Chapter 10: Qualifying Day
The sky over Emmen was pale and quiet as the afternoon sun filtered through the trees. The paddock was active and alert—drivers were already reviewing notes, some checking tire pressures, others discussing lines and braking points with their mechanics. The sound of engines occasionally flared up as karts were warmed and tested. Everyone knew qualifying was next.
Alex stood quietly beside his kart, already focused and reviewing the track in his head. The memory of the morning's spin was still there, but it no longer scared him. It sharpened him. This session wasn't about testing anymore. Now, he'd be measured.
Victor stood beside the kart, checking tire pressure in the warmer afternoon air.
"Grip should come quicker now than this morning," he said. "But don't go chasing the perfect lap. Let it come to you."
Alex nodded. He already had his gloves on.
Willem handed him his helmet. Miriam gave his shoulder a squeeze.
"Have fun," she said.
Alex lowered the visor, the world narrowing to the track and the moment ahead.
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The qualifying format today was split into groups of four, each getting a six-minute session. Alex was in group two. That meant he'd have time to watch the first set of drivers and study their lines from the fence.
The first group rolled out, and Alex stood with Victor, watching carefully. One kid missed Turn 6 completely on his flyer. Another locked up into the hairpin and nearly spun. The track was hot, the grip decent—but the margin for error was still razor-thin.
"You see that?" Victor said, nodding at the track. "They're pushing too hard too early. Let the tires come in first."
Alex gave a small nod. He felt calm—not relaxed, but clear-headed.
Soon, a marshal waved them forward.
"Group two to staging!"
Alex climbed into the kart. The seat felt tighter now, but in a good way—secure, snug. His heart thudded steadily under his race suit, but not in panic. Just readiness.
The engine fired with a loud crack and settled into its high, whiny idle. The vibrations through the seat and steering column grounded him. Everything else fell away.
Out-lap. Tire scrub. Short bursts of throttle. Weave left and right. Warm the rubber. Feel the grip come alive.
He took Turn 3 gently, tested the brakes at Turn 5. The tires squealed slightly but bit into the surface. The kart felt eager, alive.
Lap one. Time to push.
He accelerated hard out of the final corner and crossed the line to start his first flyer.
Turn 1—late brake, downshift, commit. The kart dove in cleanly.
Turn 2—fast flick right, eyes already scanning for Turn 3.
He drove with intention but not aggression. Letting the kart flow, not forcing it.
Into Turn 7—he braked later than in practice, waited, then turned in with just enough steering. The rear wobbled but stayed controlled. He kissed the apex.
On exit, he rolled on the power. No hesitation. No fear.
Through the fast right-left sweeper in sector three, he stayed flat. The tires protested slightly but held their line. A small smile tugged at his lips.
Across the line again.
Victor raised two fingers as he passed the pit wall.
"Two laps to go," Alex said to himself, breathing deep.
He backed off slightly to create space behind another kart, watching their line. Calculating.
Lap two. He pushed harder.
He braked later into Turn 5—but too late. The rear snapped again, and he had to lift. It wasn't a spin, but the slide cost him at least two tenths.
Frustrated, he stayed out of the throttle a moment too long through Turn 6. He knew the lap was wasted.
He coasted for half a sector. Let the tires breathe. Let his own thoughts settle.
Final lap.
He reset his grip on the wheel.
"Drive what's there," he muttered.
He braked earlier into Turn 5—found the balance. Carried more speed through the corner without overdriving. Trusted the chassis.
Turn 7 came and went like muscle memory. He was no longer afraid of it.
Into the final chicane—quick flick left, right, then foot flat out. He felt the tires holding—just barely.
He crossed the line with the kart right on the edge of grip.
He coasted through the cooldown lap, hands shaking from the effort. His chest rose and fell beneath the suit. He hadn't just driven fast—he'd driven smart.
Back in parc fermé, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the paddock, the timing screen updated.
Qualifying Results – Final Grid (Top 5):
1. Sven de Wilde – 53.208
2. Daan Jansen – 53.351
3. Alex Vermeer – 53.394
4. Farid Amini – 53.562
5. Bram Vos – 53.589
Alex stared at the screen.
P3. Not bad. Not pole—but close enough to matter.
Victor walked up behind him, arms folded.
"You left time on the table in Turn 5. You know it."
Alex nodded slowly, jaw tight.
"But that last lap?" Victor added. "That was class."
Alex didn't feel angry. Just determined.
He looked out at the track, already picturing the start.
Tomorrow, he'd have to fight for it.
And this time, he wouldn't blink first.