Page 15 of Formula Fling

Lex moves on to the next person, a woman in her early thirties with sharp eyes and short-cropped hair. “This is Emma Dunne, our mechanical engineer. She handles the suspension and chassis.”

Emma smiles warmly as she explains in a light, British accent, “I work on making sure the car’s setup is perfect for each track. That includes the suspension, the ride height, and the balance of the car—everything that makes sure Lex is comfortable in the cockpit and can push the car to its limits.”

I nod, still writing, though the words are blurring together.

Next, Lex gestures to a bald man with a blond goatee. “This is Thierry Dubois, our power unit engineer.”

Thierry gives a curt nod before speaking and as expected by his name, his accent is French. “I focus on the engine and hybrid systems. It’s my job to make sure the power unit is delivering maximum performance while staying within the limits of fuel and energy usage.”

I’m barely keeping up. The sheer complexity of it all is overwhelming, but I keep taking notes, determined not to miss anything.

Lex moves to the next person, a tall blond woman. “Anya Weber, our tires engineer, all the way from South Africa.”

Anya smiles, her accent lilting and cultured. “I handle tire strategy—everything from tire compound selection to managing wear during the race. Tire performance is key to winning races.”

Tires. Finally, something I understand. I jot down her explanation and smile at her gratefully.

“And last but never least,” Lex says, pointing to a serious-looking man, “this is Gareth Elrod, our strategy engineer. He’s a Yank like you.”

Gareth nods, tips a slight salute to me with two fingers. “Straight from the great state of California, I’m responsible for race simulations, pit stop strategies and making sure we optimize everything to get the best result on race day. Some might say I’m the most important engineer.”

He flashes a mischievous smile and there’s good-natured grumbling around the table. Someone throws a wadded piece of paper that bounces off his head, and it puts me more at ease. I’m in a room full of major brainpower but that little joke reminds me… they’re just people.

And then it hits me—a group of multi-national experts showcasing just how international this sport is.

Still, my head spins from information overload, but I manage to smile and thank everyone.

The meeting begins, and I try my best to follow along as Lex dives into a discussion about the simulator run he did yesterday. He mentions something about “oversteer in the fast corners,” and Giovanni immediately asks for details.

“Turns three and eight,” Lex says. “It’s manageable, but I had to countersteer more than usual. It feels like the rear isn’t planted.”

“Sorry,” I interrupt, feeling a little sheepish. “What’s oversteer?”

Lex grins, clearly happy to explain. “Oversteer is when the rear of the car loses grip before the front does, so it feels likethe back end is trying to overtake the front. Makes the car more likely to spin out, especially in fast corners.”

“Oh,” I say, nodding like that makes sense, though I’m still not sure I fully grasp it.

“And understeer,” Emma adds, “is the opposite. When the front of the car loses grip and you can’t turn as sharply as you want to.”

I write down the terms, feeling a little more enlightened.

The meeting continues with the engineers discussing adjustments to the rear wing angle, tire pressure and energy deployment strategies. It’s all so technical, and I’m blown away by how much science and engineering goes into every decision. This isn’t just driving fast—it’s a finely tuned operation where every millimeter, every gram, every second counts.

By the time the meeting wraps, I’m exhausted from trying to absorb it all, but I feel a strange sense of accomplishment. I’m starting to get it—just a little. As we walk back toward the lobby, I can’t help but shake my head. “That was… so technical. I had no idea how scientific this all is.”

Lex chuckles, clearly enjoying my reaction. “That’s Formula International. Everything has to be perfect. Every adjustment, every tweak—it’s all about shaving off fractions of a second.”

“And you…” I glance up at him, feeling a new kind of respect. “You know so much about all of it. I didn’t realize how involved the drivers are.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, did you think I just show up and drive fast?”

I laugh, mildly embarrassed. “Maybe a little.”

“Make sure you write that in your article,” he teases, holding the door open for me as we head back toward the main lobby. “Let people know I’m not just a pretty face.”

I smile to myself, tucking my notepad away. “I’ll make sure to mention it.”

As we walk, the weight of everything I’ve learned settles over me. Formula International isn’t just about speed and glamour—it’s about precision, science and dedication. And Lex? He’s far more than the reckless playboy I thought he was.

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