance and lap consistency throughout a race, the 296 Challenge rewrites the parameters of the Prancing Horse single-make series, offering solutions that closely mirror the specifications of the 296 GT3, which made its debut this season.
Derived from the 296 GTB, the 296 Challenge ushers in substantial modifications on the power unit, aero and vehicle dynamics fronts, all aimed at guaranteeing maximum performance on the track. It is the first car in the history of the championship to be powered by a 120-degree V6: the new model sports the 2992cc twin turbo engine without the hybrid component, a choice also made for the 296 GT3. The engine unleashes 700 cv with maximum torque of 740 Nm, with the result that the 296 Challenge sets a new power record for the segment with 234 cv/l.
The 296 Challenge’s aero package delivers downforce figures unprecedented in the single-make series’ history, ensuring the maximum efficiency in all conditions. In fact, the 296 Challenge generates in excess of 870 kg of downforce at 250 km/h with the spoiler at its maximum angle of attack.
The car sees the debut of ABS EVO Track, a specific adaptation of the innovative system introduced for the first time on the 296 GTB. With the addition of new CCM-R PLUS brake discs, both braking performance and consistency are improved. New, specifically-developed Pirelli 19” tires have also made a substantial contribution to the car’s handling and performance.
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petit-papillion · 8 months
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TBT to F1 Summer Break 2019
To August 22, 2019 to be precise. When Charles took to the Las Vegas racetrack as instructor to Matis Hamilton Thievin-mortaud, 6 1/2 years old, and son of Exotics Racing’s owner Romain Thievin.
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Matis, a huge fan of motorsports, had started to race go-karts a few months earlier.
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He drove multiple laps around the track placing a lap time of 1.05:706, faster than 6,000 adults in the track's Michelin Time Trial Challenge.
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Watch Charles instruct Matis:
📷 Exotics Racing
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v-eight-lover · 1 year
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Ferrari Friday; '17 488 Challenge, twin turbo 3.9 liter, 7 speed
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cherocarofficial · 5 months
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Ferrari unveiled the '296 Challenge' at the Finali Mondiali race at Mugello Circuit. The car is scheduled to debut in the Ferrari Challenge in the 2024 season and is the ninth model in the history of the single-make championship hosted by Ferrari. The Ferrari Challenge is currently in its 32nd season.
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As riders around the world became more skilled and competitive, the 296 Challenge attempted to make bigger changes than the original model. The 296 Challenge continues Ferrari's long tradition of developing cars for gentleman drivers, but draws on the expertise accumulated in the '296 GT3' more than any other model. The 296 Challenge is a vehicle for drivers who are passionate about future GT racing. During the development of the 296 Challenge we made significant changes, not just minor changes to the model of the production car, but to make it a vehicle optimized for track driving. An extreme form of the vehicle was developed that improves overall performance while maintaining consistency and repeatability for testing and competition.
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The 296 Challenge is the first car in Ferrari's single-brand range to be equipped with a V6 engine. So far, all models participating in the Challenge have been equipped with V8 engines. The biggest change compared to the 296 GTB is the elimination of the hybrid powertrain like the 296 GT3. As a result, while reducing the weight of the vehicle, the power output was increased to 700 horsepower (cv), setting a new record in this segment with an output of 234 horsepower per liter. In terms of aerodynamics, solutions derived from the 296 GT3 were taken and pushed to the extreme to achieve unprecedented downforce figures. These include the "S-shaped duct" (which draws air into the central radiator and exhausts it through the vents on the bonnet), the "swan-neck rear wing layout (another element inspired by the development of the 296 GT3)", and the A device that maximizes the stability of downforce generated in different trim conditions.
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The braking system has also been completely redesigned. It's the first to feature the new "CCM-R PLUS" disc, which features technology derived from extreme track applications. New Pirelli tires developed specifically for the 296 Challenge also contributed significantly to improved performance. After its debut at the "2019 Finali Mondiali", the 296 Challenge set a record at the Mugello circuit approximately 2 seconds faster than its predecessor "488 Challenge Evo" which debuted in the 2020 season. From the early stages of development, the 296 Challenge discussed removing all hybrid components from the V6 powertrain, as in the 296 GT3. The electric motor and high-voltage battery have been eliminated, and the output of the twin-turbo V6 engine has been increased to 700 cv. This approach helps limit vehicle weight and overall unit complexity, which are fundamental factors in track driving.
Ferrari unveils '296 Challenge' race car with F1 technology
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blubushie · 2 months
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Fine, fine, I don't have acid to pay you with, anyway. Still, that's one hell of a car! It's a shame it's rare and pushing 70, who knows what you'd have to pay up to even catch a glimpse of it. I don't have a car myself but god knows it'll be something actually up to my taste. I think the fanciest I've ever driven was an Alfa Romeo, which belongs to my brother. I didn't enjoy the experience, it was overwhelming as hell. An older car is definitely my go-to, even if I don't know what specifically I want.
[Animal Fact Anon]
Fanciest car I ever sat behind the wheel of was a Ferrari 488.
I've also driven:
A '71 Dodge Challenger
'67 S2 Jaguar E-Type
'73 S3 Aston Martin V8
'68 Mustang 390 GT Fastback
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untouchvbles · 8 months
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Ferrari F430 at Waukesha Cars & Coffee (2023) - Meet 3 in Waukesha, WI.  
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viper-motorsports · 7 months
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Despite being a bit long in the tooth, the N°555 Ferrari 488 GT3 Evo demonstrated its continued relevance by winning the closing 2023 GT World Challenge Asia Japan Cup race for Maezawa Racing at Okayama International Circuit JP.
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masoncarr2244 · 1 year
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