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Grand Prix Tripoli 1925-1940 by Valerio Moretti
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Part 4

I press on, no longer knowing what my position is. I am somewhere in the field. Silence from the pits, no more signals, they have given me up.

Twelfth lap: Varzi stops at his pit. Probably tire trouble. Good. Auto Union drivers should also realize what it is like to lose the lead. I see our pit signal. Fagioli leads with 36 seconds in hand. At least one of our team is out in front.

I round the long bend again. There is a car upside-down in the dry scrub by the circuit. A hundred yards on two first-aid men carry someone on a stretcher...Who is it?...Dead...Hurt?...I'm already past.

Sixteenth lap: Again that hollow shock; I know the feeling without having to look - one rear tire gone. There is an emergency depot along the sea-front straight; I must stop there. They have seen me from afar, and jump to it. A drink...a drink. Greedily I gulp the lukewarm water down.

I ask, "Who is down there in the scrub?"




"Badly hurt?"

The mechanic shrugs his shoulders, he does not know. Close by me the cars shoot past - white, red, sometimes singly, sometimes battling close together. The depot works quickly. Hardly a minute and I am off again.

One minute! It means I am almost four minutes behind the leader. Never mind, I must press on. At the 8-kilometer stone close by the circuit a white car in flames. Must be a German one.

Twentieth lap: A signal from the pits again, thank the Lord!