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week later, we were able to actually shoot some race footage. Our cameras and other equipment caught up with us in Talladega, Alabama, a city that looked just like all the others to me. I had learned from Uncle Mike that what really mattered was the set location. As for the different cities, they were just a hotel room repeated again and again and again.
    Sandy had qualified for the race, which was great for our documentary. And today’sfilming location was in the Scarlet Thunder pit space, just off pit road, just off the racetrack.
    There wasn’t much room. Not when about forty other teams each needed a pit along the road.
    Of course we gave the Scarlet Thunder pit crew all the space it needed. We fitted our cameras wherever there was space around the crew and the tires and the tanks of gasoline and the toolboxes.
    Although I had a handheld camera and permission to roam wherever I wanted, I had decided to stay close to Uncle Mike. I had an idea that it would be cool to film the crew as it filmed the action. Maybe some of that footage would fit into the documentary.
    I watched closely. Uncle Mike was filming Tim Becker, the public relations man. Tim was hooked up to a mike because the noise of the track was so loud. That was the only way we could get any vocals from him.
    At the same time, cameraman Brian Nelson zoomed in tight on Tim’s face.Brian was a skinny guy in jeans and an untucked Rolling Stones T-shirt. This was the same Brian who had let his camera go out of focus in San Diego. Although Uncle Mike had gotten angry over Brian’s carelessness, it was the first time Brian had messed up. He’d been with Uncle Mike for years, and normally he was one of the best cameramen around. Uncle Mike was sure he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
    Uncle Mike had the rest of his crew shooting the race itself. Later, in the post-production edit, we would use the PR man’s comments in voice-over to tie the segments together.
    I stood near Tim Becker, listening as the race continued. Out there on the track, the cars were a blur of color. I kept my camera on Tim’s face, but I did it from a weird angle.
    He ignored me, just like everyone else did. That was the great thing about being so young. No one—except Uncle Mike—figured I could do anything of value. It let me be just like a fly on the wall, listening and watching and nearly invisible.
    â€œRaces are won and lost on pit stops,” Tim Becker was saying. “Sandy stays in close contact with the crew on her radio. They try to make the best decision possible on when to bring her in.”
    I looked over at George Lot. His tall body was frozen as he gave total concentration to the race. I got a quick shot of him, then turned back to Tim Becker. His face looked square in my viewfinder.
    â€œRight now,” Tim said, “even if the pit stop is only twenty seconds long, it might cost her half a lap or more. She’s in fourth place. A pit stop might move her back to tenth. If the pit crew is a few seconds slower than it should be, she might drop back to fifteenth.”
    I glanced up at a television monitor that showed the network coverage being broadcast to millions of viewers. I decided to film that. I zoomed in and zoomed out.
    Twenty laps into the race, Sandy was part of a tight pack of cars. There were five of them, almost bumper to bumper. She jockeyed down on the track, trying to get beneaththe third-place car as they all came out of a turn. She wasn’t able to make it though, and she had to slide back in behind again.
    â€œThe best thing possible for her would be a yellow flag,” Tim said. “She’d be able to come in, fuel up and change tires without losing her place. Trouble is, so would all the other leaders, so she wouldn’t gain on them.”
    My eyes were still on the monitor as Tim spoke. Yellow flag. I flicked my mind through the research I had done. It’s the caution flag that comes out