Racers - The autobiography

It’s a game, really, and once you’re in you can’t get out. It’s all based around trust. Trust of your friends, trust of your enemies, and trust in yourself. Trust in your car, your stick shift, your brakes, your GPS, your steering wheel, your traction, your ALS, right down to your radio.

This is my story, not the one you know me as now, but the little piece of me that gets all giddy whenever I here the roar of a car engine, or that famous high to low sound as it shifts gears. I was a street racer, and BMW was my car.

Many names and places have changed.

I drove a 2011 BMW 760Li Sedan. Turbo charged, custom skirts, and bumpers. Original rims, I always loved the rims, a deep metallic blue paint job, and black heavily tinted windows.  It only cost around 450 000₤. The money I got from my racing back in Peterborough. That’s where my racing truly began. I had won about every race I took part in there. It was no longer worthy of my time. They weren’t organized. That’s when I found the Nottingham racers.

I was driving out of the city, at the time, I drove a basic BMW roadster, I think the model year was 2009 but I’m not sure. I was out calming myself, after what was the biggest race of my career at the time, but that’s a story for another day. I was looking at the money sitting in my passenger seat. I made it all the way to Grantham, still pondering the new car I’d buy. Realising how big I really was. It was the first time I no longer considered racing a hobby, or a sick obsession, that night it became my career. My ham-radio running. That’s when I heard an announcement for a race. I immediately inquired, still high on the adrenaline I ask:
“Where?”
“Where? Where?! Where are you?! Who is this joker anyway?!”
“Name’s Jack, I’m going north on the A1, ‘round Grantham.”
“Name here’s Catfish.” He was fun, but resembled the attitude of an amateur. I was wrecked by him later that night. “Race is in Nottingham. Between you an’ me, I wouldn’t be using your real name if I were you.”
A new driver clicked into the conversation.
“Spinner here, I’m down for this race, what’s the stakes?”
“Mornin’ Spinner, didn’t think an open challenge would attract someone like you.”
“What are the stakes?”
I listened to them discuss the details of the race. Two more racers joined in on the conversation until I broke in. At that time I had made it to Nottingham. I pulled out 1000₤ out of the bag in the passenger seat. Threw the rest into the back seat and pulled up to the line of cars waiting at the traffic light.
“You have room for another racer?” I inquired. The conversation coming through on my ham-radio fell silent. Spinner spoke first.
“Who are you? Can you cough up the 1000₤ if you lose?” He emphasized the second question.
“I got the money, not like I’ll need it, name’s Joker, Catfish knows me.”
“When the light turns green.” I watched the the light with hard eyes. It turned green and I floored it. Out of the Nottingham Trent University campus, up Clifton and Western Blvd, then Aspley Ln, South on Alfreton, through downtown, until Queens Dr, Finish line is Clifton Blvd, or N.T. Campus.
I later learned that this was a common track for Nottingham racers.

I came dead fucking last that race. Gained alot of respect that night. I also learned what real racing felt like. I was hospitalized, I crashed my car on the traffic circle between Derby Rd and Maid Marian. It was a wreck of a ride anyway. It was my last connection to Peterborough, I was a Nottingham racer from that night on. Losing my ride, and with 490 000₤ in cash I had an excuse to stay in Nottingham. I bought my ride, the BMW, about a week later.  I was later contacted by Spinner via radio.
“Spinner here, looking for a race tonight, small stakes only 1K each or so, hit me back.” He repeated himself a few minutes later. I replied.
“Spinner, it’s Joker.”
“Joker...” He pondered a moment as if he didn’t remember “you’re the tool that trashed his ride, almost got us caught you fucking bastard!”
“Yeah that’s me.”
“So you got a new ride? I saw that bucket of cash the paramedics hauled out of your car that night.” He was snarly, he felt like he had dirt on me or something.
“Yeah, I got a new ride, what’s the deal on racing in this city anyway?”
“You got a GPS?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll hook you into our network. Just gimme the serial code.”
“J893074” A message soon apeared on my GPS. I hit the ‘accept’ option and my GPS showed my current location.
“Scroll the map.” Said Spinner. I slid my finger across the screen. Suddenly cars, other cars showed on the GPS. Name’s appeared above the small arrows on the screen. I found Spinner, he was close, only a couple blocks away.
“I’ll race you now, something fun, I gotta learn this city.”
“Deal.”
I spent that afternoon racing around Nottingham with Spinner. I quickly learned that day, that this was not a place for recreational racing. I wasn’t used to this type of competition. This was the only time in my career where I had a doubt if it was something I was ready for, or if it was something I could handle. Regardless, I stayed confident.

Nottingham racing was different. The competition was intense, and I quickly learned that every racer on the network was esteemed as a driver. Everyone I  raced in Nottingham gave me a good race. My biggest win was only 20 seconds, excluding the few that crashed. There were more rules, more respect to others. It almost felt formal, like what we were doing wasn’t illegal or underground at all.

The way Nottingham racing worked was complicated. You had three best friends; your car, your radio, and your GPS. Now, when most people think street racing they think crews, guns, ‘turf-wars’, pink slips and territory. This city had no stereotypes. Everyone raced alone, it’s you, against the car on your right, against the car on your left etc. No one even carried a gun, it’s like I said, almost formal. No one ‘owned’ the city, but I quickly learned some drivers were assumed to be better than others. Those that were gave the impression of being the better driver took it as though they did own the city. I changed that. No one bothered if you were driving near them, in order to race you have to order a challenge. You would send a local, social, low stakes, or open challenge through the ham-radio. Other challenges like personal, one on one, high stakes, or anything more serious and specific you sent through the ‘social network’ hooked into all our GPSs. You always had your GPS on you, even when you weren’t in your car. It became your new cell phone.  You never raced for a car, you only ever raced for money. At worst, some one would have to sell their car for parts and give you the money they owed you. You never took someone’s ride.

I learned after a few races where I stood in the city. Spinner was big, huge even. He created all the hype. He won every race, never had I seen him lose. I was about to change that, I always thought.

I spent a good couple years making a name for myself, my 2011 BMW was getting old, but the new race money I had gotten from beating Catfish on a personal level got me to turbo charge it. I was in second to Spinner after that. I had created alot of buzz around the city, I had earned alot of respect. I was favoured in most races now and Spinner never liked it. Rumours went around about my bounty. I had about 900K safe, 100K for throwing around in races.

I was driving out of town after beating Catfish and a couple others when Spinner’s car pulled out in front of me. I slammed the brake. My BMW screeched to a halt. I checked my GPS frantically. Spinner (wasn’t) in front of me, he was at home, or his GPS was. His voice came over the radio.

“Who the fuck are you?!” I didn’t answer, I had gotten too used to being respected, I had forgotten the base of all street racing. Trust. Peterborough taught me that. I had almost forgotten it. I trusted that the unwritten rules would stay intact.
“Well! Answer! Have some dignity!”
“Spinner.”
“Some life! Fuck you!” I was almost deep in though as he yelled. I remembered, I had just assumed I’d climb to the top, no one would stand in my way. I, of course, was wrong.
“Listen, who do you think you are. You came to this city, a year ago, now you think you’re some big shot?! huh?!”
“Who are you to tell me off, you haven’t raced in a month!” It was true, he watched all the races on his GPS, threw in the off comment over the radio. I was sick of it.
“Raced?! Raced?! Who are you to tell me?! You’ve been destroying this city!” This was also true, I was upsetting alot of people, no one liked change. I figured a good driver would be respected. I think today, that’s why Spinner was so mad that day. He hadn’t raced, he wasn’t creating any hype, maybe he thought he was being replaced.
“To everyone listening, tomorrow night, I race Joker, for 1 000 000”
At the time, that was everything I had. I had to accept.

People knew I’d win. Spinner was crazy. I was number one in the city, according to the vast majority of drivers over the radio. I was scared going into that race. I remember me telling myself I wasn’t proving anything, but at the same time without beating Spinner who technically held the ‘number 1’ spot, my driving would mean nothing.

The rain poured down hard on the road, the hood, the windshield. Typical, I thought. Alot of things went through my head, in those 3 minutes at the traffic light. Spinner lined his car up next to mine. The light was red.
“Ready?” came over the radio. I checked over my GPS, almost every driver in the city was somewhere on the track ready to watch. I reviewed the track. The default Nottingham track, one I’d done so many times before. I gripped my steering wheel tight, my foot ready on the pedal. Any second now. The light went green. I floored it.

I quickly went up two gears. My car was faster than his, ever so slightly. I was slowly pulling ahead on the long wet strip of the Western Blvd. They were only a couple cars on the road. We passed them easily. The first turn was coming up. I tried my usual method, but knowing my traction on the wet pavement wasn’t very good I knew it could go badly. It was a small turn, but I lost ground. Having let up the gas, then while reaccelerating off the wet road my tires slipped. I slowed, they caught instantaneously and my BMW kicked back in. I had lost 15 clicks in speed and had to make up for it. This wasn’t good. Spinner’s car had near perfect handling.

This worried me. I was neck and neck with Spinner, when the 150 degree turn onto Aspley was gonna hurt. I had a different method. As the turn approached I lowered gears, my engine roared trying to keep speed on a low gear. I started the turn, tapping the brakes ever so slightly, I was in perfect sync with Spinner. Then I floored it, the lower gear helped accelerate the car. The wheels held to the road and I gained a good 10 feet on Spinner. I geared back up to 5 and sailed into down town.

I kept the small lead until we were going down Alfreton. As we approach the turn, I see Spinner accelerating. I slow down in order to make a tighter turn. As I make the turn, I slam the brakes, again. I was boxed in. A normal driver in front of me, and Spinner on my right, preventing a possible pass. Spinner regains speed and quickly gains a huge lead. I was extremely frustrated. I pull the car hard to the left. I pass the car to see Spinner’s red tail lights about 50 feet ahead.

There wasn’t anything I could do, I slam the gas as hard as I could. My car was faster. I slowly regained the territory. The final Major turn was coming up. I would have to gain alot of ground at this traffic circle in order to win. I don’t slow down, I gear down by one. I vear the car left, to make the largest possible right turn to keep as much speed as possible.

I approach the turn, I crank the wheel a hard right. My BMW makes the first 45 degrees, then spins out. It turns another full 180. A flashback appears for an instant in my mind as time slows. I was sitting in the old Roadster, my car had just spun out, and was heading right for a lamp post in the traffic circle between Derby and Maid Marian. I recover. I glance out my window. That very lamp post, the one I hit over a year ago, in my first race in Nottingham was getting closer. I had no control over the car. Time was slow. I remember the last thing I saw, was Spinner’s red tail lights in my rear view mirror, as my left door slams into the lamp post. It felt almost nostalgic.

I was once again hospitalized. Spinner was sitting on a chair next tom my bed. I had been in the hospital a good few days. He looked at me with sorrow, pity, and joy in his eyes. All at once. I picked up the red bag on the table next to my bed and threw it at him.
“Take your money and get out.”.
“No, keep it.” He said as he threw it back
“Listen, I was never in this for the money, but I feel like you were.” His words pierced my heart. It was true, that was why I drove.
“So keep your money,  but remember, I’m number one. I drive because I have a passion for it. That’s why I won.”
I didn’t know what to say. Neither of us spoke, until finally I said,
“I’m retiring. Keep me on your GPS network, I’ll watch the races. I’ll take this money to replace my car, but as for racing, I’m finished.” Spinner was quiet. He nodded,
“I get it, listen, you were number one in this city, everyone thought that race was yours. People still respect you. But your minds made up obviously. You’re a veteran Joker, you really are.”
He said it with a nice smile.
“Hey, before I go, I never found out where you came from. Mind telling me?”

“Well...in my mind...it’s a game, really, and once you’re in you can’t get out. It’s all based around trust. Trust of your friends, trust of your enemies, and trust in yourself. Trust in your car, your stick shift, your brakes, your GPS, your steering wheel, your traction, your ALS, right down to your radio.“v