Chapter 9: First Struggles
The morning mist hadn't lifted yet as the Vermeer family pulled into the paddock of Kartcentrum Emmen. The track was longer, faster, and more technical than the circuit in Eefde, with blind corners and high-speed sweepers that Alex had only seen in videos. Even from the parking area, the rumble of engines echoed through the trees, making his stomach tighten.
Leo wasn't with them this time. His dad thought Emmen was too far for a weekend trip. So it was just Alex, his parents, and Victor—who already stood beside the trailer, arms crossed, watching the other kids prep.
Alex climbed out of the car and looked at the track. It looked massive. The fences, the length of the straight, the elevation changes in the distance—it felt like stepping onto a different planet.
"You're quiet," Victor said. "Nervous?"
Alex nodded.
"Good. That means your brain knows today matters."
---
The paddock was already buzzing with activity. Mechanics rolled karts to the staging area, tools clanked against concrete, and kids in race suits gathered in small groups, laughing or adjusting gloves. It felt more serious here. More real.
The morning was all free practice, broken into short sessions. Alex suited up, slid on his gloves, and pulled his helmet strap tight. The air smelled like petrol and wet grass. He climbed into the kart, lowered his visor, and rolled out for his first run.
The cold tires didn't help. On his out lap, he missed the apex of Turn 4 completely and nearly spun at Turn 7, where the track dipped before tightening sharply. He clattered over the inside curb and felt the kart snap sideways. He caught it—barely.
The surface felt bumpier, more abrasive than what he knew. The grip was uneven, and it was hard to judge where to push. By the end of the first lap, his hands were already tense from gripping too hard.
His second lap wasn't much better. He braked too early into Turn 2, then too late into Turn 5. His lines were messy. He couldn't find rhythm.
By the time he came back to the paddock, his gloves were damp with sweat.
Victor leaned over the kart. "Okay. Tell me."
"I can't figure out the back section," Alex muttered. "Turn seven feels like it's trying to throw me off the track."
Victor pointed to a laminated track map taped to the trailer wall. "Because you're turning in too early. It's a late apex corner. If you go in too soon, the kart slides outward and you lose all momentum. Try braking a little later and be patient."
Alex nodded slowly. His mind raced. He wasn't used to being off the pace. Everyone around him looked smoother, more confident.
---
The second session was better—or at least it started that way.
He took Victor's advice and adjusted his line into Turn 7, but now he was too cautious and lost speed on exit. Then, midway through the session, he pushed harder into one of the fast sweepers in sector one—a long right-hander that required total commitment.
He turned in too sharply, hit a bump mid-corner, and the rear end stepped out.
In an instant, the kart spun.
It whipped around violently, the rear tires screeching across the asphalt. Alex instinctively lifted off and turned into the slide, but it was too late. He slid sideways across the track, narrowly missing the outer curb. Dust and tire smoke filled his visor.
He sat still for a second, breathing hard.
Marshals waved a yellow flag as he regained control and slowly rejoined the session, engine still running.
But the rest of that run was a blur.
Every time he approached that same corner, his hands hesitated. He braked too early, turned in too late, or coasted awkwardly. His confidence was gone. He tried to go faster—to push past the fear—but that only made things worse. His lines got messier, his rhythm collapsed.
Victor didn't yell. He just watched. Took notes on a small clipboard. Between sessions, he said little. Alex could feel the silence—not judgmental, but expectant.
Alex sat on a plastic crate, helmet beside him, staring at his gloves. His suit felt hot and heavy now, like it was pressing down on him.
Willem crouched next to him. "You're not going to master a new track in one morning."
"I know. But I should be better."
"You're already better than you were at the start of the day. That's the point."
Alex looked away, watching a group of kids joke around by their trailer. He wanted to be back at Eefde. He wanted the track to feel familiar again.
---
Before the final session, Victor finally spoke.
"You're not racing the corner. You're racing your memory of the spin. Let it go. Trust what the kart is telling you now—not what it did once."
Alex took a deep breath. He tightened his gloves. He got back in.
In the final practice session, something clicked.
Not everything. Not perfectly. But enough.
He took Turn 7 cleaner. Braked a touch later, waited an extra half-second before turning in, and the kart held its line. He hit the throttle earlier on exit and felt the kart respond.
When he reached the fast sweeper where he had spun earlier, he breathed out slowly. He didn't overthink. He flowed through it—not flat out, but smooth. Controlled. Confident.
He found a better line through the left-right combination in sector one. Stayed tighter to the inside at Turn 3. Got on the power sooner at the short chute before the hairpin.
He still wasn't the fastest on track, but he felt something return: control. Awareness. Rhythm.
When the session ended, he pulled into the paddock and removed his helmet, face flushed and breathing hard. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his neck itched from the suit, but he didn't care.
Victor walked over, checked the kart, and gave a single nod.
"You're learning. Tomorrow's race won't be about who's the fastest. It'll be about who adapts the best."
Alex looked back at the track. The late sun cast long shadows across the curbs and painted the asphalt gold. It looked different now. Not easier—but less impossible.
He hadn't conquered it.
But for the first time all day, he didn't feel lost.
Not bad for a Saturday.