Several years ago, I had the opportunity to attend the Richard Petty Driving Experience, and in honor of this Daytona 500 weekend, I'll post the story I wrote a few days after that unforgetable event.
"Santa came in April this year. Actually, he visited on his normal day, but I couldn’t collect until this month. Thanks to my favorite lady-Santa, I was able to experience what many race fans dream of, but few are fortunate enough to accomplish; I attended the Richard Petty Driving Experience. I was going to drive a real race car on a real race track.
The day started early with the alarm blasting me into consciousness at an unaccustomed 5:15 am. I’m supposed to be retired and the annoying ringing of alarm clocks should be only a distant memory, but today it was a welcome sound. A quick shower and shave, and I was ready for anything…well, almost. For some reason my stomach was experiencing a mild fluttery feeling. I didn’t feel like a big breakfast, so two slices of toast and a large cup of coffee would have to do. Can’t imagine why my stomach is unsettled!
The day was blustery and overcast, but it didn’t look like rain was a threat anytime soon. As the 30+ mph winds buffeted my truck on the freeway, I wondered if the wind would have any adverse effect on the racecars. Sure would hate to have my car blown off the track…with me in it.
I live only a few miles from Texas Motor Speedway, so after a ten-minute drive, I pulled my Dodge Dakota into line behind other early arrivals. Reporting time was 6:45 at the media center, and the track people were punctual. The gates opened at 6:44 and a minute later, twenty-seven clearly excited wannabe racers pulled into the track’s media center parking lot.
I was curious if the students had anything in common when it came to their car choices, so as we drove in I made a casual observance of vehicles. I found no common thread. They ranged from a four door Volvo, to a one-ton Ram diesel, an old Chevy van, a new Corvette, a Mercedes SL500 convertible and everything in between. It appeared our bunch represented a real cross section of automotive preferences, but race on Sunday; sell on Monday didn’t seem to be a truism, as I didn’t see a single Taurus, Grand Prix or Monte Carlo in the bunch.
Another thing that struck me was the age of these rookie drivers. There were more men near my age than younger. I had expected several guys would be there to get a taste of big league cars before deciding on a career in motor sports. Oh, there were a couple of youngsters who might have been taking a first step to become racers, but most were well over 40. Only one woman graced our ranks, but she didn’t seem to mind being the lone representative of her gender, and her performance on the track was indistinguishable from the men.
We got off to a quick start by registering, picking up our fire suits and watching a video narrated by “The King” himself. He welcomed us and explained a little about the driving experience. Next was a short briefing and introduction to staff members with whom we would be dealing.
By 7:30 we’re divided into four groups and loaded into vans for a rolling tour of the track. Our guide explained the driving rules, hand signals and physical characteristics of the track. He pointed out the racing groove, which was identifiable by orange paint marks on the racing surface. Then he ran the van up to about 70mph through the turns so we could get the feel of the transitions. There was nervous laughter and a few smart comments from the students, yet you could tell they were taking the instructions seriously.
By 8:00, I regretted drinking the large coffee and found that simple things like going to the men’s room are much more difficult when wearing a close fitting one-piece driver’s fire suit!
Our next stop was the in-car orientation. With the help of a racecar parked outside the media center, the instructor described what we should expect from the car, which tasks would be accomplished by the pit personnel and what we would do for ourselves. He reminded us to leave the pits at 2000 rpm, shift at 4000 and be in 4th gear when we left the apron and entered the racing line.
The biggest problem for some in the class was entering and exiting the car through the small window opening. The course is not restrictive by waist size, but if you can’t fit through the widow, you don’t get to drive.
It didn’t take long to get the show moving. We gathered beside the pit stalls, and looked over our waiting fleet. One red and Petty-blue Grand Prix served as a backdrop for individual driver photos, but the work horses were several GP’s, Monte Carlos and Tauruses (Tauri?). There were #3 and#24 look-alikes equipped with an extra passenger seat for the ride-along program. The remaining cars wore the livery of several major sponsors from the Cup and Busch series.
I was driver number 14, so enjoyed the opportunity to watch others begin the process before making a fool of myself. This waiting game was the worst part, as the butterflies again took flight in my stomach. Must have been that dang coffee!
The first two drivers climbed into their cars and two instructors led the way in their own machines. There were no radios in the student cars, but the Instructor’s had radio contact with the flag stand and pit crew. We had to rely on reading hand signals from pit crew members, instructor cars, and flag man.
Everyone was informed to stay 8-10 car lengths behind the instructor, and to watch the flag man for instructions. If he waved the green flag, he wanted you to speed up, if a yellow flew, it meant you were doing something wrong. The checkered flag was the signal that your allotment of laps had expired.
Finally, it was my turn, so I pulled a helmet over my wind-whipped hair and climbed through the window of the white #99 Pontiac. There was no doubt in my mind that I looked utterly cool, especially for a guy the age of Harry Gant! I imagined myself looking far more graceful than Jimmy Spencer as I slid into the seat, but I think I heard a chuckle or two from those in the gallery who didn’t concur with my opinion.
Once comfortable in the seat, the pit crew helped fasten the 5-point seat belt, put a foam collar around my neck, installed the steering wheel and secured the window net. One size fits all, and if your feet don’t reach the pedals, they put a cushion behind your back.
Let me tell you folks, when that harness is tightened you don’t move at all! In fact, breathing is difficult…especially when the butterflies are bouncing off the walls of your stomach. Wonder why they won’t go away?
That’s when reality finally hit. My God!…I was actually sitting inside a Winston Cup car and I was about to go out on the most treacherous track on the circuit and drive 8 laps at more than twice the freeway speed limit! Only occasionally, in recent years, have I kicked my street cars up to the 80-90 mph range, and that has been mostly at the local drag strips where they don’t have any turns!
I found myself hoping the new Bell helmet would go back on the rack as unblemished as I had found it. Thoughts of Jeff Gordon, Jimmy Spencer and Mike Skinner’s recent wrecks at TMS flashed through my mind and I began to doubt my sanity, and even worse, to question my driving skills.
Thankfully, there wasn’t enough time to whine to my pit guy about having forgotten an important, previous commitment. He had already hit the starter switch and was waving me off to fall in behind the Ace Hardware car driven by Madman-Mark, the most feared instructor on the staff. He looked a little like Tim Richmond, and you got the impression he could drive the same way. I hoped he wasn’t going to be too demanding.
Oh well, here we go!
Once rolling, the first thing that impressed me about the car was its absolute preciseness. Unlike a street car that begins to turn a millisecond or two after you turn the steering wheel, the Cup car turns at the exact moment you think about turning. The steering ratio is high, so very little wheel movement is needed to turn the car.
The Hurst shifter is smooth, solid, and moves exactly where you tell it to go. The clutch is velvet smooth, although somewhat heavier to engage than a street car. The brakes are definitely race quality and while they too take a lot of pedal pressure, they will stop the car quickly. Forward visibility is nothing to brag about because you sit so low and some distortion is apparent in the Lexan windshield. The rear view mirror is a wide-angle design, but the view sucks! Any car behind me was going to be little more than a vibrating blur at speed.
Per the instructions, I was in 4th gear by the time we exited turn 2 and pulled above the white line onto the racing area. The warm-up lap gave me a chance to get the feel of the car and familiarize myself with the racing line. Lap two saw us inch the speed up, but I had difficulty maintaining the requested 8-10 car length interval. Madman Mark was pulling away and the green flag was waving frantically from the flag stand. Speed up Dummy!
I checked the rpm’s and watched the needle slide up to 5000. Aha, I’m doing better! Quite respectable!
For some reason, my instructor pulls down low on the backstretch and I follow, as instructed. To my dismay, I watch the “ride along” cars pass us on the high side. Now I’m embarrassed! Passed by two race car taxi’s with kids and grandmothers aboard! I push the gas pedal down a smidgen more and feel a 700 horsepower kick in the rear. The car digs into the corners like it‘s on rails, and each lap comes a bit easier. Just about the time I’m getting comfortable, the checkers wave and we pull back into the pits.
Upon exiting the car, I discover I’m soaked with sweat, yet it’s only 75 degrees! I never dreamed there was so much adrenaline left in this old body, and I feel as exhausted as if I had just run a marathon…but it’s a good kind of tired.
Everyone has the same feelings. The initial apprehension is over and we are anxious for our second turn on the track. For the time being it’s back to the waiting game, but this time the butterflies are replaced by a burning desire to get back into harness and helmet.
When the last student has competed the initial eight laps, the instructors hold a critique session and the comments are universal. Everyone is going too slow. That’s normal, they say, but they expect us to improve dramatically during the next session. Madman Mark offers a few suggestions and tells everyone to tuck up closer to his bumper on their next turn. He promises to wave us off if we get too close. He does mention that after waving us off with his hand three times, the final signal will consist of only one digit. That universal sign that means he’s serious!
Back to the track! The first driver shows he’s learned from the first run, and the sound of engines on the backstretch indicate a marked increase in rpm’s. He’s also closer to the lead car and they enter turn 4 looking like Rusty Wallace following Mark Martin…well, not quite, but at least he looks respectable.
Next comes the most embarrassing moment of the day; as I leave the pits, I stall the engine on pit road! No, I’m not the only one to do it, and I remember seeing DJ do the same thing just a couple of weeks ago in a Cup race. Thank goodness, the car restarts immediately.
Back behind the wheel, I’m much more relaxed as we cross the white line with the gas pedal floored. I hit turn three at over 5000 rpm, and the car feels better than it did at slower speeds. No more bounce and the car is settling solidly on the springs. Turn four is taken at 5500 and the steering is neutral. I feel as if I could take my hands off the wheel and the car would follow the banking without my help.
Another lap and I’m at 6000+ all around the track. The instructor is backing off down the straights and I follow suit to keep from punting him with a Bristol pass… Jeff Gordon style. This time we actually catch up to the “ride along” cars but stay behind until they enter the pits. I know he doesn’t trust me to pass, and confidentially, neither do I!
I must be doing okay. As we pass the flag stand, the green flag is tucked under the flag man’s arm and the yellow is nowhere in sight. His stance continues as the laps unwind. Another indication I’m up to speed is a slight loose condition in the middle of the turns. It’s not severe, but now I know how it feels. At lap six, I begin to smell hot oil, but the oil temperature is fine and no smoke is apparent. Must be a small leak dripping on hot headers.
The final pass feels great, and the computer printout agrees. I’ve just lapped Texas Motor Speedway at 151.1 mph. No, it’s not up to Winston Cup standards, but it’ll suffice for bragging rights around a bunch of couch potatoes! I would have liked to have turned the fastest lap of our group, but had to settle for second place, by a couple of miles per hour.
By noon, we have reluctantly shed our driving suits and they hand out the course completion certificates. I’m exhausted, but would climb back in the car instantly if given the chance. Not one complaint is voiced by the drivers and lots of good-natured banter flies between the participants.
My opinions about Winston Cup racing have changed somewhat now that I can say I’ve been there and done that. The cars are much better than I thought they would be. Unlike the cars of the 60’s and 70’s, they are pure racecars with stock-appearing sheet metal, not stock-bodied cars with high performance engines. I had known that all along, but what I did not know was just how perfect they were.
It’s not difficult to drive these cars at high speeds when there are only five other cars on the track, in fact it’s relatively easy. That said, the pucker factor would be severely tested with 42 other drivers doing their best to pass you while you’re watching the flag stand through a dirty windshield, talking on the radio, monitoring your gauges and memorizing all your sponsor names for your victory lane speech. Without question, the ability to maintain intense concentration for 500 miles is the driver skill I’m going to most admire when I watch my next race.
A day after the drive, my neck muscles are slightly stiff from the centrifugal force while wearing a heavy helmet, and my left calf muscle reminds me of the heavy clutch, but dang!…I feel great! I feel good mentally because I accomplished something I always wanted to do, but was hesitant to try.
If the instructor had allowed it, I’m convinced I could have added another 10-15 mph to my lap speeds, and I can honestly say I experienced no fear once I became moderately familiar with the car and the track. Respect, yes…fear, no. That does a lot for anyone’s ego, especially for a guy who grew up in the days of Lee Petty and Fonty Flock.
The Richard Petty Driving Experience is not cheap, but certainly is fun. A $700.00 bill returns only coffee money for the 16-lap experience, and memento pictures are $35-$50 extra. However, there is one consolation; as the old saying goes…butterflies are free."
