nostatic at all...

This weekend was my second "cup race clinic" with the POC. For those following at home, my ride down the slippery slope of car racing has been fast and occasionally furious (as it should be, right?), and can be traced to a couple of different waypoints. First would be the first 911 I ever bought, a very nice gray-blue '87 coupe. That was back in 2002 I think. Then I sold it a few weeks later. Long story. Not pretty. Don't want to get into that now.

Next would be when I bought my current car, a pristine (41K miles) silver '79 911SC coupe. I think that was either fall of '02 or winter/spring of '03. I forget. That was my daily driver for quite some time, as I dealt with a heavy clutch and no AC for many (about another 40K) miles.

Next would be the chunk of concrete. In December of '03 I was coming home from a gig on the 10 fwy and some drunk woman in an SUV decided that the K-rail in the center divide really would be better in pieces. So she created them. From the eastbound lanes. Sending them all over the westbound lanes. Big ones. And I hit one. Hard. $9K in repairs later I had my car back but it was no longer pristine.

Next would be when some joker friend of mine said I should go to the track. Probably Tyson or Jack. Great. So I did. Was scared but intrigued. Went back again. Less scared, more intrigued. Then I did the POC driving clinic at the Streets of Willow. Bad idea. The skid pad experience changed my outlook.

Next would probably be when I got my STS license and campaigned the '05 season in II class. And won. Then I started time trialing at the big tracks. Then I went to Laguna Seca. And Infineon. Then I got bumped to IP. Then I went to Las Vegas. And Willow again and again.

Next would be when I had enough experience (well over 30 track days) to apply for the cup school. And was accepted. Then did the clinic and my first "race". I was a bit manic that weekend. But hey, at least I can see that now...

Then there was the motorcycle accident and all that followed. Much perspective. In the words of Nigel Tufnel, "too much fucking perspective." But it's all part of the process...

And then last month when I got back on the track for the last STS weekend of the year. It was great to be welcomed back by friends who had heard about the accident. And good to get back in the seat. Interesting with a little more "perspective" and while I still enjoyed it immensely, I had a bit less of a manic response. Isn't that curious. I also staved of some motion sickness and struggled a bit.

And finally this weekend. Cup race clinic number two. While the exercises were the same as the first clinic, the vibe was different. For whatever reason, our class was well behaved and performed well. Personally, since this was the second time through, I knew what to expect and was a lot more comfortable, although still nervous. No one wants to be "the bone" that makes a mistake and causes contact (despite trying to stay 6" away from the car next to you while going 100+ mph through a corner).

Day one was long and tiring, with a 5am wakeup call, 7:15am driver's meeting, then classroom/drive/classroom/drive/etc/etc. Today was only 2 sessions before our race. The first was an inverted start, which is nuts. The slowest cars are up front and the fasted in the back. My car was dead in the middle (17th out of 32), so I got to be a sandwich. Quite amazing going 4-wide through turn 1 at Willow...then 3-wide through the rest of the turns. Egad. Second was an "Australian Pursuit", which is where the slowest car goes out, then next slowest, etc, and you try and catch as many as you can. I caught a few, and got caught plenty. I wasn't really charging as hard as I could though. Racing is somewhat like playing live music. Sometimes it it easy and flows, other times you have to work harder for less. Today wasn't really flying, at least in the morning.

Our "graduation" race would be 15 laps right after lunch. Qualifying was based on the best lap time from the Pursuit, and I had dropped to 19th in the grid with a 1:40 (my previous best was a 1:38). And so after some quick food, I pee'd (for the 15th time it seemed...stay hydrated they say), harnessed up and we headed out on the formation lap. In turn 7 the pole sitter checked up and we got into our 2-wide formation for the rolling start. I had been battling with David in a GSR9 car (grinning, good-natured battle), and was right behind him in the grid. We came around turn 9, the pack surged a bit, then I heard the engines scream...we were green.

Taking the advice from class, I didn't try to win the race in turn 1 of the first lap. I maintained position, and settled in for the race. Slowly I picked off one or two, then another spun and I passed him. Then David and I diced back and forth for almost the last half of the race. I got in front of him and gapped him in some sections, and he would catch me in others (especially turn 9...damn, those 944s are fast in turn 2 and 9).

Then towards the end of the race....red flag. Uh oh. That means check your mirrors, no passing, and come to a stop on the left side of the course within sight of a flag station. I had just passed start-finish so I stopped at the turn 1 station. After everyone came to a safe stop, we went to black flag meaning to come in. And that was it. The race was over. The red flag was part of the final exam...there was no emergency. But everyone reacted as they should have. We went to impound and everyone climbed out and shook hands, reliving the bits and pieces of the race. David came up with a huge grin on his face as we had battled quite hard, exchanging position a few times and really pushing each other. And indeed we had. I started 19th, finished 15th. I also set a new personal best of 1:37. And there was more on the table.

Then came the follow-up meeting. Our instructors congratulated us on a great weekend, and those of us with 2 clinics and good behavior under our belt got our "red dots". These are put on the back of your car and identify you as a "rookie" to other people in the race group. And with some anticipation, Jeff finally called my name and gave me my dot. And then said, "ok any of you guys want to run your cup race?" Since we passed and our "final exam" race was early, the red and orange group races had yet to be run. So some of us pulled on our gear for one more run. I was almost late to the grid (they changed the schedule at the last minute and didn't have a chance to pee). But there I was...on the grid for the orange group cup race. I started DFL, but didn't care. We had two aborted starts (the starter didn't like the grid), got black flagged, came through the hot pits, then did a 3rd formation lap. This time the green flag dropped and there I was, at the very back of the pack...on my own.

Well, not really on my own. Actually bringing with me all of the instruction I have received over the past 3 years, as well as all the support from other members, friends, etc. So I floored it and went racing. I picked off a few stragglers, and then proceeded to have an epic (to me) battle with David and John for the last 7 or 8 laps of the race. The three of us exchanged position, filled each other's mirrors, and generally tried like the dickens to get around each each, and alternatively, hold the others at bay. Finally on the last lap there was a local yellow and I made a mental mistake while looking for the cause, allowing them to sneak underneath me in turn 2. I thought about making a run in the final corner on David, but instead just decided to finish. Because in the end, that is what counts. That you show up. And when you can, you finish. Because if you don't finish, you can't even have a chance of winning...