But at the Nova Scotia race, her first in months, Julia’s rear axle snapped in two, forcing her to withdraw before the end of the race. Since Julia’s car performed so poorly, without a qualifying round she would probably start near the back—a huge disadvantage. Plus, when it rains, there’s a higher chance of a really bad crash. The grass around the track gets slippery, so if the car slides onto it, it goes “Shoof! Into a wall,” Julia said, swinging her arm wildly to represent the trajectory of a rain-slicked tire.

The day before the race, we headed to the track for a practice run. It was dry that morning, and Julia hoped it would stay that way. She suited up for practice, taking off her pearl earrings and tugging on a fireproof shirt and white, fireproof racing suit, which she topped with a fireproof hood and fireproof helmet. In 1964, Edward Glenn “Fireball” Roberts—so named because of the fastball he threw as a young baseball player—actually did burst into flames during a NASCAR race in North Carolina. Roberts was heard screaming “Help me!” as he burned. Today, there are layers of precautions: Julia even drives with a fire extinguisher strapped by her side.

Zipped into her racing suit, Julia had the air of a conquering hero. Her chest thrust forward, she paced around the car lot, ensuring all was well in her kingdom.

Men came up to take her picture and shake her hand. A group of little girls in yellow earmuffs encircled her for autographs. An old man in a cowboy hat walked up to me and said, “Gotta have a few women in, or the field’s no good.”

She fist-bumped her family and her old go-kart coach, Glenn, who had come to watch her race. She jumped in through the driver’s-side window and revved up her engine.

Things seemed, to my non-expert eye, to go fine during practice. It was overcast but not rainy, which I was told is the perfect weather for racing. But when Julia emerged from her car a little over an hour later, she was red and panting. “That was so fucking scary,” she said.

Mechanics crawled under the car, and Glenn and Julia’s father peered under the hood. She hadn’t been able to hear the radio for parts of the practice session. The car was vibrating because the tires were old. The shifter broke, and the brakes were so mushy that she could never be sure they’d bring her to a full stop. She had no reverse, and her power-steering fluid leaked. It would all need to be fixed before the following day.

Julia headed into a big tent to sign autographs alongside the other drivers. The sky blackened. Julia greeted her fans warmly, but she seemed tense. She turned and quietly asked me if it was raining.

It was. So heavily that rainwater was leaking under the tent.