So, despite my better judgment, I’m going to give in to my automotive obsession again. Gear up.
To the relief of some of my friends (and the slight dismay of others) I have removed the pink wheels from my car. Everyone has responded to said wheels in the same way—skeptical, confused, questioning, ‘What’s the deal with the pink rims?’ The explanation is simple: they had some sticky tires on them. About three weeks ago, I had the chance to take my Honda up near Cleveland to spend the day at Nelson Ledges and do laps with other like-minded fools. Naturally, I jumped at the chance, drove the required four hours and burned a fair amount of 93 octane while I was there. Honestly, I would do it every weekend if I could.
In order to have my car track-worthy, I made sure I was up to date on maintenance, brake pads, and fresh oil. However, my tires weren’t looking good. One of my friends who couldn’t make the track day heard that I might have to pass as well because of worn tires, and she offered to let me borrow a set of wheels from her. Since her car was almost identical to mine, they fit fine, and were wrapped with mostly fresh BFGoodrich KDWs. The catch? The rims were powder-coated in pink. Neon pink. Unmistakably pink. I said it didn’t matter, I was going to be driving, so I wouldn’t be looking at them. Everyone else, they couldn’t help but notice and their faces wrenched into all sort of baffled expressions. It was most obvious when I sat at intersections—the cross traffic would be unable to see me through the tinted side windows and assume a woman was driving because of the girly wheels. Then they’d be confused when they saw my face through the windshield while driving by. I started to find it hilarious.
But that’s just an added bonus, the real fun came at the track. Upon arriving at Nelson Ledges, the guys started prepping their cars: unpacking supplies, removing weight and loose items from their vehicles, checking fluids. We listened in as the track officials explained how the run groups would be organized and the rules of the track. When the tech leader asked how many of us were new to a racetrack, at least half of the fifty people crowded around him raised their hands. So he recommended the novices ride along with more experienced drivers for a few laps before everyone was turned loose. This was the moment I was waiting for, real track time. I pulled on my helmet and asked if I could ride with Kevin (or Kevy-Wevy, as he is affectionately known). As one of the few group members who owns something other than a Honda, he is ribbed about his car regularly. Despite this, he wins some points back by running a shit-ton of power. Someone mentioned I was brave to ride with Kevin, I asked why—his Eagle Talon puts down over 400 horsepower at the wheels. Color me surprised. I strapped into the four-point harnesses and found that I couldn’t tighten them enough to hold me in place. Suddenly, I started to wonder if this was a bad idea…
But I didn’t have long to doubt my situation, it felt nearly confirmed when Kevin put his foot to the floor. My first coherent thought was ohshitI’mgoingtodie. The motor made this DSM move, so much so that I was too afraid to try and look at the speedometer. My mind registered the sounds, and my throat dried out—this car sounded like a WWII fighter plane when it was on boost. What was even more frightening was the speed of shifting: Kevin would lay into the throttle, brrrrrrrraaaaa, psh-shift, brrrrrrrrraaaaa, psh-shift, brrrrrrrrrrraaaa, and suddenly we’re in fifth gear on the back straight, traveling I-don’t-want-to-know-how-fast. Equally unnerving was the fact that the car was rolling over noticeably in the corners; even though the tires held, it felt like the front end was going to break loose at any second and we would slide out across the grass toward the tire wall. I give Kevy-Wevy credit, however, he never slid the car or ended up dipping into the green stuff. But after about four laps, his oil-pressure meter read absolutely nothing, so we both said, “That’s not good,” and he made for the pits. Once everyone returned from their warm-up, we all made a crack about Mitsubishi reliability and offered suggestions as to what could be the issue. After popping the hood and checking the dipstick, Kevin found that he’d lost some oil (and made a mess in his engine bay) but couldn’t find where it would be pouring out of. Ten minutes later he saw that the wiring for the gauge had worked itself free, so he reconnected it and tied it down more securely. Difficulties over, I slid into my Honda and headed out with the “Novice” group of drivers.
Honestly, the time in Kevin’s Talon had me on edge, given that he was on the accelerator even before passing the apexes of most of the track’s corners. I was unsure of my own ability (and my car’s) to hold comparable speeds, so I waited until after the apex point to start squeezing some throttle in. Meanwhile, most everyone else was moving up behind me, so I got in the habit of giving point-bys on the front and back straights. I was a little disappointed in myself when the other Kevin in our group closed on me in his Civic Si. It was his first time on a road course too, so I was hoping we wouldn’t differ much in pace. Little did I know that Chris was riding along with him, giving pointers on how to take the turns. Kevin’s Civic charged past, but three corners later, he spun on the inside of the last hairpin, and I was aware enough that it didn’t jar me as I slipped around him.
Once the first novice session finished, I came back in to the paddock and talked with Kevin after his spin. He said that having Chris along helped him get a lot of speed out of the corners, that he just followed the directions Chris gave and somehow the car responded. I knew my line through the turns was correct, but I was hesitant to approach my car’s cornering limits. Chris offered to have me ride shotgun while he went out with the “Intermediate” group. I thanked him and jumped at the chance. As we pulled out towards the track entrance, I realized that yet again, the harness I was in wouldn’t fit. I’m just too skinny for some people’s cars…
Watching Chris drive was amazing. He’s had a fair share of track experience, and it shows. He was closing on and passing everything from BMWs to Corvettes. The secret was his exit speed into the straightaway: even though the car ahead might have a bigger engine, Chris carried more speed through the previous turn so that he was on the next car’s bumper, ready to pass when things got straight. He was on the gas at similar places in the corners as Kevin in his Talon, but his suspension and overall smoothness of inputs felt much more controlled. I never worried that he was coming into a turn too hot, or that his Prelude would wash out and start to understeer. And Chris was nonchalant about the whole activity: he talked calmly about the drivers in front of him, which parts of the track to watch out for, anything. I just listened and tried to adjust my brain to the continuous thought of wow, you can hold a lot more speed here. And since my car was a similar model as his, it gave me some good reference as to what I might be able to work up to.
Toward the end of the laps, a Nissan 240sx blew its engine during the long decreasing radius right-hander before the back straight. Unfortunately, the driver ended up stopping his car right in the center of the track, causing some issues for the cars behind him. An Integra came upon the busted car next, stopping for the red flag that resulted from the breakdown. A Subaru STI was next, and slowed to a stop right behind the Nissan, and Chris was about to stop on the inside of the track to make sure he didn’t rear-end the STI. This would have worked out fine, only the blown motor left a puddle of coolant and oil where Chris was braking. The car spun to the inside of the long corner, missing the STI and into the grass. The whole event took maybe five seconds, and I wasn’t worried for a bit of it. Chris and I waited off of the track for the officials to give the word to come back on, then everyone pitted while the tow truck came out to clean up after the Nissan. It wasn’t until after we got back that Chris told me he got the spin on video—I never noticed the camcorder mounted on his harness bar.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=5-t2_ZX9QOc
We broke for lunch while the crews cleared the track and soaked up the oil. The whole time I was itching to get back out and improve on my times. Maybe I just wanted to see what I could do, what my car and its pink wheels could do. When the novice group started up again, I did much better—I eased my way into emulating Chris’ points to accelerate through turns. I kept pace with Kevin’s Civic, held my own, and even managed to pass a couple Camaros and a Firebird. But I was careful to not get overconfident, to listen to the car and stay within my limits. The whole day I never ended up off track, never had any close calls, and everything went smoothly. It taught me that a car’s capabilities aren’t nearly as important as the driver being able to control the car effectively.
Later in the afternoon, Ryan offered to have me ride along in his Acura NSX—there was no way I was going to turn that down. The car was Honda’s answer to the Ferraris and Lamborghinis of the early 90’s, it’s beautiful. Of course, I could never drive one, considering that headroom is almost nonexistent for me. But that 3.0 liter motor can move, and the car is a handling monster. The g-forces were such that my stomach became physically ill after several laps. Even though I was having the time of my life next to Ryan (who was having the time of his life hammering speed out of the car) I had to take a break after that ride. I missed about ten minutes of my own final session while I was taking time to let my guts untwist. But by the end of the day, I felt great.
My Honda never gave me any problems, held up to the track abuse without fail, and even felt reasonably comfortable on the four hour drive home. It was wonderful to spend the day with those friends, sharing track time. I’ll be back the next chance I get; I still have so much to learn.
