“You’re not like other adults. You’re like a big kid.” My nephew made this observation after I’d guided my Porsche C4 through an impossibly tight corner, accompanied by a rebel yell. Max’s assessment of my temperament was not entirely correct. In my forty-seven years, I’ve met a few souls who also experience frequent bursts of child-like enthusiasm. In fact, one of the main reasons I love cars is that I love people whose love of cars keeps them young. Of course, the flipside of that ‘tude is that it can kill you dead.
I learned this lesson in The Land of Hope and Glory. Back in the day, sports car ownership was booming. Nigel Mansell (and then Damon Hill) were tearing up F1 racing. Evo magazine had just launched. The UK government had decided that the world’s second safest roadway system required thousands of hidden speed cameras and an armada of unmarked “Talivans.” And companies had discovered that hooning about on a race track qualified as a tax-deductible “team building” exercise.
There was plenty of scope for said hoonery. As one of motor racing's original homes, the UK is lousy with racetracks. The majority of these automotive arenas pre-date the Jackie Stewart-inspired safety era by a considerable margin; run off areas are conspicuous by their absence while cement "barriers" abound. Speaking of which, most of these competitive crucibles hadn’t been properly paved since the Korean war– if ever.
Inexperienced owners of overpowered automobiles drove to these ramshackle racetracks in droves. As did F1 aficionados, desperate to live out their Walter Mitty fantasies. And purist pistonheads questing for the perfect racing line. And chronic speeders. And testosterone-crazed corporate slaves, trying to bolster their water cooler status. The end result was fairly predictable: a smorgasbord of barely controlled speed, with a side table of crumpled metal.
The “open track day” was the ultimate expression of the UK’s petrol-powered amateur hour. After watching a Ferrari slam into a guardrail, I began the morning in question with a track familiarization session.
So there we were, Speed Racer and three helmeted acolytes, banging around a racetrack in a, wait for it, Ford Mondeo. The fact that Speed was driving a bog standard family saloon didn’t fool me for a second. I wedged myself into the door and hung on.
The first couple of laps were placid enough, filled with a barrage of barely comprehensible instructions: “Turn in here. Use that tree for a braking point. Don’t overcook it through this turn.” Etc. And then Speed shut up and did what failed race car drivers do best: scare the shit out of civilians.
Actually, given my ability to make peace with the possibility of death, I wasn’t scared. But I was nauseous. When Speed finally turned off the track, I felt like I’d just stepped off the Pepsi Max Big One roller coaster.
The training session did nothing to curb my enthusiasm. Obviously, I drove my F355 around that track with none of Speed’s skill; missing braking points and stringing together corners like a two-year-old describing her day. But I had a hundred times more fun. I mean, Speed hadn’t cackled once. And I bet he never dove into a corner with Little Feat’s Fat Man in the Bathtub blaring out of his radio.
To make a long story 800 words, I parked the Ferrari (slipping clutch and all) and went looking for a ride. The possibilities were mind-blowing. Ferrari F50, lightweight Jaguar E-Type, Lamborghini Diablo, Porsche Turbo, TVR Chimera, AC Cobra– ALL the cars of my adrenal dreams were there, lining up for action. I was hopping up and down like a little kid.
For some reason, the effete owners of these mad machines were reluctant to accommodate a rabid American with a bad case of helmet hair. And then a dentist offered me a ride in his Lotus Esprit V8.
From the moment we took off, I knew I was in the hands of an expert. I’m not exactly sure how he did it, but we were passing everyone. Oh my Lord, it was fun. And then we powered into the straight for the second time.
Actually, it was more like a 185mph corner. And somewhere in the middle of the “bend” the Lotus twitched. Badly. The dentist swore. “That was close,” he pronounced. And that was it: fun gone.
In that single instant, I grew up. I suddenly realized that race tracks are NOT all fun and games. That putting my inner child behind the wheel was a direct route to infanticide.
I still get excited about cars and driving fast and driving fast cars fast. But I now have an inner parent. I’m not saying I always listen to it, but it’s there. Well, some of the time.
The thought that usually runs through my head after I survive doing something stupid: “Don’t let the fact that you have a penis be the death of you”
or
“There are Old Pilots, and Bold Pilots, but there are no Old Bold Pilots.”
It’s your testicles that are at fault, but point taken.
It took a couple such moments on public roadways for me to add that bit of oversight that at least gives me warning before I'm doing something likely to get me killed. Pulling a 360 in the middle of an interstate is no easy feat in a 1994 Acura Integra.
I got mine when I spun out of control in my brothers 74′ 929 coupe on a dirt road and missed a tree by only inches. Its why I always say that losing control of a car should be part of mandatory driver education for all young drivers. Nothing like seeing the edge of the cliff to rid you of those feelings of immortality.
I’m glad to read this sobering article. I get a little dismayed by the frequency that I see “hoon” and articles glorifying driving out of control. This doesn’t so much apply to TTAC but more to blogs like Jalopnik. I don’t know if that journalism is irresponsible but there has to be a line somewhere.
It is for exactly this reason I prefer shorter tracks with lots of challening corners. I love carving the turns, but I don’t relish doing it at 120+ MPH. The penalties for messing up are just too great for a hobby.
One of the unfortunate side effects of the incredible performance limits of modern cars is that driving to those limits, where much of the fun resides, has become extremely dangerous.
I used to go for Sunday morning drives in my mid-90s Acura Integra on Skyline Blvd. (SF Peninsula). I gave that up (and sold the car) when I discovered that doing corners at twice the suggested speed was not only possible, but uninvolving.
Conversely, I remember reading a restrospective article on some British post-WW II roadster (MG TD?) a few years ago. The author went for a leisurely jaunt and found that the car would exhibit lift-throttle oversteer at 15 mph. Fun? Yes. Fast? No.
I’ve often said that the genius of some performance cars (the Mazda Miata is the archetype for this) is NOT that their performance is so amazing, it’s that they make using a fraction of that performance at sane speeds fun.
Eric_Stepans:
Hence the reason the Porsche Boxster is a far better driver’s car than a 911.
Luckily, in my early twenties I was put in charge of a little super-sonic jet, owned by Uncle Sam. I had the testosterone scared out of me so many times that I never felt the need for speed on the ground (nor did I have the money!) Now, in my mid-fifties, nothing will come close to those memories.
You are the Ernest Hemingway for car enthusiats!
Nice,no damn good story Robert.I could share an hours worth of “this one time” stuff.But I’m still envious of the cars you had at you’re beckon call.
This story rates with the one about Guido trying to chase you down.
rf and eric
i can only second your comments. during my M3 honeymoon i was astounded at how fast i could go around corners with nary a flash of the DSC lamp. i kept pushing my luck until one fateful morning understeer struck rather suddenly and i became up close and personal with the shrubs, rocks and ditch that lined the twisty two lane. it took about 14k to get the suddenly M2 back to 3 status. while it’s true that it’s probably safer to hoon in a “relatively” underpowered but sweet handling piece, they all have their limits and a foolish driver will find them. i now prefer to test the limits of go karts on tracks, tons of fun without the consequences.
being child is not about being childish, but about playfulness of life. some people see things as they are and say why, I dream things, that never were, and say why not. when the watercolours mildly distill somwhere in mist near the horizon, and you embrace the freedom with your paw, making a french kiss till the floor of the throttle. you set the strenght of wind outside by flooring pedal till the red horizon of max rev. your hair get caressed and combed by autumn gust and you inhale in your lungs half of the hemisphere. you get lost in your position whether you are a man or a boy, you wildly tear of the tie, and office suit, and time stops carving wrinkles in your forehead and you get frozen in the moment, in the deep lion-like baritone of v8, of shiny metal hips that get licked by reflection of the sun, and jealous people contours on windshield. and this Dali picture gets surreal when the cloud monsters crawl over the shine of the polished inferno red paint. welcome to another reality!
lunatics@inbox.lv juris
“There is joy to be had in driving slow cars fast.”
My automotive stable consists of a yin and yang, a fast slow car which is my daily driver, and a slow fast car which is my Sunday driver (that is on the few sunny Sundays we see up here in the Pacific Northwet!)
Yin is a fantastically frugal, incredibly reliable, Teutonically dull, 2002 VW Jetta TDI (I can hear you all yawning now.) The TDI’s 0-60 time is measured in two digits. It sips fuel through a cocktail straw and averages… yes *averages* 50 MPG. It carries four people comfortably, and has a trunk that can swallow TWO hockey bags with ease. The amazing thing about it is that it has a secret life as an Autobahn cruiser.
Really.
The TDI Jetta can roll along at low triple digit speeds for hours on end. More amazing is that it does so quietly, comfortably, and with supreme stability. I know because I’ve done it many, many times. I have traversed long sections of the American west, on places such as Interstate 5 and 90, rolling at speeds that only our friends in Deutchland can regularly enjoy. The only thing that suffers at this speed is fuel consumption, which… horrors!… drops to something completely unnacceptable, like 44 MPG. (HTML really needs a “sarcasm” tag.)
Unfortunately for the TDI this can in no way be considered… “fun.” It is just too… too German to be fun. It is a sedan. It is too frugal. It is too comfortable. It carries no risk beyond a stern lecture and perhaps worse, from some part of the Criminal Justice system. Not that I’ve ever been stopped… I swear a VW Jetta must have some super-secret stealth technology because I’ve rolled past various State Police members at high speeds without so much as a glance.
Not so with Yang.
Yang is a family heirloom. My father’s retirement project. A machine that has absorbed embarrassing volumes of blood, sweat, and tears from both current and past owners. It is an automotive icon, that is both lusted after, and feared. It is the amalgam of the genius, and the terror, the sublime and the ludicrous; it is the penultimate expression of the two words British Engineering. It is a 1965 E-type Jaguar.
They claim it had 265 HP and could go 150 MPH. In reality it had maybe twice the TDI’s 90 HP and in a pinch, my Jaguar could beat the VW’s top speed by maybe 10 or 15 MPH.
But my gawd is this thing FUN!
Yes, it gulps fuel like an SUV with two more spark plugs and 2x the weight. Yes, it requires constant tinkering and repair. Yes, I never leave the house in it without a boot full of tools and spares, towing insurance, and a cell phone. Yes, I can’t put the convertible top up without permanently damaging my spine. Yes, the trunk was the prototype for the FedEx envelope. Yes, the driving position is uncomfortable, the ride too stiff, the bulging bonnet a little too… bulging. Yes, its shortcomings are legion.
But my gawd is this thing FUN!
Yang’s 0-60 time blows the doors off of Yin’s. Even better the Jag rockets from 60-90 in the blink of an eye. In the Jetta passing on a two lane road is a thing which requires Teutonic levels of planning, and timing. In the E-type it is a joy! At idle the TDI rattles, the big cat purrrrrrrrs. At speed the TDI hums, and the big cat ROARRRRS! At 100 MPH the Jetta feels like a weekday morning, whereas in the Jaguar it is like Saturday at 1am… your eyeballs are out on stems and you feel just a twinge of embarrassment, but who cares? We’ll worry about it in the morning.
The Jaguar does draw law enforcement like… well pigs to swill. But oddly enough they usually just want to get a closer look and have a freindly chat. Go figure.
While the Jaguar boasts a fine suspension and brakes that were decades ahead of their time, this is not a car with any sort of electronic nannies on board to make up for lack of driver talent. If you go into a corner 2 MPH too fast, you will pay the ultimate price. I will say that when this car belonged to my father and we took it out on track days and autocrosses I flogged it pretty hard and squeezed out times much better than his. But now that the old Jaguar is under my care, and my wallet has been drained a bit by various component rebuilds, the performance envelope has magically shrunk. Amazing how that happens. I wouldn’t think twice about trashing the VW to the limit, but not the E-type.
I owe it better than that. I am now its caretaker. In that respect my “childhood” ended when I took over the adult responsibility of making sure this elegant machine lives beyond me. The VW? It will die a natural death at some point in the future (hopefully somewhere around a quarter million miles)… but the Jaguar is destined to be handed off to my sons.
Unless of course some cell-phone yakking soccer mom in her GMC Yukon runs a red light and wads me up into her wheel well. Then I’ve told my wife to bury me in it.
–chuck
I was 55, in my 21st car, when I grew up. I suddenly realized that I didn’t have to drive on the limit ALL the time; only where it could be done safely and not scaring anyone, including my wife beside me. God knows why I found a pleasure it that earlier. I used to corner at 50 mph in 25 mph corners, in a BMW 3 M-sport with almost no suspension, scaring the wit out of my young sons. And yes, that have NOT became car freaks. Car driving obviously has a life-long learning curve (!). And I guess the old time racings champions still could give the youngsters a fight – if they were willing to take the risk.
Great story Robert.
And Chuck, your follow-up story was terrific, too. Take care of that Jag.
Robert,
Have you ever tried a motorcycle?
The ultimate racing machine…
Outsprinting Porsches and BMWs. Easily.
Passing where no one else can pass.
With the babe in the back clinging to you, as if you’re superman, carrying her past the clouds.
Until you see Death in the eyes.
And decide to take a different turn.
Stay alive.
Seconded on the kudos to Chuck’s story.
I haven’t grown up (and don’t plan to), but I did get myself a portable, non-vehicle-specific speed-governor. It’s called the MRS system.
Re: “Have you ever tried a motorcycle?”
Motorcycles will not stay with fast cars on corners –but acceleration on two wheels is quite fun.
I had to give up bikes. Or die.
I’m afraid I used up the last of my balls-to-the-wall (so to speak) daring when I was cross-country equestrian jumping. Often, two of us would jump together if the fence was wide enough, if not then a game of chicken ensued and the one with the biggest cojones (or horse) won. Downhill front rolls (with horse) and projectile dismounts hurt… a lot.
Track and slalom days are an adrenaline rush but I don’t really take the same undue risks anymore. But I’ve ridden along with some incredible drivers (Alan McNish, Dindo Capello, Tom McGeer) at eye-boggling speeds, and feel an almost zen-like calm and confidence in their skills. If I was gonna go out, what better way to go?
These days – I only push to my absolute limit on the go-kart track – where wipeouts tend to hurt a whole lot less.
Great story Robert. I’m pretty sure that my nephew hasn’t realized yet, that I actually am a grownup. Sure wish he’d quit telling his grandmother about my smokey burnouts…
Robert Farago:
I had to give up bikes. Or die.
Oh wow, such a pleasant thought. Glad you realized this. Good article.
So far, the most dangerous drivers I see are the ones who drive 20 MPH too slow in the left lane, and the ones trying to pass them in the right lane while driving 20 MPH too fast.
This reminds me of the time I was in a (short wheelbase) BMW M3 “roadster,” back in 1998, and shifted up as I turned tight (on rain-slickened pavement) to the left and felt the car start to do a 180. I countered steered and pushed my foot down on the brake and felt the antilock kick in, innumerable times; as the car stopped, only inches from the side of a Subaru whose owner’s eyes got as big as a racoon on the prowl. (Nope, I didn’t wipe the side of either car out – but there were two of Seattle’s finest there, behind the Sube. Which led to explanations of why I had the car, who I was and no, I was not drunk. After the old good cop/bad cop, the one playing the Good Cop allowed me to go with a warning, which almost ellicited a “Thank you, Jesus!” from me.)
In case anyone from BMW is reading this, that near miss was unintentional, I assure you. I had that car for a week and thought I knew it’s limits – sure found them that evening.
“Hoonery” has crested, so it seems to me, as computer games encourage pushing the limits, in the realm of the real world, as well as the virtual. But unfortunately, in real life, there is no reset button. When the damage is done, whether it be by a bullet or a missed move in an automobile, things collide and putting them back together again is, sometimes, a futile task.
Those who feel they have “been in combat” because they played a video game involving same, or feel they have “driven at full chat,” because they have played a video game involving racing, might indeed be the same people who feel they have know what it is like to make love to a woman because they have wanked off to something involving that.
This is not to take away from the incredible feats done by the people who design games, or flight or driving simulators. Just don’t confuse real life with the virtual.
Death is always out there, waiting patiently. As Ernest Hemingway noted, risk taking becomes less appealing, the older one gets. It is because one becomes aware that your personal expiration date is coming nigh.
The greatest drivers in racing, achieved what they did – and do – because they never think too much of what the consequences might be to running at 200 mph – or if they do, they make damn sure it doesn’t happen.
I’ve found that driving 6/10th’s of my limits is good enough for me. Anything more than that is just asking for trouble from me, the car, or both.
The greatest drivers in racing, achieved what they did – and do – because they never think too much of what the consequences might be to running at 200 mph – or if they do, they make damn sure it doesn’t happen.
Terry, this reminds me of an interview I read of Olympic-level downhill ski racers. Someone asked one what a fall at their tremendous speeds (70-80mph) would entail. One answered simply “I don’t fall…”
“Hoonery” has crested, so it seems to me, as computer games encourage pushing the limits, in the realm of the real world, as well as the virtual.
[Soapbox mode on] Terry, that statement matches my experience teaching teenagers (in Automotive Technology) for a year. It was my observation that modern US suburban teenagers have an unhealthy fascination with real-world “hoonery” precisely because they spent their childhood indoors plaling with computers and video games.
When I was growing up, we climbed trees and threw dirt clods and fell off of our bicycles and learned about real-world consequences. A lot of modern teenagers seem to have no understanding of this. [soapbox mode off]
I drive a ’92 Jetta Coupe. I’ve owned an ’89 Kawasaki Ninja 600R, am now putting together its bigger, more primitive, faster brother, a GPZ 900R, and spent last summer on a ’92 GSX-R 750 (with an 1100 swap).
The car only has 15 hp up on the slowest of these bikes. It’s more than 50 hp shy of the fastest one. And yet, I have more tales of backroad heroism, hoonery and tarmac slidery in the sober German than all my Japanese rockets combined.
When I unleashed the bikes’ 10,000 RPM of “let’s get the hell over there,” I treated it like firing a gun. I felt so outclassed by their monumental power, I would always tip-toe around them. Just like trying to satisfy a porn star, I always felt inadequate, experiencing joy only for that brief straight-line ejaculation. And even during that, a 145 MPH speed wobble (in fourth gear) showed me right quick that I didn’t even have the figurative pole to satisfy the freak.
The Jetta is like your old high school girlfriend – the one who gained some extra heft over the years, but whom you know every inch of. And just like said same, I know I can always make the Jetta’s Dunlops squeal.
In that little old economy car, I’ve nearly bit the weeds in a sideways slide at 60 MPH, only correcting trajectory after the third fishtail. I’ve needled through traffic at 100 MPH, changing lanes so violently that the tires squealed with every flick of the steering wheel. I’ve been chastised by my father because he saw -at least- one wheel leave contact with the pavement when I rounded the corner on our street. I can drive the thing all day without having to set foot on the clutch pedal (except for full stops), and can heel-toe it to the point of making that 100 hp eight-valve sound almost sporting.
I can honestly say, without reserve, that vehicular nirvana lies in being able to push your machine to its limits, and not in attaining absolute speed.
Robert:
I feel your sentiments about bikes. I’ve found that taking a sportbike out on the highway is the best cure for being monumentally upset. After about 20 seconds of rage, you’re all of a sudden wondering, “What the hell am I doing?” You’re forced to calm down, because the only alternative is death.
“stringing together corners like a two-year-old describing her day”
Robert, you have got to be the funniest guy on 4 Wheels
My Moment of Clarity:
5L V8 RWD Pontiac hauling ass to upstate NY with some friends my senior year in high school (alright it was an 85 Parisienne wagon – but loaded with 5 people, all our gear and a canoe up top, that beauty was a beast!). The engine was really struggling on the way pulling over 6000lbs through the hills, but it finally made it and all had a great time on the lake.
Before the return trip, I clothes-pinned the butterfly intake valve open and she started breathing properly (love them old school old-tech fixes – that one made the MacGuyver nickname stick for a decade). Nearly home, I was a little drowsy and missed the exit (petrified/excited and not-sleeping all night next to my high school crush in a 4-person tent took its toll) and I took the next one trying to wind my way back to familiar territory. I’d become quite adept at driving these GM behemoths (we’d owned no less than four during my life to that point) and wanting to get home and enjoying my re-invigorated ride, I was tackling the back-road twisties with aplomb.
Until the down-hill ess-curve of course. Normally I would’ve been fine, but the wet sand at the 2nd apex combined with the extra weight screwed me – rear end slid out and counter-steered uncontrollably into a guard rail. We were shaken, but fortunately everyone was fine, and even greater fortune prevented us from barreling through the wooden guard rail section a few feet further ahead into the frothing river 20 feet below.
With a completely snapped front axle – the shaggin wagon was toast, but I vowed to my father that I’d never drive another make seeing how well the ample crush zones protected me and my friends. He countered that I had utterly failed to abide by the physical limitations of the vehicle by driving an already poor-handling overladen whale at speed in questionable conditions on roads I’d never traveled.
Of course he was completely right – and since then I’ve limited myself to smartly configured weight-appropriate vehicles with no more than 4 cylinders – I just don’t trust myself with excess displacement (although the practical engineer in me has no problem with efficient combustion forced induction) and eeking every last bit out of your 4-banger while rowing your own gears is just about all I need these days
I have a 150 hp, 450 lb sport bike, and a 95 hp 2200 lb car. I have as much fun in one as the other. Unless you’re on a racetrack, something like an Austin Healey Sprite is WAY more fun on the road than any BMW M-series, because you’re always working the car, running on its very modest edge. A twisty road becomes a pleasure at the speed limit rather than a source of frustration.
My wake up moment was attending track school (cars) and the instructor let us take our own cars out at lunch…I was on my bike that day.
If you’ve never approached a modest turn at 140 on a sport bike, you have no idea how much force it takes to wrestle your machine around the corner. I certainly hadn’t, and it was definitely an eye-opener.
Thanks for the great article, Robert. I would think that few automotive journalists have the honesty to say things the way you said them here.
Your article, as well as the discussion above, makes me think about the current horsepower wars and the sanity of it all. I am probably alive today only because I grew up driving mid-seventies crap. There’s only so much trouble you could get in racing a 4000 lb Cutlass supreme with all of 170 hp on tap. Somehow, I won my fair share of races, against even lamer sleds. Funny thing was, we had fun with that crap because we didn’t know any better.
The thought of 400, 500, and even 600 hp machinery in the hands of spoiled rich kids with no inner ‘parent’ scares me. Although I’ll be the first to admit that being slammed back in your seat by a huge horsepowered machine is the second best feeling there is, my current implement of hoonage will remain a sport(ish) fwd sedan, mainly due to family obligations. My fantasy garage still contains that convertible Z51 Corvette, but my inner parent tells me that my automotive reality is probably is good as it should be.
I scared myself in high school when I stepped up from a 50hp CRX to a 160hp 300ZX. I’ve been saving (most of) my hoonery for autocross since then.
In an effort to make the light (and the left turn) at the top of my interstate exit ramp, I often drop my car down into 3rd and floor it, braking a wee bit late and entering the turn wide in sort of a “WRC Swedish turn” fashion. The roadway goes from nice tarmac to crap tarmac to concrete slab in 30′ (all mid-turn, no less).
Friday I very nearly plowed my front end into the far curb on the overpass while executing a completely unnecessary 4-wheel drift with a little of the front-end plow that comes with FWD cars (my death grip on the wheel precluded me from any e-brake action, not that it would have been advisable anyway).
Near-death? No. But trying to get insurance to pay to fix a bent subframe, control arms, struts, and who know what else after crashing into a 12″ curb? My car is probably only $6k on the books to them, so the payout wouldn’t have gotten me crap to replace it. So even when maturity doesn’t mean you come to grips with your own mortality, it can at least scare you with finances :D
Besides, I’m a rock climber, which satisfies my “cheating death” genes. I guess I only need to try bullfighting now, according to Mr. Hemingway.
“stringing together corners like a two-year-old describing her day”
yes… brilliant.
“Ahhh these durn kids and there video games”… that makes me laugh. Do kids really drive more crazy than they did before video games? I don’t think so, I remember plenty of guys in the 70s with their muscle cars wiping out left and right. Also you never hear about anybody playing “chicken” anymore. That was a pretty dumb kid game before video games. Kids are just kids, they will always drive stupid. At least video games give them a little training and improve their reflexes. Hey you guys are adults and driving like maniacs, you ever think of that? No video games, so what’s your excuse?
chuckgoolsbee your paean to your yin and yang was absolutely wonderful. My smile muscles are hurting. Thanks!
Heh it is funny that you just wrote this story, as I have just recently had my first real good lesson about this (being only 25 I am sure I will have more in the future). On a cold morning I spun out my car while taking a turn through a stoplight too fast. Despite doing this on many occasions, this time my back end spun out. I managed to keep it turned inwards (not that I had that much effect on what was happening at that point) so that I spun out across my two lanes without getting friendly with either the curb or the oncoming turn lane filled with drivers who thought I was an ass. At this point I am still not exactly sure of the physics behind getting my FWD car to spin out in a corner, and that’s the part that scares me the most. I will be toning down my hoonery for a while.
I had a ’77 Toyota Corolla with the 1200 cc engine from ’85-’93. Paid $450 for the thing, which I bought from David Albright, one of the (then future) Iraqi weapons inspectors. After I’d had it three years, I figured I’d gotten my money’s worth, and so I drove it at its limits all the time. I wove through DC traffic like a maniac (it was so narrow I could squeeze in a lot of places) flooring it much of the time. There is a short road through one of DC’s highest end residential areas that has five little bridges in a row that go sharply up and down, over a brook. I could get the thing airborn over those bridges–just barely–and I did it all the time. I considered getting a license plate that said “BAD FUN” or “REDLINE”.
I actually had a lot of fun tossing around the well cared for 2001 Ford Focus I’ve been thinking about buying my daughter – even though it can barely spin the tires in the rain.
My daily driver has more than 3 times the HP of the Focus…but that kind of HP makes the limits of handling very treacherous ones to exceed.
One beautiful fall morning at LeCircuit Mont Tremblant I was in the control tower for a class session while my friend was out first track session in his GTI. We were sharing an instructor and it was our first visit to LCMT. For those that have been there I was seated at the rear of the control tower (by the trailer parking) and I could not see the track. All was well untill one of the instructors came in I think it was Glen to inform us that there was an off (crash) into turn 1 and it was a red R32 or something… My friend’s GTI is red. 500mi from home horrible thoughts flashed into my mind. I saw the ambulance and nearly shit myself. I had brought my friend into this bloodsport (people do die tracking) and now I was tense in anticipation of assessing his condition and to a lesser degree his car’s condition which a tow from Canada to New Jersey would be ugly expensive without even getting into repairing the wreckage. Some quick teardown of the GTI (he’s both VW and Audi certified for well everything) and we had the issues assessed and quickly sorted out. Biggest injury was a bruised ego and a few damaged frontal pieces of bodywork.
I’ve put four off at Watkins Glen into turn 1… I went wide of the trackout point because I blew the Apex… I had gotten faster and faster exiting the last turn and I carried more speed into turn 1. I kept it smooth and on the tarmack… but club rules specified that my session was over and the IRL spec runoff area was my savior.
Neither of us are sloppy or careless on track, but shit does happen and pretending that it wont happen to you is foolish. I plan on buying my first HANS device as soon as I have a cage in my car. I love tracking… it is like nothng else I’ve ever done. I hate to say it but I’d rather die on track and be remembered by my club as an entheusiast than die in a car crash like my mother on my way home from work.
One beautiful fall morning at LeCircuit Mont Tremblant I was in the control tower for a class session while my friend was out first track session in his GTI. We were sharing an instructor and it was our first visit to LCMT. For those that have been there I was seated at the rear of the control tower (by the trailer parking) and I could not see the track. All was well untill one of the instructors came in I think it was Glen to inform us that there was an off (crash) into turn 1 and it was a red R32 or something… My friend’s GTI is red. 500mi from home horrible thoughts flashed into my mind. I saw the ambulance and nearly shit myself. I had brought my friend into this bloodsport (people do die tracking) and now I was tense in anticipation of assessing his condition and to a lesser degree his car’s condition which a tow from Canada to New Jersey would be ugly expensive without even getting into repairing the wreckage. Some quick teardown of the GTI (he’s both VW and Audi certified for well everything) and we had the issues assessed and quickly sorted out. Biggest injury was a bruised ego and a few damaged frontal pieces of bodywork.
I’ve put four off at Watkins Glen into turn 1… I went wide of the trackout point because I blew the Apex… I had gotten faster and faster exiting the last turn and I carried more speed into turn 1. I kept it smooth and on the tarmack… but club rules specified that my session was over and the IRL spec runoff area was my savior.
Neither of us are sloppy or careless on track, but shit does happen and pretending that it wont happen to you is foolish. I plan on buying my first HANS device as soon as I have a cage in my car. I love tracking… it is like nothng else I’ve ever done. I hate to say it but I’d rather die on track and be remembered by my club as an entheusiast than die in a car crash like my mother on my way home from work.
What a great article…judging from all the responses, I’m not the only one who graduated from a high school slowmobile to some seriously fast rides…only to realize that with modern technology, the easy accessibility of speed doesn’t necessarily equate to more fun.
Eric_Stepans:
[Soapbox mode on] Terry, that statement matches my experience teaching teenagers (in Automotive Technology) for a year. It was my observation that modern US suburban teenagers have an unhealthy fascination with real-world “hoonery” precisely because they spent their childhood indoors plaling with computers and video games.
When I was growing up, we climbed trees and threw dirt clods and fell off of our bicycles and learned about real-world consequences. A lot of modern teenagers seem to have no understanding of this. [soapbox mode off]
This is really interesting. I never thought of that. Maybe because I’ve always been cautious. I was one of the first people to wear a hard-shelled bicycle helmet, back in ’75, Bell serial #7006. Tx.
Thanks, RF,
One of your best. Having too often been limited to slow cars in my life, I learned to drive smoothly, finding long ago “the joy of driving slow cars fast.” It won me some autocrosses, saved my butt in a couple of highway emergencies, and provided a whole lot of fun.
These days, on my favorite empty roads, comfortable with the high limits of modern tires and chassis that let me go too damn fast, I sometimes wish for the time when speed was less easily attained, harder to maintain in curves, and the seat-of-the-jeans thrills occurred at much lower velocities. And more often than not, in these middle years of life, I lift off and back it down a notch.
I want to be savoring the pleasure of a smooth line for a few more decades. And 7/10ths motoring can still be a lot of fun if you try to focus on doing everything perfectly.
Ah, tires. Sometimes I rue the day that I put Advan Neovas on my car. I can never get it to edge out anymore without fearing for my life.
But then, even the supposedly slippery stock tires hold on for too long. One of my unfondest moments is of losing grip in a long bank at 100 mph. I got two tires on a very dusty part of the outside line and the rest, as they say, was history.
With older cars, I would’ve been wiping out into understeer much sooner, or I would’ve started oversteering at half the speed. There is something to Clarkson’s outrageous idea of having everyone drive around on bias-ply tires. Less grip is safer.
But then, I’m not the tail-out type of guy, myself. My fondest driving is stitching together turns with the minimum of drama and effort. Slow-in-fast-out… tuck that nose in early and get on the gas while the other guy is still flailing around.
Competitive Go-Karting is a must for all teenagers, as it’ll show them that out-and-out-hoonery isn’t ever nearly as quick as proper driving.
——
RE: Video Game generation: being part of this (although my childhood consisted more of racing on Ataris than Playstations) and having never grown out of it, I’d have to say it would depend on the game.
If it’s a nice SimBin game, with good, realistic handling, or even just Gran Turismo4, which has gobs of understeer and really encourages you to slow down before corners, I guess the kids will grow up all right.
If it’s one of those silly Need for Speed things, heaven forfend the kid ever gets a license. At least he’ll be able to work off his road-rage at home.
Great article RF, and some great comments. One of my dream cars would be an R32 with a TDI engine, so you know I liked this thread.
Great story, Robert….
you, too, Chuck…….
girlfriend had an XKE back in the mid sixties…
what I remember most was how incredibly effortless the ride seemed beyond the century mark….no way it felt like it was really going that fast…..which, of course, made it deceptively dangerous…
my yin and yang these days are a pair of Porsche 944s…..a bone stock 1983 which is silky smooth and the beast, a panther-like 1987S with a 1990 S2 motor, suspension, brakes and other M030 goodies….
I am not skilled enough to drive either car beyond their respective limits, but what I can do relatively safely is more that enough to create a broad grin to my countenance…..
don’t really know if that is my inner child or a mature sense of fun, but it surely does make me smile……
timberwoof
There have been three times in my life when I came very close to ending it all right then and there. Not once was I racing or speeding, just not paying attention. I want to believe that I am a safer driver for it. (Sometimes, you do not have to be regressing to your inner child to be scared straight.)
The greatest drivers in racing, achieved what they did – and do – because they never think too much of what the consequences might be to running at 200 mph – or if they do, they make damn sure it doesn’t happen.
When travelling at those speeds no human being has the reflexes to master the machine once its dynamic limits have been overreached. There is no racing driver that will equal or break records on any course while driving a car whose dynamic limits he is unaware of. The drivers ability to win is his knowledge of the machine’s limits and how close he can bring the machine to those limits with consistancy. The driver that can drive closest to the limit will win. Driving skill will not recover the vehicle while at speed. It could possibly mitigate the effects of a collision though.