The Driver (19 page)

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER
18, 2004
NEW YORK CITY

Cory Welles's name flashed on my caller ID, the number preprogrammed in anticipation of his arrival from L.A. that afternoon and our first, casual meeting that night at a local lounge.

“Hey!” said a young female voice.

“Who's this?”

“It's Cory! Who else would it be?”

Cory's…a…woman.

I didn't know why I was surprised. Strangely, irrationally perhaps, in the haze through which my quest advanced, I figured Cory Welles—the person who might hold the key to The Driver—passionate about cars and the history of such races, willing even to lose money on a project dear to his heart, had to be a
man
.

“Alex, you were expecting a guy?”

“To be honest, yes. I'm really sorry.”

“This always happens. Where we meeting up?”

“I'll text you the bar's address. How will I recognize you?”

“Don't worry, I'll recognize you. If not, I'll be the hot one.”

 

She stopped me
after
I'd walked past her and doubled back.

Cory Welles was thirty years old, stood five-foot-two, had a Farrah Fawcett mane of dirty-blond hair, a passion for yoga, a brown belt in two forms of martial arts I'd never heard of, and no patience for bullshit. She knew one of the drivers who'd set the 32:07 record and who, along with her father and stepfather, had invested her life savings to make this movie.

She was one of the most beautiful and fascinating women I'd ever met.

“Alex, you have no idea how many tough-guy car people e-mail me about this movie. Seriously, everyone and their brother says they've done it, or done better, or come close, or that it's all bullshit.”

“Is it?”

“No. I heard the stories growing up. It all sounded so crazy, so one day I asked my stepdad's friend Doug if it was true.”

“Who's Doug?”

“Doug Turner. As in Doug Turner and David Diem. They're the ones who set the record.”

 

“Wow,” she said, surveying the floor full of electronics I was inventorying before my flight to London. I'd left everything out until the last minute specifically so she would see it
before
I saw any footage. “I didn't know you were that serious about this rally thing.”

“I'm one of the few.”

“How many other guys are like you? The Gumball site makes it seem like a bunch of guys partying.”

“I'd say…there're about five or six.”

She pondered that for a moment, then set up her DV deck to show me the footage.

“This is really rough,” she said. “What you're about to see are interviews with some of the drivers, and some aerial footage. The guy with the beard and glasses is Rick Doherty, he was the organizer.”

She hit play, and for the next 20 minutes I memorized every name I heard and saw. I sat in frozen silence when it ended.

“So what do you think?” she said.

“How much money do you need?”

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER
27, 2004
IBIZA, SPAIN

“—and then,” I said over the crackling Ibiza–to–Los Angeles connection, “Malmstrom invited me to spend the weekend at his château north of London.”

“Hang on,” said Cory. “
You
beat a Ferrari F40 halfway across Europe?”

“London to Ibiza.”

NEAR THE END.
Dad in 1999, one year before he passed away.

MY FIRST CAR WAS A PORSCHE.
Mom holds me in the Targa in late 1971.

MY FIRST ACCIDENT AVOIDANCE CLASS.
And first tow.

MY FIRST RACE.
The instructor has already fled in fear.

THE
356.
I inherited my love of fast cars from Dad, shown here with his Porsche 356 in the late 1950s.

THE TARGA.
Mom with Dad's Porsche 911 Targa in early 1971. She'd been a stewardess in the swinging sixties.

THE POLIZEI BMW M
5.
The M5's Gumball 3000 debut in 2003 in San Francisco. I'm wearing the vintage 1950s Chaparral racing outfit.

MY ENEMY'S AVALANCHE.
The Chevy Avalanche of fierce competitor Richard Rawlings, sporting twin spare gas cans, parked in front of San Francisco's Fairmont Hotel before the start of Gumball '03.

YEEEEEHAWWWW!
Rawlings celebrating Bullrun 2004 Victory.

MAHER.
Team Polizei copilot, Dave Maher, at the wheel during Gumball '03. Maher was an experienced track racer—I had a lot to learn from him.

HEART ATTACK TIME.
Driving 140 mph with the “tire defect” warning flashing during Gumball '03.

THE HEAD OF THE SNAKE.
As seen in the M5's mirror, McCloud's Ferrari F50 is on the left, Kenworthy's Porsche GT2 on the right.