On the Fourth of July weekend in 1924, Marion Martins flies past some of the best race car drivers of her time and takes home two trophies from the famous North Shore Race Track in Chicago. In 1926, on the beaches of Daytona, Florida, Joan LaCosta breaks the world speed record at 145 mph. But Martins and LaCosta never face one another on the close-knit circuit of early American auto racing. That's because they are just two of the identities adopted by the elusive woman born Marion Carver. By the end of the 1920s, this enigmatic woman became a household name in auto racing-several household names in fact-though she'd be best known as Joan LaCosta.
Adopting and discarding personas almost as often as she changes tires, LaCosta defies death, shuns social norms, and keeps her competition in the rearview mirror. While driving as fast as she can away from a complicated past, she survives violent wrecks, race collisions, and onboard fires along the way, protected only by flimsy race togs and a thin leather helmet. She never flinches and she never backs down. Her courage impresses every other driver and the sell-out crowds that pack the grandstands at each event she headlines. But fame, danger, and failed relationships take their tolls.
In 1929, as the Great Depression looms, LaCosta is broke and broken, and commits to one last daring stunt: the attempted robbery of a Chicago high-society matron in the most glamorous high rise in the city. Coverage of the dramatic trial sells out papers from coast to coast, and after fame turns to infamy, LaCosta sheds her identity one last time and disappears from public view.
The story of her wild life behind the wheel and her escape into anonymity was untold, until now. The scale is epic, with death always in the wings, love always just out of reach, and betrayal, jealousy, and greed always in play. The thrilling story of Joan LaCosta sits at the compelling intersection of auto racing history, gender equity in sports, and true crime, all set against the backdrop of the Roaring Twenties.
