As good of a driver as I like to think I am, I’m not very good. Especially when compared to race car drivers. In fact, by comparison, I’m a deaf, dumb and blind speed bump. As you may have heard, I got a ride in the Ferrari Enzo that Eddie Griffin munched up. Sadly, it was on the same track (MSR) that had just hosted the 24 Hours of LeMons in Texas. Meaning that conditions were sub-optimal. That’s putting it kindly. As such, we were going sideways in a $1.2 million Enzo. Thank the maker that an actual competent and talented hot foot (Michael Mills) was behind the wheel and I was left to just giggle and hoot (I do lead the league in giggling/hooting). Still, on the straights Mr. Mills was able to open the taps of the 6.2-liter V12 and holy Toledo! The noise is thrilling, soothing and intoxicating all at once. Better still, the Enzo is fast in ways that other cars simply aren’t. There was never a hint of that motor running out of steam as we crested 150 mph on the back straight. And the brakes, well, what do you think. Long story short, I’m a very lucky man. But it wasn’t the ride of my life. No, that was in a NASCAR around the big oval at Pomona. Serenity at 180 mph? You bet your Junior Johnson Pork Cracklins. You?
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Just this morning I rode in a Ferrari F430, Gallardo Spyder, SL65 AMG, Bentley Continental Convertible, and Maserati Gran Turismo.
Not kidding.
Ride of my life was a Ferrari 275 GTB-4 though, about six months ago.
Blog it you crazy bastard. And what about the podcast?
As a bad song says “she was 17 and far from inbetween” although I wasn’t in Northern Michigan.
There’s been a set of omg moments but sadly, it’s not gone beyond a Lexus IS-F or a supercharged G35.
Riding in the passenger seat of my brother’s 1969 LT1 Corvette as a 7-year-old. First time I’d ever gone over 100 mph.
You just haven’t lived until you’ve taken a fullsize van around a bend sideways at 55MPH.
Nissan GT-R a few weeks ago. I’m still hoping to get a chance to drive it.
Well, Yak-28 a low altitude Soviet-era interceptor with afterburners turned on for rapid takeoff is faster then most cars.
Don’t have any food or drinks in your stomach, since G forces tend to push it out (and even through oxygen mask). When this occurs, the content of the stomach covers canopy as a thin film not giving much visibility to a very angry pilot. Those jets are driven by instruments, anyway. Washing the canopy afterwords is equally unpleasant as messing it up. Trust me.
DISCLAIMER: Let me point out I was merely along for the ride during this adventure, and had absolutely nothing to do with the events which transpired!
I didn’t get a car until I was leaving high school, and as such I had to either hoof it, take a bus, or bum a ride with one of my friends. One day I got a ride home with a shady character who I’ll call “Chris,” a friend of my friend, “Jeff.” On our way back, we were cut off and Chris decides it’d be a great idea to pull a knife out of his glovebox and hold it up while flipping the bird at the other driver.
Long story short – that truck got behind us and we were gunning it 100 mph through a school zone. We gave them the slip and continued on our way, only to be passed by the same truck going the opposite direction a little later! They pull a U-turn and Chris heads for the safety of a cul-de-sac (despite my protests, “Don’t go that way! There’s no exit, idiot!”), where we’re promptly blocked off. I’m wondering how I got in this predicament when Chris says “Get down!” and I look over to see Mr. Truck Driver standing Weaver-Stance aiming a pistol at us.
After sitting there for a few minutes (After being asked ever-so-nicely to exit the car and ask a neighbor to use a phone. Forget that, you got us into this mess jackass!), Chris drove up and apologized. As we drove off, he says, “****, I hate apologizing!” What a douche.
Needless to say I never asked Chris for a ride home again, but 100 mph through a school zone does get the adrenaline pumping!
Though I hesitate to announce any NASCAR knowledge in this forum it’s a pet peeve of mine to hear stock cars referred to as NASCARs. My roommate in college was an avid NASCAR fan and committed this violation with regularity.
One may not take a ride in a NASCAR, just as one may not fly in an NTSB. To go for a ride in a NASCAR would be to go for a ride in a National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing.
I don’t know about the ride of my life, but having the back-end break loose in a 52,000 lb Oshkosh snow-plow down an icy runway comes close to one of the most thrilling times I’ve ever spent behind the wheel.
I race stockcars, “slow” by some standards with about 350 horsepower, but I’ve raced Super Stock in the past making about 420 hp. After racing on the track consistently, it’s hard to be “wowed” by street cars of any kind really.
My “Ride of my Life” up to this point was testing an OSCAAR late model at Barrie Speedway, a few years ago before the track was reconfigured. About 600 hp, 2600 lbs, plenty of left-side offset and lots of rubber. By far the quickest thing I’ve driven on the track or otherwise.
Just this morning I rode in a Ferrari F430, Gallardo Spyder, SL65 AMG, Bentley Continental Convertible, and Maserati Gran Turismo.
Justin, sounds like you did one of those exotics days that I see advertised in Automobile and the like. Always wondered if those things were worth the money and how much actual seat time you get.
As for me, it was a ridealong in a race prepped 1965 Alfa Romeo coupe at Thunderhill a month ago. With a lot of right foot steering, I don’t think we had traction at all four wheels save for a couple of points on the 1.8 mile track.
There’s an annual charity fundraiser at Mazda Laguna Seca every September, Cherries Jubilee. For a donation (usually under $30), you get to ride three laps in a GT-class racer. An acquaintance runs this event, and he drives a Porsche GT-3. The two times I’ve ridden (so far), I’ve asked him to not hold back.
There is no experience on the planet like going 10/10ths down the five-story drop through the corkscrew there.
Only getting three laps is the downside. It’s like eating three potato chips when you’re starving.
N85523:
Thanks. Glad you caught it before me–nothing makes me more angry. It’s the same thing as saying a football player “throws an NFL” or Kimmi Raikonnen “drives a Formula 1.”
I am the current caretaker of the drive of my life, a 1965 E-type Jaguar. Bring something interesting by on a nice day and I’ll happily trade drives with any of you other TTAC- B&B’s.
The *ride* of my life was as a passenger in a 1958 Jaguar XK-SS. That was truly awesome. The last one ever built (number 16) before the factory burned down. What an amazing machine.
–chuck
I’ve got a couple….equally adrenaline inducing.
1) A few years ago I got to take a test lap with a “pro driver” back in a neon srt-4 at a dodge/demo show at a parking lot. Considering I have never slid sideways in a car it was awesome.
2) On the way to indianapolis a friend who works for a honda dealership got us a Ford Windstar trade-in for the weekend to take to F1. Trying to keep that thing at 75-80 and up with traffic while it drifted around like a boat made me white knuckled.
3) After getting a little confidence after riding a gs500F for a while, and then starting to get a feel for the acceleration control on my gsx-r 600, I cracked it open on a roll starting at about 20mph. Never ever experience straight line acceleration like that! I have never, since, seen the sides of my vision blur like the firt time I tried that.
It has been YEARS ago. An aquaintence had a 1969(ish) SuperBee 383, 6-pack, 4 on the floor. He claimed he even took off the self-adjusters on the brakes so they didn’t rub. On a long dark stretch of flat Missouri River bottom 2 lane Hwy, I saw 145 MPH indicated. It was “shit in your pants” scary, and he just kept the go pedal pushed to the floor. Seemed like a lifetime. At least I can say there was NOT beer involved. For those who have not been there, 145 is a ton faster than 100 or 110, just a completely different zip code.
On land – As a wide-eyed teenager, got a ride in a ’64 289 Cobra with a Don Roberts full-race motor, straight side pipes and road race slicks. “Brutal” is the only word that describes that all-too brief 30 minutes.
In the air – As a wide-eyed 20-something naval officer, about 1680 hrs over 7 years in the back seat of F14 “Tomcat” fighters. Never a dull moment, especially on a dark-ass night in zero-zero wx with a nugget driver up front, trying to land on the boat in rough seas with enough gas for one pass. Brutal, just like in the Cobra.
A hot lap at California Speedway in a race-prepped FD RX7 was the ride that forever changed my relationship with driving.
Back in 2004 the Japanese Grand Touring Cars came to America for an exhibition race at California Speedway. The event was awesome. They had all kinds of ridiculous japanese monster machines, professional drifting, car show complete with real-life japanese anime models, open pits for all spectators, autocrossing in the infield, hell I cant remember everything they had.
But I do remember the hot laps that NASA was giving to spectators between race rounds. No less than a dream come true. All my life I had read about awesome cars in magazines and seen them only once in a while on the street. Now I’m standing in a short line waiting for the next supercar to pull up and hop in for two laps around a roadcourse. Full-on race cars, track rats, spec racers, Ferraris, waay overpowered HPDE monsters… put on a helmet and get in the passenger seat.
My ride was an abused but fast last gen RX7. Full cage, open exhaust, screaming high-power motor. The forces and bombardment of noise and fast-forward vision made it almost impossible for me to keep track of what was going on, much less make sure my limbs werent flopping around in the passenger seat. I still have no idea how the driver was actually in control of all of it. We lapped that entire circuit in what seemed like seconds. Then I was out of the car and I handed my helmet to the next guy in line. And I went to the back of the line for more. My year could have ended that day and I would have been completely satisfied.
The NASA booth was giving out promo cds and I learned that not much more than a safe car and a helmet was needed to get my car on racetracks. Soon after, I paid my membership and started driving events with my e30. On the track is where I discovered that driving could be more than my favorite freeway on-ramp or a couple of late night street twisties done at 8/10ths. Now I could really find the true nature and balance of the car, reach its limits, and drive at a full 10/10ths with the peace of mind of safety.
The ride of my life? Must be my last day of work. When I was sixteen, I worked as an extra at the local office for land surveys. Yes, I was that nerdy… Anyway, at the office, there was a girl working there, in her mid-twenties, really shit-faced ugly. As they say in “Saving Private Ryan”: “picture a girl who just took a nosedive from the ugly tree and hit every branch coming down.” So, naturally, I didn’t pay much attention to her, I nearly spoke to her for the six months I worked there.
And then came the last day of work, there was cakes and coffe, and finally I left the building. Imagine my surprise, when outside she had parked a graphite grey Porsche 944 right outside the building, and offered my a ride home. I lived at my parents house, some twenty kilometres away, and she lived further ahead in that direction. Naturally, I accepted. And on one of those long straight and empty rural roads, she floored it. The feeling in my stomach, hearing that roar, feeling the car just accelerate away, was unimaginable for that sixteen year old. I’ll never forget that day in my life.
It turned out her parents were very well off, her father gave her a 928 when she graduated, but she exchanged it for a 944, as it was too expensive to maintain. She used it as a daily commuter, I had seen the car parked in the vicinities many times before, but I had not thought for a second it was hers. I didn’t get a kiss, but I got the ride of my life…
The mildest: I had a 1969 Torino GT back when I was in college, it was a tail happy piece o’shit. One day, while driving back to college in Ohio in mid- January, I decided to pass a station wagon that I thought was going too slow on old Rte. 5. As soon as I pull out into the opposing lane, I gun the trusty 390 and drop down a gear. That momentarily gave me forward thrust, but then too much thrust, and the tail stepped out on me again. Much to my (and the station wagon driver’s) surprise, I ended up completing the pass showing him my passenger side door and then my tailights as I slid into the ditch. Bastard never even stopped to see if I was OK.
Most memorable: A 1969 Corvette ZL-1 big block. A friend worked for a body shop that specialized in fiberglass repairs. It was a small shop and anytime we needed to wrench on his or my car, we needed to move the customer’s cars out of the way. Hence, the ride in the ZL-1. The torque and power of the big block was incredible, and the slightest pressure on the go pedal resulted in rapid acceleration. And tire smoke. Not a bright idea on crowded industrial street, but what the hell, I was 17 at the time. Looking back on it now, it was TOTAL lunacy.
The ride of my life: Same friend who worked at the body shop had a friend with a race boat (pickle-fork shaped boat) with a blown Hemi. There’s nothing quite like sitting in a small fiberglass slipper of a boat with a 600+ HP Hemi screaming in your ear. He told me we never went faster than 80 MPH (land equivalent) but it didn’t matter. It felt like we were going to shatter the sound barrier with that thing. I think I pissed myself that day, but you couldn’t tell because we were all wet from all of the spray. That was 30 years ago, and I still haven’t felt speed like that since.
In high school in Palo Alto in 1970-71, I had a friend with a Mini Cooper. Riding with him at 45mph from sea level up to skyline scared the daylights out of me. He said he did 60 when he was alone.
37 years later, and not too far away from there, I had a ride in the Tesla (probably the single tesla that existed in Oct 1, 2007), which was at much higher speeds, though on less twisty terrain.
I am much better at giving wild rides than taking them. A number of car salesmen would probably say they had their wildest ride with me. (But I don’t think I’d qualify as a hooner.)
Ingvar, great story!
My father, who is no longer around to tell the story, learned to drive durring wwii in a Jeep on the base in Poltava, in what is now Ukraine, from a race driver. When the race driver would drive the Jeep, sometimes, as he got the thing up on two wheels while cornering, he woudl say, “the trouble with these Jeeps is that while you can get them up on two wheels, you can’t necessarily get them back down on all four.”
Then there was the taxi ride in Rome when I was 12, in one of those long Fiats. The driver was a typical Italian. Someone, probably me, started laughing, adn he just got wilder and wilder. My brother has a lousy memory of childhood, but when I asked him recently if he remembered that ride, he said, “of course!”
Hitchiking on a ramp for northbound I-75 in Dalton, Georgia, late in the Carter administration, I was picked up by two dudes in a pre-downsized Grand Prix.
(something like this):
http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/1973-1977-pontiac-grand-prix-11.jpg
Now wedged in the back with the huge bucket seats forward and the teeny opera window to the side, I notice that the driver has but one arm.
Anyway, he accelerated at a good, but normal clip up the ramp, only HE NEVER LIFTED off the gas !
So though the traffic ahead is running about 60, we’re very soon clocking several needle-widths past the 120 mark !
(An honest 115, I’d say now).
We go zooming along, flashing past a rest area, had to eventually ‘slow’ to about 90 for traffic, yet I don’t think we ever dropped below 80 even going through the complications of Chattanooga.
————————————————–
Also, working briefly in an independent BMW/Porsche shop, the German owner takes me out one morning in a 5-series he was test driving.
Guess he didn’t want to risk a ticket on the street, so we hit the alley.
Real soon we’re just FLYING along, only it’s a genuine alley: puddles, dumpsters, parked trucks, all of it.
My mental Rolodex pulled out the French Connection file right away, so I’m busy cinching my seatbelt tight, and generally preparing for the worst, but I did dare a glance at the speedometer.
70 !
Reminds me of the Top Gear episode where “Hamster” drives successively more powerful and more expensive race cars. He could barely get the F1 car going on the track. Given the types of exotic street cars and track time he must get in those cars, it gives you an idea of just how fast and how powerful those cars are, and how talented the drivers are.
The fastest I’ve ever gone was 120 mph in an RX-7 at 1:00 AM giving a friend a ride home from work. It wasn’t all that exciting, but it did give me an idea of just how crazy fast 200 mph is. The most terrifying moment came when I was driving my 58 Chevy truck home for the weekend from college. A semi lost a load of steel angle bars used for constructing steel buildings. I was unable to go around as the only portion of the freeway not covered, the right shoulder, had already been taken by the cars in front of me; so, I hit the brakes (drum, of course) and prayed. My front tires hit one of the braces cross-wise causing me to lose traction. I spun 360 degrees into the grass median before coming to a stop. I got out and walked around the truck to make sure the wheels were all there and pointed in the right directions. Everything looked fine, and I continued on my way home. Let me tell you, while it wasn’t at that high of a speed, something like that really gets the adrenaline pumping. I really haven’t driven any exotics or race cars, even though I played softball with a guy who drives in the modified class at the local track and had a college roommate who owned and previously drove a race car (can’t remember what class). He was a good driver; so, even though he went fast in his Mustang, it didn’t seem like anything.
David Holzman: I had a Taxi ride in Lisbon that I’ll never forget.
My advice, never get your Portuguese speaking cousin to explain to the driver just how severely late you are for the airport.
Lieberman, I’m so jealous. One neighbor I had knew a relative that had a F355 Spyder and drove by in it once. That engine noise was the stuff of legend.
My answer here has to be this ’69 Camaro that a neighbor of mine had when I was a little sprite. Once, he let me ride shotgun in the car around the block. Once he stomped the go pedal, I knew right there I would be a car guy. I’ve always wanted a Camaro ever since, although with GM’s troubles lately, I’ve been thinking about waiting for the 2011 Mustang. You know, the 2010 Mustang with the long-awaited 5.0 V8.
David Holzman – you started a trend here! After more than a few trips to Rome, I’ve come to realize the taxi (in most cases a Mercedes Vito) ride is one of the highlights of the trip…the driver makes the difference.
On one white knuckle trip, he got us into Rome (near St. Peter’s) at supersonic speed while talking with his hands, driving with his knees, and pointing out every hooker and transvestite along the way. We also realized that he drove the entire way with the low fuel light blazing so we considered ourselves lucky that we actually made it!
Man I miss that city…
Jonny – I’m guessing you saw the face of God on your trip and were mentioning that you’ll see him soon!!!
As for a personal experience, I don’t have the Ferrari time that others have here, but I did have half of a day of Lotus Elise road-course time. I finally got the hang of the car after putting it sideways just once, and then after that the handling became second nature and then you get used to the power band.
To quote one of my favorite old school WWF tag team wrestlers, “WHAT A RUSH!!!”
I’m just glad I didn’t have to replace the tires at the end!
Take a ride in a Tour Van from the airport in Montego Bay to Negril.
Ride shotgun in a 68 Autocar semi hauling 40 yds of gravel doing 90 mph while a little old lady in a Falcon tries to merge in front of you.
Both situations required the same thing, authoritative horns
A friend of the family was a member of a Ferrari club, so I got a ride for a few laps in one around an actual racetrack as a teenager.
-A different kind of thrill than being a passenger of my brother’s, since his cars are all 1 strong fart away from disintegrating, and he drives like a character from a Stephen King novel.
Back when I was in my mid-teens, and didn’t have a licence, a long-time friend of my dad’s bought a Ferrari 308 GT4. At the time, my automotive experiences had more or less been limited to buses, plus my parents’ very sedate driving at the wheel of their Mazdas. Did I mention that my dad’s friend had done club racing in a previous life and his previous convictions included a Sting Ray and an Austin-Healey 3000? And that he lived in an area of town with some disarmingly steep inclines?
Him picking up fourth as we hit the bottom of the steepest hill in the area, to the accompaniment of the bottom falling out of my stomach, is seared into my memory forever.
Of course, all that assumes you don’t count the time my Fiat’s brake pedal went to the floor when called upon to Do Its Stuff in the impending presence of a three-way junction. Fortunately it was empty, but a coffee across the street was in order after that…
All of that aside, you haven’t lived until you’ve been ferried around Beirut by a local. After a total of three months there on four trips, I’m now used to it (sort of), but I recall thinking on my first trip from the airport, this is officially the scariest thing I can remember.
The ride of my life was in a Toyota Corolla AE86 with a turbocharged Mazda RX-7 engine up the Santa Monica Mountains through Latigo Canyon Road at 1 AM.
Unfortunately, on the way back to Malibu, I had to switch rides with a friend and I ended up riding back down in a… Toyota Prius. Needless to say, that was one of the most nauseating rides of my life.
I’m definitely not trying that in my Mercedes-Benz W126…
The “Ride of My Life” occurred just this past August.
I got to ride for two laps of The Nurburgring with a former winner of the 24 Hours Nurburgring at the wheel. The driver: Jo Winkelhock.
The car was an Opel Astra OPC – Nurburgring Edition.
If you haven’t heard of Smokin’ Jo, here are some highlights from his C.V.:
– F3 Champion
– BTCC Champion
– 24 Hours Nurburgring winner
– 24 Hours of Le Mans winner
The guy could drive.
“Mike66Chryslers :
October 21st, 2008 at 3:48 pm
You just haven’t lived until you’ve taken a fullsize van around a bend sideways at 55MPH.”
Did that when I was in high school, 17years old, that’s the age of the van and myself.
Damn near flipped it, too. You call it “lived”, I call it “pissed my pants”.
1) My first car was a ’66 Mustang with a single circuit master cylinder and four wheel drum brakes. TWICE I lost a wheel cylinder causing the whole system to fail. Twice I managed to not run into anyone or anything. Oh, I forgot to mention that we lived on a TN mountain.
2) Used to travel the Italian autostrada regularly and do so at max velocity. It was here that I defined what was important to me in a car. My ’84 VW Rabbit with a 1.8L 90HP four cylinder was regularly put through it’s paces and we would cruise at ~100 mph from Naples to Rome. Terminal velocity was closer to 125 mph so the speedo reported.
It was here that we explored the top limits of anything with seats and an engine. Oh that Rabbit? It came on the heals of my ownership of a ’81 Mustang 3.3L with a slush box and a whole 90HP! What a pathetic display of performance that car was. No gas mileage and yet no fun either. The Mustang was a reliable grocery getter in a sporty car’s clothes. The Rabbit was sporty car in grocery getter’s clothes.
3) waking from a warm afternoon nap in my ’65 VW Beetle driven by a friend who I only at that moment confirmed had narcolepsy.
This was the second time he had almost killed me in less than a month falling asleep at the wheel.
On this occasion I awoke to find him struggling to regain control of the tail happy car as we slid sideways through the intersection at the end of an off ramp.
For a very brief moment I saw an Italian city bus coming straight at us through the driver’s window and then it was gone. I still don’t know how we missed the bus. A few weeks before he fallen asleep driving a gov’t vehicle that I was a helpless passenger in also. I was trapped in a Fiat Ducato behind a partition designed to keep Navy prisoner’s from harassing the driver.
4) Test driving my ’91 Kawasaki Concours. I walked into a local motorcycle shop with intentions of buying this bike from their used section. The bike was perfect I thought. My current steeds were a Suzuki 550GS and an early 70s Hodaka Wombat.
Riding the 550GS and the Concours was like comparing a biplane to a rocket.
I had ridden it 1 mile before I turned onto I-40 followed by some jerk in a red mid-90s Camaro who proceeded to race up within inches of my rear tire. At the bottom of the on-ramp I declared my intent to live despite the jerk’s threatening behavior and wrung the Concours out.
I savored every shift of that 1000cc four cylinder six speed. I passed the motorcycle shop which was backed up to I-40 at 110+ mph with the Camaro in pursuit. He gave up at 120 mph. I gave up two exits further east at 137 mph. In shorts and a T-shirt and no socks.
A few minutes later I paid the man for the motorcycle and left a very satisfied customer. Never again have I taken a bike past 100 mph and never again do ever I intend to. Owned that bike several years and it never let me down. Never wrecked it, never got a speeding ticket and even managed to float it across a rain swollen country river… But that’s another story…
Took a one week Bondurant road course at Sears Point back in the mid 80’s. First morning Bob arrived in his helicopter, stepped out, introduced himself and took the class on a hot lap in a Modified Ford Crew Van. Quite the ride to be in a van making as fast a lap as I made all week in one of the course cars. Thats when I became a believer that it is the mostly the driver not the vehicle. A pro will make it around a road course faster in a stock V6 mustang than most of us could in a 911S.
@Mike66Chryslers :
You just haven’t lived until you’ve taken a fullsize van around a bend sideways at 55MPH.
Must have been in the winter 8 years ago, when I was working as a paramedic, we were on the way to an emergency and my partner was drifting the ambulance through all the corners (4AM, nobody else on the road, first snow)
Seriously, Sprinter 412 on duallies, horns blasting, light bar flashing, and he was going sideways.
Rode with Herbert Grunsteidl, ex-rally driver, in the back seat of an M5, for some press junket.
We start out around the block, as he explains “See? You are driving around with your wife and you have everything in comfort mode. It’s quiet, serene (yeah right, I was thinking… as each shift hit with a krumpf) and blah blah blah.”
“Then you press this button, this button, engage “M” mode…” We all knew what was coming, but it was funny, nonetheless, as the 507 horsepower supersedan started going sideways across a three lane public road with concrete curbs and no run-off. He drifts it this way, does one mother of a scandinavian flick (scandinavian drift?) and drifts it the other way.
Go around a second time and the guy in the front seat (Kevin, always good for a laugh himself) starts to ask how Herbert thinks the M5 SMG compares to the manual version he drove in the US. There’s a spark in Herbert’s eye as he suddenly remembers we’re not BMW employees (whom he was roller-coastering around the day before)… but that we’re motoring hacks… who’ve probably done this sort of thing before.
He comes around faster and harder this time… the nose inches off the curb and the tail dragging in the weeds on the outside of the last turn. I’ve driven over 100 mph numerous times, but not so spectacularly sideways. This wasn’t one of those long, showy, languid “powerdrifts” that D1 guys use to impress chicks. This was a brutal, all or nothing, high-speed breakaway. Again, on a public road with no run-off.
Both of us in the back seat are over 200 pounds, but we’re flung up in the air as the tail comes around and bang our heads against the C-pillars. Apparently, that’s the main reason Herbert was pussyfooting through the previous drifts… too many people getting bruises. It was over in a few short minutes, but it was a heck of a ride.
And Herbert never answered the question.
—-
As for drives… nothing beats a good trackday… but boiling brake fluid and panicky thrusts of the brake pedal as the corner comes up much too quickly somehow aren’t quite the same kind of exciting.
thought you’d never ask,
the top3 rides of my life are:
first ever time in a porsche 911 Turbo in 1997, the driver, a relative, took me up all the way to 170kph in a short stretch of road so quickly i still cant imagine how.
First With me behind the wheel was while i sampled a Murcielago LP640 around a track, the head of Lamborghini Drivers asked me to take it easy, and i didnt listen on an s turn and experience a sort of serene drift which i eventually “accidentally” controlled, what a car, the experience will last a lifetime.
second RoML, first time driving a supercar, a Lambo Gallardo Supperlegerra, around a track. my right foot was twitching on the throttle all throughout the first lap, 2 laps later clocked 300kph on the main straight and felt in complete control, but the noise was intoxicating, especially the blip on the downshift.
Third RoML, (not behind the wheel) a few minutes later i climbed in the passenger seat with a Driver from Lamborghini, little Georgio turned all the electronics off and showed be how early i was actually braking, and how much later i really could of, insane, the engine kept howling at us the whole lap, as if he never stopped accelerating…. haaaweeee
Not Classified: was 17 without a car and had to hitch a ride with a friend with an 89 M3, Lebanon traffic is lawess, and the guy was driving as if his life didnt depend on it “well our life”. that was the scarriest ride of my life, especially knowing that we go to our destination without our wing mirrors, the were destroyed as he squeezed between two cars @130kph. i suspect they lost their mirrors too. i dont speak with that guy anymore… and he’s riding a motorcycle now, havent heard of him a while, geee i wonder why…
When I owned a race-prepped Integra, I used to give rides to folks all the time on track. I would start lapping at maybe 70%, then if the passenger didn’t look nauseous or concerned, I’d start to pick the pace up, going faster each lap. I was running full race suspension and slicks, so the cornering and braking were more than any of these folks had ever experienced. That, along with the unmuffled engine screaming at 8500rpm, must have been overwhelming.
I always hoped that I made a hard and positive impression on these guys.
highrpm:
Same here, sometimes it results in completely different opinions on just how difficult it is to drive a race car competitively. That, and the completely different sensation of speed you get.
Back at my home track of North Bay Speedway (now defunct) we had a friend-of-a-friend hang out in the pits one race day. Drove a Civic with B-series swap, all sorts of work done to it, ran (allegedly) high 13s, but unfortunately also has a big goofy wing and neon lights on it (*sigh*).
Typical over-confident so-called “street racer”, in that he knew everything, thought he was everything, and never stopped talking about his “racing” exploits.
The icing on the cake was how, after the day of racing was over (we finished 2nd in the feature), he made it clear that he thought stockcar racing was “easy” and that we “weren’t really going that fast” (350 hp Thundercars on a 1/4 mile oval, about 85-90 mph is awful quick on such a small track)…
My dad had just about enough and merely nodded at me. Our track was a bit rough, a bit “redneck” if you will, and while the rules DURING raceday were strictly adhered to, they were much looser AFTER raceday. So demonstration rides and practice rides were common. I told him to take the Monte around for a few laps, and he obliged. He ran maybe 6-7 laps, backing off about halfway down the straightaway and braking heavily for the corner, and not getting back on the gas until the exits of 2 and 4… Basically, a good 3-4 seconds off a normal lap time.
He then got out of the car boasting about how it was fun, but pretty easy. We pointed out that he was going pretty slow, and offered to show him the right way. I strapped in, and shoved him in the passenger “seat”–which means sitting on the exhaust box with a blanket and clinging to the Earnhardt bar and door bars–and headed out. (As I said, few rules during “practice” sessions–most tracks would throw you out for doing something like this.)
Ran a couple warm-up laps then turned it up to 11. Ran the first lap in the high line, as close to the wall as possible to put the fear of death into him, then ran a couple of qualifying-style laps in the middle groove where the car is fastest, then finished off with a lap as sideways as I could get the car. Bear in mind that even on treaded tires these cars pull around 1.5 g’s at full song (over 2 g’s on slicks), and he had no harness.
When we got back to the pits, he clambered out, a rather sickly white, ashen look to his skin, and laid on the grass for about 20 minutes. He didn’t say a whole lot the rest of the night.
A black 1988 Porsche 911 Speedster with the top down driving through the Northern Arizona desert at sundown. My God, America is a beautiful country.
Most memorable drive: I was 16 and had gotten a ride from a friend who had borrowed his brother’s car. While I have driven a few fast cars, there is nothing crazier than doing 90+ mph in a then 20 year old oldsmobile with a crooked rear bench that had springs popping out, plywood holding up what was left of the headliner, no dashboard…oh and you had to start with a screwdriver. I was sure we were going to die that night.
Other memorable moments:
Taking a ride in Mercedes S-class piloted by a crazy man who enjoyed quickly weaving in and out of traffic in Naples, Italy.
Accepting a ride down a long, steep hill on the front of my friends BMX bike and having him tell me that he can’t see where we are going after we had gained too much speed to stop without throwing me off of the bike.
Having the back door (that I was sitting next to) of my dad’s Chevette fly open while he was doing 50 mph. Maybe that ‘s why I always think of GM cars as crap.
18 years old, driving my mom’s 1976 Mercury Montego with my first serious, long-term girlfriend. Thank goodness for good, old fashioned bench seats.
22 years old, driving my sister’s brand new 1989 Honda CRX Si towards Cheatham County Dam in Middle TN. That road has more twists than a pretzel, and doing a complete 180 as I winged it around a 90 degree turn at 3:00am in the morning only to see the light in the corner farmhouse come on…priceless!
36 years old, driving a new Opel Vectra GTS at 240+kp/h early one morning on the A8 between Karlsruhe and Stuttgart. Things really do blur at that speed, and the hood developed an interesting flutter.
Dick Guldstrand at the wheel of a Corvette, me in the passenger seat. Empty, closed test course. Nannies off. Effortless yet dizzying speeds. I could barely see as fast as he drove. Car at 101%, hanging on the razor’s edge of control. Balanced there. Perfectly, consistently. Calmly, quietly, he explained the how, when, why of what he was doing. Not that I would ever be able to duplicate such skill. Later, same car, same driver, public roads, back to the hotel.
If one ever thinks he/she is a “good driver,” get in a performance car with a professional. You know nothing. You shouldn’t even have a license in comparison.
I’m sure my experience is a bit less extravagant than others, but…
…in 2004 or 2005, my cousin was in the market to buy a used C5 Vette. He was 22 or 23 and I was a year older. He didn’t know how to drive a manual, so he invited me along to try the car out for him! He located a gentleman about an hour away with a pristine low-mileage example. We drove out to the man’s house with the sun setting along the way. We arrived and the man spent about 10 minutes walking around the car with us, pointing at this, mentioning that…the car was easily in 99% condition; extremely clean. Well, he tossed me the keys and we started out. I took it easy out of the neighborhood until we got out to the main road. I pulled out gently, then stomped on it. The car twitched as the tires broke loose for a moment and the TC brought it back under control. I shifted hard into second, the car twitched again under the power. The noise was completely overwhelming. We trailed behind slow traffic for about 5 minutes, then we found an open stretch and I gunned it. We were up to 120 in no time and my cousin was absolutely freaking out at what I was doing with the car. I’m sure he probably tinkled himself. He even called his mom during the test drive and was so giddy, he wasn’t paying attention to the car. I made him hang up. We switched drivers in an empty parking lot and he spent about ten minutes driving around the lot in 2nd gear. I put him back in the passenger seat and took over once again. Another high speed blast and we were back at the seller’s house. He was none to pleased about the dirt I kicked up on the fenders. Turns out, my cousin’s credit wasn’t all that and he never purchased the car, but that was INDEED the most thrilling 30 minutes I’ve ever spent car–surpassing even time spent in the back seat of my personal vehicles with my wife. I’ll never forget that night.
–DonLuc–
This thread is alot of fun…
A few more shorties:
Navy#1: When Navy ships arrived in Naples, Italy we’d go down with the Fiat Ducatos and pick up the evening shore patrol and bring them across the city to our military police station for a briefing. Then some would stay on base to wrangle drunks and a few would go back to the port area to wrangle drunk sailors out of the bars and back to the ships.
These vans were similar in size to a full sized American van but they had a 2.5L liter diesel 5 speed on the column. They had ALOT of hard miles on them and were constantly being rebuilt b/c we would break steering boxes, blow shocks, and so on.
The van was divided into three sections. The cockpit (two bucket seats), the drunk cage which was separated from the front seats by a nearly sound proof divider, and four center facing buckets in the back part near the doors. No sliding door.
We’d load up with 8-10 guys and then give them the ride of their life back up through the city. Ever seen Ronin? Similar idea but slower speeds. The thrill was the same though. Young and dumb. Could never do that today – too much concern for everyone’s safety – locals and my passengers.
We’d blow through red lights (even the locals did this in ordinary cars), rush down cobblestone streets, use one way streets the wrong way, etc, etc. If we did it right somebody would puke. If we got close they’d cuss us when we let them out at the station. The funny ones were the guys that we had to take back down town for duty.
On another occasion I played chicken while driving an Opel Kadett 1.6L. My opponent was a loaded dumptruck. This was a call to a serious accident where an Italian fellow was run over by a drunk American. I drove faster that night than ever before or since. I passed a line of 15 cars before I ran out of passing space. The dump truck never slowed down. I tucked it back into the right lane with nothing to spare. We used sidewalks, passed anywhere and everywhere we could. Damn car didn’t look like a military police car and didn’t have a siren or proper markings. Only a Kojak light on top. Prob got 15 mpg would of that little engine. I relined that little engine time after time but it stay together. Other drivers didn’t take us very seriously. My Italian interpreter wouldn’t ride with me for a while after that. Neither would a few other people…
Navy story#2: was stationed on a ship out of Norfolk. USS Ashland. We were out to see in the Caribbean and the helicopter pilots we had on board offered rides to anyone that wanted one. I had never been on a helo before. I sat opposite of the sliding door and had a flight data display right next to me where I could see the altitude and speed. Those guys made a roller coaster look like a good place for a nap. Since a big helo liek that couldn’t do a full loop they would climb as high as they could, dive towards the sea, climb back up as hard as they could and then rollover on it’s side (door open, ship looking like a toy below) and dive again. At the bottom of those dives the helo rotor would cavitate (?) and the whole thing would bounce like it was coming apart. I was already visualizing the story on CNN reporting how a Navy copter went down with all hands… Got off and suddenly felt terrible. My buddy got sick. I didn’t but was really, really close. I have no desire to ever fly one of those things ever again.
Last one: high school buddy got a “hot car” in about 1987. It was a Mustang II T-top with a rebuilt 302. Basically the car was a POS but he was proud of it. He raced me all over Chattanooga one night. Drifts that used all the lanes. Jumps over sudden dips in the road. Gravel slides. Smokey departures. To this day I don’t know why we didn’t get arrested, get killed, or at least have a wreck. I didn’t ride with him again for the next two years.
The Chevy Monza and the Mustang II – two reasonably sized cars with NO interior room.
Boy, this one is dredging out the memory banks. Two rides come to mind:
1) When I was 16, my best friend had 66 Shelby GT350 with a 400HP 289 (yeah, not the most reliable). Oh the sound that motor made, like a NASCAR stocker. Anyway, we were doing one of our hill runs over Highway 84 toward Highway 1 and hit an indicated 140 in one of the short straights. Kinda hairy in a 20 year old (at that time) car with 1960’s brakes.
2) Three years ago, I got an in to a Mazda Live event held in Alameda. The highlight of that day was taking a ride in an RX-8 with a race driver at the wheel on a autocross course. Showed me how little I really know. At least, when it was my turn, he said I was nice and smooth.
With me at the wheel, hmm,
1) Test driving an Integra Type R. It was July 3rd, so the salesman was pretty relaxed. For all you RWC people, we blasted up and over Jefferson over to Canada road with that thing howling on the VTEC cam. I had wood from that drive for a good week after.
2) Blasting down Skyline Boulevard towards 92 in my 88 Prelude Si. The lass in the seat next to me was buxom, and the road was awesome. I recall a particular 40mph turn we were doing at 80mph. The car felt like it was just at the limit, but that wonderfully forgiving chassis made it quite manageable.
1985 Suzuki GS1150 EF
0-60 in 1.9 seconds, 100+ in around 6 seconds. So much acceleration I almost threw up.
At the time it was about the fastest motorcycle made, and today the 1100 suzuki engine is a legend in drag racing
Jonny,
What a pleasant surprise. I worked for the previous owner of this vehicle and had the pleasure of taking care of it for a few years right when it was purchased up to the accident and the subsequent sell-off. So I know this car’s history quite well. I remember the wrangling with the insurance companies and having it sit at the body shop lifeless for months. But most of all, I remember what it was like to drive the Enzo, fantastic…
Just curious, how were the repairs done? Can you tell in any way that basically a whole new front end needed to be grafted onto it (I still remember the initial estimate for the damages…)?
Sincerely,
Linh
Tehran, Iran, is laid out on a fairly significant slope along the Elburz Mountains. The top of the city is at 8000 ft or so and the bottom at 3500 or so (if I recall correctly). In any event, plenty of downhill.
If you called for a taxi in the upper part of the city and were going to the lower part, the more sporting drivers would often make their way to a principal street, point the cab’s nose downhill, accelerate to 120km/h (or even faster if the Shahin, a locally assembled Ramber American, or Paykhan, a locally assembled Hillman Hunter, could manage it) and then turn off the engine to coast as much of the way to your destination as possible. This saves wear and tear on the engine.
Naturally, they wouldn’t want to scrub off any speed, so use of the brakes was out of the question. If the downhill lane was blocked or moving too slowly, they would pull into the oncoming lane for a while to keep going. Traffic signals were something one just ignored.
This made for a lively trip. True, this really couldn’t be done at rush hour but a few times I called for a cab during off-peak hours and got exactly this type of ride.