This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

His grandfather was called the “King” of the sport.
He spent his youth racing cars in western North Carolina. He was expected to win. And he did; becoming the youngest driver to win the National Championship.
Everyone kept telling him he should retire. He was getting too old and his reflexes were slowing down. He wanted one more win. He would win the championship if he won this last race.
On the last lap over his headset he heard his crew chief say “Watch out for oil in turn four.” They were the last words he would ever hear.
hope he survives?
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Odds are against him. Thanks for commenting.
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I was just watching a program with a Formula 1 test driver who was 72 years young and still tearing up the track. I understand the reluctance to quit. Great story.
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Yes, think Michael Jordan. 🙂
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I can imagine it’s very hard to give up if you are an adrenalin type – and I do love people who don’t give up, just keep going. Great take.
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Thanks for commenting.
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Oh, a delightful take on the prompt. Oil is tricky that way.
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Indeed! Thanks for stopping by.
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I just knew it would be his last…
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It was! Thanks Dale.
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I’m with the majority here, at least he was doing what he loved.. We should all be so lucky. Excellent write.
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Thanks you and I agree.
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The fact he heard the warning makes me wonder if her heard it in time. Did he see it as opportunity to go out in a blaze of glory, so to speak?
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A blaze of glory I bet! Thanks for commenting!
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Very layered. Great take.
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Good one. But he was doing what he loved to do.
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Dear Danny,
This sounds like a man who didn’t want to rust out. He died doing what he loved. Not everyone has that privilege. Well done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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I imagine he died with a smile on his face. Nice one Danny
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At least he died doing what he loved…
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It seems his reflexes slowed with age.
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Maybe the knowledge that he had given it his all, and that he would be remembered for it, brightened his way towards the real last race…
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I like your optimistic attitude. Thanks for commenting.
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So sad. Well told, Danny.
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Thanks!
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Many Thanks!
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I imagine it’s like a drug, that rush, and hard to give up, or admit that you can no longer do it.
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Yup! I I used to run. Now it’s more of a walk. Old age dull denial.
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