Four days before the school the clutch in the Capri went. A friend and I got the parts and spent three nights until 2 AM getting the clutch done, which was a story all its own. Around 3:30 Friday we found we had the wrong clutch master cylinder and we panicked. I found the right one later that day for twice as much as the one I bought the first time. But we installed it and I was off to me track, about five hours away. It was a relief to arrive. Just looking around the paddock area, it was obvious that the Mid-Ohio track and facilities were top notch. I unloaded everything from my car, wondering where I had hidden all this junk in a hatch-back for so long without noticing. From the size of the pile I could see picking up several seconds a lap just from lower weight. The school officially started with an 8:00 AM drivers' meeting. We were told this was a driver's school not a racing school. We were there to learn smoothness, which is the key to speed, and that hot laps would come naturally if we paid attention to the details. Hero driving would be rewarded with bent fenders. We also discussed the various flags we would be seeing. MY personal favorite was the Pull-into-the-pits-immediately-it's-beertime flag with a foamy beer mug in its center, the signal for the end of the day's track time.
In the morning session, we were driven around the track in our cars by our instructors for a few laps. Then we got to test the ability of said instructors to hold their lunches and not scream and put fingernail marks in the dash as we drove around a course we'd never seen before while trying to impress them with our (in)ability to beat Bobby Rahal's Indycar lap record. In a bone-stock car. It seemed my instructor either was very good or heavily sedated. (He turned out to be very good.) He had the amazing ability to talk me around the course corner by corner, explaining where he wanted me to place the car, what gear to be in, when to accelerate and brake, and get all this done before it was too late (as opposed to "AAAGGGHHH! Next lap stay off the grass! You scared the corner workers"). After the session was over, we went back to class for further discussion of the proper line, braking and cornering technique, and what to do or not to do in case various things happen -- such as seeing wrecks or having one yourself. We were back on the track after lunch, revitalized. Even as a hard street driver, I was amazed at how tiring trying to drive fast was. On the street you really only need to concentrate at 1OO% for a very short time. This may be through your favorite set of corners or a stop-light NHRA event. But here you must pay attention for twenty or thirty minutes at a stretch. To lose concentration at over lOOmph would be very serious indeed.
The two afternoon sessions went too quickly. Well, the time went too quickly. We did not. I spent the first session working on a few specific corners; I just couldn't seem to get them right. My instructor was doing all he could, but I just couldn't make things click. Then between sessions I got a ride in Mike Valentine's IROC Porsche 911. It had 300HP, 10.5" slicks and was barely slower than Han Solo's Millenium Falcon. I saw 1.46 g's on his g-Analyst. I was astounded. The whole track seemed to make sense and the line was no longer some arbitrary illusive path. I suddenly understood what I was doing wrong and Bobby Rahal was in deep trouble...
I spun during the next session. It seems I had forgotten one very important thing: I don't own an IROC Porsche. I went sailing into the Keyhole, a deceptively sharp, off-camber, downhill right-hand turn, chasing a new-found friend in an MR2 and forgetting that while it would be no big deal at this speed in an IROC 911, I was in a very tired '83 Capri. I ran wide onto the grass, got big-time sideways, prayed lots and saved it by accident before I hit the Armco. So much for all the preaching that this was not a racing school. My instructor, who had been asking me to slow down all morning, refrained with great effort from barraging me with "I TOLD YOU SOs" and beating my head into the windshield. The car was undamaged other than knocking off a front bearing cap that got trapped inside the lug cover. I had spun on the last lap, the day was over and I had the night to think about my mistakes.
Sunday went too quickly. The format was the same, and track sessions started to go faster as many of us beginners got used to the speed potential of the course and our cars. I was routinely hitting 100-105 mph on the back straight and going through turn one at 80 with the rear end hung out a foot or so. The speeds didn't bother me so much now and I could concentrate on the tasks at hand. Car control was becoming instinctive, which was the whole point of the school. The other point was to enjoy yourself. I can't tell you how much fun I had in those two days! To finally be able to drive a car as it was intended for hours at a time was one of the greatest highs I've ever experienced. And it was hours. That's what most of us came for and that's what we got, lots of track time, along with enough instruction and supervision to keep most of us out of trouble. The hardest part was trying not to grin like a fool for 48 hours straight. Have you ever gotten cramps in your smiling muscles? Try a BMW CCA-sponsored drivers school. You'll meet a whole bunch of really neat car crazies, drive your wheels off in a controlled, safe environment under some of the best supervision in the country and grin so much your face hurts. That much fun can't remain legal for long!
28 June 1989
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