Before Fraser had started work on the the Tribal Thunder, we hatched a plan against Duncan's car. I had smuggled a bottle of Coca-Cola into my truck and now I was going to use it to remove some of the paint off Duncan's car. While Fraser retired to the smashed axle, I got a sponge and the Coca-Cola and set to work. Once the deed was done, I retired to bed.
All I could hear all night was the sound of Fraser cursing and fixing up the Thunder for the next challenge. He returned to the sleeping quarters at 4 o'clock covered in sweat and motor oil, caught all the sleep he could and then awoke at 9 o'clock, where he found me and Duncan arguing furiously over the state of his truck's bonnet, which had 'mysteriously' lost it's paintwork during the course of the night. We saw Fraser coming into view and stopped as he held an envelope in the air. He brought it back down to Earth and opened it. It said;
"It's time for a race! Take your trucks up to the oval athletics course and prepare yourself for a race against each other. The usual score system applies here."
Immediately, Duncan groaned, as this would probably result in two buffoons scraping the paint off his car or pushing it into a support pillar. So, we headed around the sharp drop that had dropped Duncan off, and we lined up on the track. The grid lined up due to points, so I started first, Fraser and his freshly repaired car started second, and a furious Duncan started in last. Five laps and the finish. As soon as we were ready, the flag dropped.
I had a shaky start, leaving me in second behind Fraser's fresh Tribal Thunder but ahead of a conservative Duncan in the Haywain. The track was only 1.2 kilometers, so the first lap passed quickly. I tried for an overtake at the first curve, but I got rewarded by being pushed into the outside grass edge. Meanwhile, Duncan shadowed me in last, not daring to pass just in case I pushed him into a pillar. Second lap done and Fraser was still in the lead, but he overshot the first corner and I slipped through, as Fraser almost smashed into Duncan upon re-entry. He maintained second and gave chase with a three second gap.
Third lap done, and I thought I had it in the bag. I drifted around the first corner and suddenly caught sight of my pursuers, hot on my tail. Fraser was constantly being challenged by Duncan, who had ditched the safe tactic and had gone to DEFCON 1 in search of victory. The fourth lap done and Fraser was basically neck-and neck with me on the back straight. But then we both understeered on the last corner and Duncan shot through the gap and into the lead. Fraser shunted me off and hounded Duncan until the bitter end, while I limped home in last. The race hadn't gone to plan for me.
The night was filled with gloating from Fraser and Duncan about coming last. After that palava, the score sat at this;
Joint 1st: Duncan Bunting, 10pts
Joint 1st: Fraser Young, 10pts
Joint 1st: Alex Laird, 10pts
A three-way tie, a rarely occured event. I went to sleep earlier than usual, stewing with fury over the stinging comments of the other two. I will redeem myself tomorrow.