It is said that one goes through three phases with regards to Dad:
“My dad can beat up your dad”,
“My old man don’t know shit!”,
“My father used to say…”

I hit stage three long ago. Dad is a terrific guy for many reasons, and he has always been a car guy. Had a Cuda when he married my mom. I was thinking of the Hell I put Mom and Dad through when I was wanting my first car. What made me think of this was a wreck I heard about this last week where three kids got killed. One of the cars involved was a corvette, which is how I heard about it. Kids and speed just don’t mix, and I was lucky that Dad knew this.

When I was pleading with the folks to buy me a car (age 16), we went on a few test drives together. I was angling for the hottest car I could get, and Dad was trying to keep me alive. We went out south of town to look at a Mach I once.

It was blue and white, as I recall. Aftermarket rims, and pretty bald tires. Standard trans. 351 engine, 4 bbl carb. The man that owned it was older than me, younger than Dad. He wanted 3K for the car, and allowed us to take a test drive.

Southeast of town there is a housing development named Dove Springs. It’s fallen on hard times now, but back then it was still being built out as a bedroom community. There were large sections of road where there were no houses. We went to one such, Dad driving. The seller lived in Dove Springs, so it wasn’t a long ride.

I could barely contain myself. The car had a rumble to it that was pretty nifty.

Dad looked over at me.
“What do you think of it?”
I looked back, square and open.
“It’s OK, I guess”. I have to be cool here. If I let on that I know it’s a hotrod, I’ll never see this car again. I’d be relegated to driving the VW camper van.
He smirked at me, slightly reproving.
“You buckled in?” He says. I nod.
Quick as that, he rolled up some revs and dropped the clutch. The tires broke loose and commenced screeching. The car stayed straight though, and we hook up and make a run down the new-layed street.
“Has a Posi, I think” he hollers over the engine. We’re coming to the end of the street. Before we get there, he brakes, downshifts and turns left into the neighborhood, far over the speed limit.
“Not my car! Haha!” Is this Dad?
We make the block and come back to the new street again, and I see a pair of huge new burnouts where we took off.

We line up and do it again! The car is emmitting a smell now that I would recognize later as brakes and clutch heating up.

We get to the end of the street and stop.
“And that” he says, looking at me, icy blue stare from under deep brows, “is why you can’t have this car”. And we drove back to the owner, thanked him, but also no thanks, and left.

I ended up with a 318 ’73 Duster. I was an idiot for turning down the VW. It had a BED in it, ferchrissakes! I wrecked the Duster on all four corners though, so in retrospect it was a good choice!

Roarcourse drivers have a communication problem. It’s very difficult to tell anyone who has not been on a course what it’s like. It’s FAR easier to just smile and mutter things about “good grip out there today…” and so forth.

I don’t know how to conquer the communication barrier. It’s very much harder to attract more folks to the sport if they don’t understand what’s going on.

Take NASCAR for example. NASCAR is all about going round and round, very fast. Minute changes in car setup and driver habit can make or break a race. None of that is clearly visible to the crowd. It’s not possible to be close enough to the cars to feel how they react to the draft, or how they get just a smidge looser in every corner. Thus, NASCAR markets two things: Experience and heroes.

The experience of a NASCAR race is mind blowing. I hate them. Too much flash, not enough driving, too far removed from the pits, too much false “down home” bullshit. I am not a NASCAR fan. However, it is a wildly successful sport with the American public. The marketing concentrates on the experience of the race as a whole, rather than the driving or the tactics in the race.

They also market heroes. Cast as gladiators, the drivers are painstakingly groomed and coached and picked to look a certain way. They are all outstanding drivers, of course, but it takes more than that to be playing at that level. Have to be marketable.

But how do you market actually driving? The best seat in the house is the one behind the wheel. Hard to share that experience. There are in-car cameras, and that helps a bit, but at the end of the day, I think narrative is the best way to tell the story of the track. It’s the best way to attract more folks to the sport. Thus, this blog.

I am, of course, not trying to market anything. I like to tell stories and write for fun. But I would encourage those reading this to see what it’s like in person. If you ever drive fast and feel a little guilty (but satisfied). If you remember fondly that drag race you were in as a kid. If you like roller coasters or downhill skiing, give high performance driving a try.

The new Z06 came out in 2006. It’s a dramatic step up from my ’02 Z, for many reasons. The question is: Do I want to buy one?

Well, obviously, if money were no object, I’d get one. But it is, and more than that, there’s personal code, standards and so forth that combine in a baroque sort of way to muddy the waters.

It’s got 100 HP more than the ’02 and is very light. It’s got a 427 as opposed to a 350, and a dry sump oil system that’s more survivable. It’s got more modern gee-jaws than Sharper Image. It’s got great suspension, and is likely much, much faster in the turns than my car.

I just can’t do it. It would double my car payment. I feel like I just got the Blue Car and I’m stupidly loyal. I also feel that buying the first year of almost anything is a bad idea. Perhaps the ’07s will be more interesting, but frankly, until I pay off what I have, it’s just not that attractive.

I hate to say it, but I also don’t like the body style as yet. It’s shorter than my car, and a little wider. It’s a hatch back, rather than a FRC. It looks like it was chipped out of a piece of flint, rather than shaped out of water, like my car does.

Perhaps I’ll get to drive one, and that will change my mind. For now, it’s an interesting and very fast car that I will admire from afar.

I had a post set to go all about the way certain cars tend to attract certain personality types, the same way certain pet breeds tend to attract certain folks. It was sliding too negative, so I deleted it in favor of this one.

The car you drive at the track is a reflection of your personality. I started thinking about this because of the dire importance of predictability in this sport.

When following another driver into a turn at high speed, you’re very interested in what’s going through that mind in the lead car, lest it be you. You can make certain predictions based on the car, but ultimately, you want to be inside their head enough to know when they will be braking or when they might spin. It’s also true that the more you know about how someone thinks, the more you know about how to pass them in a race.

I began to observe the folks that I was around, and started to see patterns. Those roughly corresponded with vehicle types, kind of like owners kind of resemble their dogs.

To start off with, there is a LOT of ego on the track, especially in the more advanced run groups. At the very highest level (non-racing), it’s not so bad, since those guys have been seeing the same faces for years, and they KNOW who is faster and who must give way.

A very good driver told me once “It’s not about not having ego. Everyone here has a huge ego. It’s about how you manage it”. That management is reflected in the way the drivers drive, and thus makes them more predictable if you can find the patterns.

Here are a few personality types I’ve seen on the track (tongue firmly in cheek so as not to offend anyone).

The Giant Killer: Their car might not have alot of grunt, but their goal is to keep up with the big boys. Giant Killers often grow up into very very good drivers, because to run down a higher horsepower car is no mean feat. Typically found driving a Lotus Elise or Subaru STi or Mini-Cooper. If you are driving a high-horsepower car, don’t be surprised if you find a Giant Killer lining up behind you in the grid, with a predatory smile. Giant Killers are predictable, momentum-centric drivers. They will hate to pull off line for passes, and may be reluctant to let higher horsepower cars pass them.

American Muscle: Most likely found driving a Corvette, Viper or Mustang. These folks have the horsepower to run away from anyone on the straights, and they know it. They will tend to close up on folks in the straights, and get caught in corners. Generally a little older than the Giant Killer, the Muscle guys are predictable straight liners. They can grow up into formidable drivers, if they can learn to use that power in the corners. More horsepower is actually equal to more options.

Rice, Rice Baby: There is a DVD in their Mitsubishi playing “The Fast and The Furious” while waiting in the grid. The car is running 20 pounds of boost, at 11 FAR. You can hear the blow off valve all the way across the track. The exhaust is a cavernous affair larger than a chinese apartment. Ricers are rare at track events. The courses are generally too long and their cars are tuned too hot. They are predictable in the sense that they are likely to spin if pushed. Lots of racing mentality in this culture, so lots of competitive spirit. They tend to be younger than the average HPDE driver, and thus might still consider themselves immortal. They will care a great deal about what’s going on behind them, so be wary of the spin.

Money: The money guys are easy to spot: Look for the expensive trailer rig and the two cars (in case you just can’t decide). Money guys are just like you and me, but with more cash on hand. Some of them tend to be extra-careful about their cars, and thus can be counted on to not take undue risks. Some (the ones that have BIG bucks) just don’t care. They will sling a quarter million dollar Lambo into the weeds like it was a stolen Prelude. Talk to them, figure them out, becuase they often have cool stories! No way to know what they will think to do ontrack, save to observe.

Grrrrrrr!: Acronym for Grass Roots RRRRacing! Towed their ’82 Spec Racer Rabbit to the track behind their bio-diesel truck. Ready to tell you how they spent $2.54 last year on tires. Racing on a budget is their game, the track time is their reward for playing it well. Preoccupied with prep and gear, they often turn slower times because they are not really optimizing for that. Talk to them to figure out how to make your pennies go further. Natural enemy of the Money racer above. Quite often found staring at the big trailer with the AC humming in the 108 degree paddock and grinding their teeth.

Mom and Pop: They drive in different groups, so they can use the same car. Sometimes one watches the kids while the other drives. Often, the car is a daily driver. Most likely will be conservative, though I know at least one pair that is very aggressive. Nice folk to talk to between run sessions, and most likely to have cookies in the pits. Never, ever underestimate the female half of this team.

Re-tired!: Two subtypes: Ex-racer and newbie. The ex-racer generally quit before you were writing cursive. Loads of info and things to learn, though may not be applicable to modern cars. Generally not too aggressive as they have nothing to prove to you. The newbie is retired and bought their dream car, then wanted to learn to drive it. Capable of doing any-damn-thing on the track, so watch from a discreet distance.

The Kid: Sent to the event by their parents, to make them better drivers. Often, the parents are along. If they are, The Kid will likely be subdued, even cautious. If not, or it’s their second session, watch out. Overconfidence lasts until the first spin!

Transcendant: These folks are the pros. They’ve been sideways at 120, and nothing phases them. They can drive anything, well. They are calculating, analytical and very unforgiving of carelessness or sloppy driving because they understand that it’s a danger to everyone. They will alter their line at will, and are making few (if any) mistakes. If you are lucky enough to be following one of these guys around, try to stick with them and learn. This is what we all strive to be.

Most of learning to drive fast is getting accustomed to speed. A typical street driver might see a top speed, when passing, of 80 MPH. That will be in a straight line, and for a very short time. Even “street racers”, due to the ilegal nature of that activity never spend any time at speed. Road racing is entirely different.

On a typical 2-3 mile course, speeds reach over 100 MPH in at least two places. The track session lasts a half hour. It takes time to get used to that cadence, and time to build up to doing that many times per day, and yet more time to learn to race (which is harder).

The good news is that once you figure this out, driving on the street is effortless.

The weird news is that in order to wrap your brain around going that fast, your mind sometimes plays tricks on you.

When I’m going really fast, it feels like I’m falling. This happens especially when I’m following another car. There is no sensation of being on flat ground anymore. It’s like being in a dive in an aircraft. Somehow it makes perfect sense.

Sometimes, one’s mind orders things in slow motion, so one can see all of them at once. I’ve heard of this happening to folks in accidents, or times of high stress, but it also happens on the track.

It’s also true that you don’t care how fast you’re going. In fact, one friend of mine who has a HUD in his car turns it off on the track. The only reason to know your speed is to check whether you’re slower or faster in a given segment of the course this time around. In fact, when you’re going the fastest, on the straights, is when you relax, check gauges, flex your hands and so on.

I am lucky enough to drive an Electron Blue 2002 Z06 Corvette. It’s got just 50,000 miles on it. I put 16K of that on this past year and a half, as it’s my daily driver. It’s also the car I take to the track.

Doing double duty with the car is a challenge. I’ve decided to mod it for safety and reliability, rather than horsepower, because it’s got enough of that right now, for my taste.

This is what I’ve done to the car so far:
Stainless steel brake lines (Goodridge)
Motul 600 brake fluid
Harness bar (not sure on maker; looks like a Sparco, an old one)
six-point harness for driver (folds up behind the seat when not in use)
Raybestos brake rotors (the $25 kind)
Carbotech Panther Plus brake pads (kind of noisy for the street, but I don’t care)
Southern Car Parts partition and tray (these come out for the track)
Amsoil 0w30 oil
Amsoil Severe Gear differential fluid
Amsoil ATF
Hybrid alignment (something not too crazy to save the street tires)
2 x 17×9.5″ GS wheels (front), 2 x 17×11″ GS wheels (back) running 315/35r17 GY racing tires (I get these used for around $300 a set)
Stock wheels carry Nitto 555 front and rear (285 rear, 275 front)
Doug Rippie oil cooler

Planned mods:
passenger harness (taking pity on my riders)
Accusump
stainless steel brake caliper pistons
Fire extinguisher
Headers (not sure which kind)
Intake (not sure which one)
Brake ducts
’04 Z06 shocks

And much, much more.
I forgot how much fun it is to tinker with cars, but it’s coming back to me.

There are three main tracks that are willing to host High Performance Driving Events in Texas. They are Texas World Speedway, Motorsports Ranch Cresson and Motorsports Ranch Houston. All of them can be run in either direction, so it’s like having six tracks available to us. Pretty cool.

Texas World Speedway
Location: College Station
Link: http://www.texasworldspeedway.com/
Diagram:

This one is the daddy, as far as I’m concerned. This little track diagram does not do it justice. It’s an old track, built in ’68. The front straight is banked heavily. It’s where I learned this stuff and I learn something new everytime I’m on it.

Motorsports Ranch, Cresson
Location: Cresson (15 minutes SW of Ft. Worth)
Link: http://www.motorsportranch.com
Diagram:

MSR just changed their track layout, and increased their surface from 1.7 miles to 3.1 miles. It went from a technical slower track to a technical MUCH higher speed track. It’s also a blast to drive on, and the trackside facilities (shops, stores, and so on) are superb.

Motorsports Ranch, Houston
Location: Close to Angleton, south of Houston
Link: http://www.msrhouston.com
Diagram:

I’ve only ever been to this one once, and it was too wet to really give it a good run. It’s an interesting mix of the other two tracks. Long and reasonably fast at 2.4 miles it has some very technical parts to it. I’m going to enjoy learning this one.

Black Flags have a bad connotation in most situations, but in road racing, they can mean many things.

A black flag is shown to a specific driver by a track worker. Generally, the flag is waved as the driver approaches the flag station, and is then furled and pointed directly at the vehicle so there’s no mistaking who it’s for.

It’s a bad feeling to get black flagged.

When you see that signal, you are supposed to head for the pits, because the grid marshal or their representative wants to talk to you. It could be anything. It could be that your car is leaking something that it should not be, and that flag just saved your engine. It could be that you’re driving too close to the edge, or that you just spun the car and they need you to pull in to inspect it.

I managed to forget my instructor once. It was just before I was signed off solo and I was sitting in the starting grid, waiting to go out on track. When the grid marshal looked my way, I gave him the thumbs up, and he waved my on track, solo. I went around a couple times, and got black flagged. I pulled into the pits, and there stood my instructor and the grid marshal.

“Missing something?” says he.
“Yeah! The car is handling different, like it’s a couple hundred lighter or something…” I say.
“Uh huh. Well, don’t do that again.” He’s serious now.
“Nosir”.
“Go on back out”.
My instructor gives me the eye as I shift.
“You think I weigh 200 pounds?” he says into the intercom. He’s around 5’9″ and nowhere near 200 pounds.
“Well, a svelte 200, maybe 190?” I’m accelerating out of the pits.
“Shit”. he says.

Then again, you can get black flagged for hitting another car, driving too aggressively or simply being too sloppy. It’s not generally a laughing matter, but I’ve never talked to anyone else that forgot their instructor.

For my birthday, my wife bought me a trip to driving school. I had just got the latest incarnation of the blue car (a Z06 Corvette) and I was a little tentative with it. It was more than 100 hp more than my last blue car, and around 500 pounds lighter. In short, a handful. I was on the edge of getting in trouble again: Cops, tickets, etc.

The school is set up to do four track sessions for a given driver each day. Novices like me had an instructor in the car with them at all times, generally connected by a headset intercom so they could tell you how to drive the course.

After my first run, I was shaky but getting the hang of it. My instructor fed me a constant string of instructions, all in a very British accent. He was in his 60s:
“Easy on the brakes. off the brakes, turn in, now THROTTLE THROTTLE THROTTLE!”

He really liked saying THROTTLE!

I was sitting in the setup, letting the car cool off and drinking water, when he walked over, helmet in hand.

“So! How would you like to ride along in the next instructor session? I drive the same car as you, ya know, a Corvette. That way, you can see what it can really do.” he said.

“Sure”.

Presently, we’re strapping into his car. It’s a black 01 Z06. He’s got a harness on his side of the car, but I’ve got stock belts. I move the seat up so I can brace with my legs better, but that’s it. He gets in, buckles a six point harness on and tightens the H strap across his chest. Then he tightens everything again. Jesus. What are we getting into?

We roll to the grid. He is talking about how long he’s been driving, and how he loves corvettes, and how he loves to play driving games. Video games. He’s over 60, so that makes him a rare bird. He tightens his harness again.

We roll out onto the track and I ask what noise is coming from the tires?

“Oh, well, I have some race rubber on there. Should be good for another couple of sessions.” He tightens that H strap again. Oh, boy.

At pit out, he nails it. I’m pinned back in the seat. We accelerate through the first turn, going like mad, and the car starts to step out. He corrects and we’re back on line, headed for the next turn.

“Have to get some heat in the tires. Hang on now, this is how you should be braking…”

And he parks the car. At least that’s what it feels like. I’ve never been in a non-crashing car that slowed down that fast. The ABS comes on. The car skitters from side to side. It’s violent. Almost as soon as we brake, he’s back on the THROTTLE THROTTLE THROTTLE!

He grunts as we come out of the turn.

“Roight! Now we can really go! Let me know if you need to stop for anything or if you feel sick.”

Holeee crap.
Now, he’s talking me through the track as we go around. I begin to understand that he’s actually taking it easy, driving around 70 or 80% of what he can do. I’m soaking it all up, learning from this guy that’s been around this track so many times.

I also understand the harness. In order to steer and use the pedels, you can’t be bracing yourself with your arms or legs. The harness isn’t so much about safety as it is about control of the car and avoiding driver fatigue. I resolve to get one, as soon as I can.

On the main straight, we come up behind a Porsche, as I recall. My instructor is frustrated.
“Now, when we get to the next stroight, he’ll move over and let us by, because our line is better than his.” He says.

But through the next straight and the next, the Porsche never gives us the point by. Our line is better, and we catch the Porsche every time in the corners. We’re coming to the end of the back section, about to enter the chicane before the main front straight, and we’ve been on the bumper of the Porsche the whole lap. I hear growling in the headset.

“Dunno what he’s thinking, but here’s where we go around” He mutters. We accelerate, harder than before. Coming up to an awful sharp left, with a car in front of us.

The Porsche brakes. We don’t. Oh, shit. Contact time. I brace. At last, a LONG half second later, we brake, inches from his back bumper. Hard left, and I realize the car is right on the edge of adhesion. This, I realize, is 10/10ths. 100%.

We enter the chicane, and it must look as if the Porsche is towing the black Z06. He snaps the car back right, and THROTTLE THROTTLE THROTTLE! Rather than turning very much at all, we blast through the chicane, tires up on the right curbing, then the left, and drifting out right up the banking of TWS. With the widening track, we are almost parallel with the Porsche now, and at last I see the driver put his hand out and over the roof, as we pass him. That makes it legal, so we don’t get black flagged.

There is more growling in the headset, but it’s muted by the engine noise as we are doing over 140 on the main straight now. Time to relax and tighten the harness again. I’m laughing as we head down the straight.

Peter Dove was my instructor’s name that first session, and he taught me a great deal about being smooth and fast, and about being competitive on the track. I have not seen him since.

“You’re looking good out there, Yak. If you want to go out solo next time, I think you’re ready.” Said George, my instructor today.

“Ok, I can do that.” I say.

“In fact, if you’d like to go out in yellow group, just to see how it feels, that would work” says George

In my last two sessions in blue run group, I have not been passed by anyone. In fact, I lapped some folks. MSR Cresson is good to me today.

“Sure, that sounds good to me”. I say, hoping it really does. Yellow group is a whole ‘nother game. The drivers are faster, everyone is solo, save the odd check ride. The cars are faster too. Gone are the daily drivers (the non-sports cars, anyway) and weird hobbyist cars. Yellow is the domain of the Italians and Germans and Loti. And now, one more Corvette. I’m smiling more now.

“Ok, I’ll be here in the pits, with helmet, if you want to come in and pick me up. Have fun and be safe!” says George.

It’s the end of the day, and I justify to myself that yellow will be better since my tire carrier friend (no way to carry four track wheels in a ‘Vette, so I have to depend on my friends) is running in yellow, and if I run there too, he doesn’t have to wait until after blue to pack up and hit the road. There is the off chance that I’ll meet up with him on track, which would be bad. One of us would have to give way, and the tale would follow both of us back to Austin.

An hour later, I’m lined up in the grid, blue sticker on my windshield, in yellow run group. There’s nothing but racecars here, and everyone has a seat harness. Sticky tires. Turbochargers. Superchargers. Wings. Stickers. Flux Capacitors. My car is blue, I tell myself. Blue FTW! Faster. Intimidating. Oh, yes. With my head in the right place, I give the thumbs up to the grid marshal.

I head out onto the track, goosing and oversteering to heat the tires a bit and give the crowd a bit of a show. And it’s fun. Last run of the day, the sun is setting and it’s been a good weekend so far.

Warm up lap done, I head into the serpentine trailing a Minicooper S. I’m still on him at the end of it, so he obligingly pulls offline and gives me the fast line onto the main straight. He points, and I pass! Woot! Passing in yellow! I rock! How the hell did I do that? But it was a mini, half my horsepower. He was prolly conserving at the end of the day, like a sane person would. He’ll catch me in the next sequence, I bet.

I’m actually going faster now than I have before, so I have to upshift and then back down to third for the first turn, a long sweeper right. I heel-toe down just so, and the car has narry a wobble going into full throttle as I hit the apex fashionably late and blast up the next straight, trailing a red RX8. Hell. He’s very fast, I know. Never pass him. His license plate says ZM ZOOM, ferchrissakes. If it’s written on a license plate, it must be true.

Yet as we enter the back sequence, I note that I’m carrying a good bit more speed into the turns then he is, and coming out of the boot hill turn, I’m filling up his mirrors. Next straight, he pulls off line and I take the pass. Holy crap! And what’s more I remain ahead of him as we make another lap. Doing good. I like this Yellow group so far!

Heading into Ricochet, I’m following a silver Porsche GT-3, and that is surely the end of passing. The porsche has my same power to weight, but is lighter. He’ll dance through the serpentine, then kick in that terrible noisy Italian motor and be gone. Yet, as I set up for the Ricochet, I see him getting closer and closer. He hit the apex right, but wasn’t on the power enough, or had not enough torque or my line was better. I catch him at wagon wheel and I see him tap his mirror. He knows I’m here, and will let me go by next straight. Excellent!

In the main straight, he’s up for the drag race. Despite the point, I hear him punch it as I come out of the turn. The blue car roars in defiance and outrage. He gave the point, and now wants to race? He’s on the outside, I’m a car width and a half inside as we have to set up for the first turn. Heel-toe downshift; if I miss this, he’s gone, but I don’t. We rocket towards the apex of the turn called “big bend” with the throttle on the floor. The GT-3 is fading back, back, not having the horsies to keep up. Now, I have to survive this turn…

I feel half my left tires off the edge of the asphalt at track out. Not off, not off… Flat out and on the straight, faster than I have ever been going on this section of track.

I know it now: I’m invincible today. None shall pass! I relax and smile, and turn the best times of the weekend, on the last session of the day.

I never saw my friend, at least not going anywhere. I passed his car sitting still in the middle of one of the straights. I missed seeing it, but he spun twice around and confused the computer something awful. Messages including (but not limited to) “Service Active Handling” and “Service Shock Absorbers” and “Check Engine”, “Clean out Driver’s Shorts” were displayed on his dashboard information console.

I come back into the pits at the end of the session, to congratulations and surprise from my instructor. I tell him that if you drive with the good drivers, you get better, and he agrees. I can sign up for yellow at TWS in March, which will be a hoot. I can’t wait.