The intensity of the tunnel-vision concentration would turn the sharpest brain to tapioca. This year I got to watch the race as the team does: gloriously unaware of the things that do not directly relate to your car, your driver, your tires, etc. Riley was unaware, for example, that the prototypes were blowing tires at an alarming rate. If he cared about how Fernando Alonso was faring in his first big endurance race, Riley didn’t show it. (Alonso wasn’t faring well.) The only thing that mattered about the faster GTLM and Prototype competitors was that they didn’t crash into the 33 car. Over the team radio, the spotters carried on the world’s most mind-numbing, stream-of-consciousness poem, “Prototype on your tail . . . Corvette GTLM passing on right . . . Prototype passing on left.” It might be sacrilege, but from the crew’s perspective, much of the race was boring. There was much more standing around than I had imagined. With about 75 percent of the race run, crew members were spending an increasing amount of time staring holes through whatever was in front of them. Just bushels of potatoes stewing in a broth of the sweet cologne of race fuel, the acrid alarm of hot brakes, and a whiff of concessionaire fry oil.
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