One said: 3 MILES.
Then: 5 MILES.
Then: CALL YOUR OFFICE.
Finally I got back to the pits and climbed out. "I can't see a damn thing," I told Mickey.
"I sort of got that idea," he said.
One of the Autolite sparkplug men had the dream wheel. "How fast did I go?" I asked.
He figured it up. "Little better'n a hundred," he said. "That ain't much."
We were now up to our hipbones in broken headlights.
On Tuesday it was decided that Mickey and Danny would drive the shifts through the night, and that Brock and I would take over about dawn. Even if we drove slower, the earlier speeds held by the experts would be high enough to still get the records.