For five minutes we watched shots before the start of the race, some taken from planes, others from launches. And then a voice said:
“They’re off!”
The next shot was a long one, showing the start. California appeared to get away badly— it was strange, seeing this part of the race for the first time. The engine exhaust of the plane filled the saloon with sound; there were long shots from the air. I looked away from the screen, saw that Coach Mears was sitting very stiffly, staring straight ahead. Doctor Vollmer was rubbing fingers across his face. My eyes went to Mick O’Rourke; he was still slumped low in the chair. Tim Burke and Sonia were tense, their eyes on the screen.
The camera was shooting down from the railroad bridge now; there was no sound of planes, but the shouts of those on
