"You never forget your first time"

A first timer's view of the racing experience.

By: Mike Kibort, Director of Operations, e-Racing Motorsports

"You have got to try this Mike," My brother practically yelled at me as I talked to him on the phone. He was talking about a day on the racetrack where you can take your own car out and learn exactly how to handle driving it at speed. I had been in the middle of restoring and modifying a 1980 Fiat 2000 Spider, when he presented me with an application form to spend a day out at Laguna Seca Raceway with NASA (the National Auto Sport Association) for what they call "Driving School." My response was, "you mean they let anyone with $160 bring their cars and drive on the race track?" There was no question what I was going to do with the application.

A little history...

From the time I had discovered "Hot Wheels," I had imagined myself winning the 24 hours of LeMans and ripping through road courses like Laguna Seca, Sears Point, and Watkins Glen, accepting many awards and trophies for my racing expertise. When I came of driving age, my passion for automobiles only became stronger. I bought what was to be the first of many cars; a 1971 Mercury Capri with the 2000cc OHC. Like most young men in high school, I would use the local neighborhood as the proving grounds for each of the modifications I had made. While at college, I restored a 1964 Pontiac LeMans convertible with nothing but sandpaper, a hammer, a tub of bondo, a spatula, and a short trip to Mexico. After a cement truck hit the LeMans while parked on the side of the road, I went through my superbike phase. I pushed the limits of an 85' Kawasaki 900 Ninja through the hills of Los Angeles, and performed top speed tests on the wide-open portions of interstate 5 between Los Angeles and San Diego. After graduating from college, I got my first real job as an outside salesperson, I bought a 1986 Mustang GT convertible with the 5 speed manual gearbox to serve as my business vehicle. Needless to say, the car did not fit the professional life I had chosen for myself, and after a year and half, I had grown to hate the car that should have been a joy to own. In the years following the breakup between my Mustang and me I had worked diligently to make a life for my family and myself. Over time, I finally saved up enough money to buy a beat-up fiat (as if there is any other kind). In habitual fashion, I proceeded to restore and modify the roadster to better enjoy on the mountain roads near my home. I had owned the car for a couple of years when my over-excited brother gave the racing application to me. I looked it over, and immediately knew I had to get myself out there.

The Waiting Game...

After signing the paperwork, I now had a month and a half to kill before the big day. I quickly got to work to finish some of the modifications I had only 90% completed. I installed new racing brakes, and finally got those ball- joints replaced. The only problem was finding a roll bar (open vehicles must have a roll bar to take out on the track). As the big day approached, the anticipation was unbearable. I felt like a kid wanting to X out each day on the wall calendar at work to signify one more day closer to the day I get to push it to the limit ... legally. I started to worry that I wasn't going to find the roll-bar I needed to make the car acceptable for the track when I found a used one from a local Fiat shop. I rustled up the cash and picked it up the day before track day. That evening was spent performing frantic acts of mechanical engineering to remove seats, drill mounting holes, and properly bolt the tubed beast to my aged but revamped fine Italian sports car. My one-manned pit crew completed the job at Midnight, leaving an ample 5 1/2 hours for much needed sleep.

RACE DAY...

With the car completed, packed, and ready, I made my way down the California coast. I arrived at Laguna Seca Raceway at 7:00am for sign-in, safety check, and the driver meeting (the safety check could have been done at a participating auto shop in my neighborhood, but I needed the roll bar installed to pass, so I had to have it done on site). After signing in, and the safety check, we had our first driver's meeting. I was impressed at the level of professionalism and concern displayed by the instructors in their mission to provide a smart and safe event where everyone is educated to the rules of the day's racing. After the driver's meeting, we went to wait by our cars which were parked in the paddock area. Everyone kept busy by taping up all of the cars' lights and putting numbers on the doors (the tape is to keep lenses from shattering on the track in the event of an accident, the numbers are for the officials to keep track of all drivers, good and bad). In NASA, there are four group categories: groups 1 and 2 are novice and drive together (no passing is allowed during the initial sessions while the later sessions permit passing at limited areas around the track), group 3 is intermediate (passing is limited during the first warm up session only), and group 4 is the advanced group (unlimited passing). Most of the members of this group are looking to qualify for their racing licenses to begin competing in the Pro-7 (RX7 circuit) or other similar professional racing circuits. Prior to my group's first time on the track, my instructor thought it would be a good idea for me to get some laps around the track as a passenger. This was to get a better initial feel for the layout, and learn the driveline by his example. He mentioned that he would pick me up at my spot in the paddock and we would take the example laps in his car. My pulse began to rise as he picked me up in a black 91' Acura NSX. It quickened even more when he said we were going out in group 4 to "get a feel for the speed." We put on our helmets, and got in line for our emergence on to the track.

The flag man eventually gave us the go ahead, and within seconds we were at speed entering turn 2, "the Andretti Hairpin" with less than a couple of feet separating us from those in front and behind. The Acura engine eagerly whined past 6000 rpm as we accelerated out of turn 2, into turns 3 and 4, and on our way towards the back portion of the racetrack. Being the type that always has the need to be the driver, I was suffering from the uncomfortable feeling that I had no control over the situation and was dying to get my hands on the wheel. I began to laugh out loud as we gracefully dropped through the corkscrew and ripped our way through the last few turns that led us to the very tight turn 11. Exiting the final turn left you with a long and inviting straight away that begged you to push the pedal to the floor and hang on for the ride. We made a couple more laps in the Acura, then came in to wait my turn to prove my worthiness.

My Turn...

Fiat spider leading the pack into turn 1

Turn 1 at the end of the straight-away at Laguna Seca

Finally, the moment I had been waiting for had arrived. My palms were sweaty, my heart was pounding, and my eyes were wide open as I pulled out into the starting grid with 30 or so other novice drivers gladly suffering from the same affliction. With my instructor beside me, we were ready to conquer the track. As I talked to my instructor about the timing of breaking and acceleration for the entry and exit of turns, I noticed the green flag being waved vigorously to begin my first racing session. After smoothly getting into and out of 1st gear, I just mashed the accelerator to the floor to gain the speed necessary to keep up with the other more powerful cars on the track. Going into turn 2 (the Andretti Hairpin) I found the heavy breaking tougher to control than what I was used to on the street. The other novices were hitting their breaks early and often, so I was feeling pretty good about my initial abilities showing up early on. The instructor was throwing out words of encouragement after each turn telling me what I was doing well, and what I was not. As we entered the 4th turn, I noticed that through the first three turns, my car's engine had not fallen below 4000 rpm, and I was threatening to push the accelerator pedal through the floor of my delicate and temperamental Italian automobile. Flying through turn 5, we headed uphill toward the back portion of the track. The 2-liter Fiat screamed out with everything it had through 7000 rpm as we pushed it through the uphill turning climb that ended with a blind approach at 70 mph toward the corkscrew! Using the braking markers for reference, I braked, shifted and turned into the twisting, diving turn that spit us out into a long, agonizingly tough oppositely banked sweeping left turn. This is a turn that makes you feel like you are just one mile per hour shy of sliding out into the dirt and having to take a cab ride home. Heading into, then out of the final turn 11, I mashed the accelerator pedal to the floor trying to get everything out of what little power the Fiat was capable of. Cars the likes of Porsches, Vettes, Miatas, 240z's, Hondas, and RX7's each took their turn at mopping me up during this uphill straight-away, drag strip portion of the road course. During the turns, however, I was an eager and capable competitor. The suspension had been modified with Konis and sway bars the year earlier and was proving to be very stable and predictable at speed.

Same location.. (with instructor)

As I negotiated my way around the track, I couldn't help but notice one thing that felt so different than anything else I had experienced while driving cars prior to this day. The difference was the constant feeling that I was on the absolute outside edge of my tire's capabilities to hold on to the asphalt. Getting loose (and easily controlling it) at high speed felt like a controlled float away from my intended drive line, leaving me to complete my turns by barely running out over the outside berms. As I made my way around the track several times, I was able to feel the difference between properly and poorly executed drive lines. The feeling of being physically connected to every up-shift and downshift was overwhelmingly satisfying. Each and every time I went through the corkscrew, I couldn't help but have a smile on my helmeted face a mile wide.

As the first session 20-minute time limit drew to a close, my car was already showing the effects of hard time on the track. The brand-new racing brakes I had installed just a month earlier had begun to give me a pedal feel like there was enough air in the brake lines to blow up a portable mattress. I pulled off the track, entered the paddock area, and the overwhelming stench of burnt brakes and melting rubber permeated my cockpit. It was a great session. As my engine, my brakes, my tires, and my brain all cooled off, I couldn't wait to get back out there for session #2! Each of the next three sessions was even more enjoyable than the last. As my skill level improved, I found myself passing others and going for the goal of personal best lap times. By the end of the day, my shirt was wet with perspiration, my fuel tank was near empty, and the 15" polished aluminum wheels on my fiat were flat black covered in brake dust.