A MOTHERFUCKING PHONEBOOK

by

Andy Green vaporizes Richard Noble’s record. He sets a two-way average of 714 mph, but this is just a drill. The goal is Mach 1, baby. (“700 mph is of no interest to us…”)

They keep creeping on it. The Mach 1 runs are imminent. I’m in LA, weighing my options. The weather reports out of Reno seem to indicate that foul weather can hit Washoe County and wash out any activity.

I call operation information and ask for Bev’s Miner’s Club in Gerlach, Nevada where I know the Brits are gathering for a beverage and discussing run profiles. Nada. The only number I can extricate out of the operator is for Bruno’s coffee shop.

I call. Bruno answers. I politely and quickly tell Bruno my name, my job and how much money I have spent in his coffee shop. With all that being said, I am trying to reach somebody, anybody on the SSC team who I know are at Bev’s next door and do you happen to have a phone number for Bev’s?

“What am I?” he thunders. “A motherfucking phone book?”
S-L-A-M. The next sound I hear is a dial tone.

I catch another plane and rent another car.

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