The flagman insists that I restart in 12th position. The champ is 11th. I'm positive he should be behind me, and I stop to yell at the pit steward. Okay, I've had bad calls before.

The champ can stay at his present position and use up the track. I loosen the distance and anticipate the green just enough to pull along side him. I am on the outside with just enough momentum to pass before we enter the first and second turns. He taps my back bumper, and I pour it on.

There must be a leak in the header pipe. My eyes are burning from the alcohol and nitro mix. I can’t blink or I’ll be in second place. I can only push it to the ragged edge.

Three laps left. Something is wrong with the engine. The sound is not the same. Then I realize that I am hearing only my engine. Either the champ has fallen back or I have gained ground. I quickly check the oil pressure and the heat gauge. Just that quick glance, and the champ moved up ten feet. Let it go! If it blows, it blows. Run hard and go for it!

I am waiting for something to go wrong. I hear a strange sound in the headers and imagine there is a binding in the rear. It sounds like the car is losing power. The white flag is 50 feet ahead. Now I’m on the final lap with 75 feet between me and the checkered flag.

Wow! It is like a grand slam home run, a touchdown, and winning the Indianapolis 500 all rolled up into one. I yell for half a lap. I’m out of breath. I’m exhausted. I’m happy. I’m relaxed. It is the highest high I’ve ever had. Three years of trying -- thousands of hours of hard work -- scrimping and saving to make a race. Yep, it was worth it. You bet it was worth it! The first win is never forgotten.