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Jack had shrugged grumpily at the idea, but he never says no to anything I request\u2014ever since Sterling first encouraged me to ask Jack to ride with me in Sterling\u2019s Rabbit, Wendell<\/em>, to give me pointers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEveryone\u2019ll get tired and come in when we get to the cut-off at Turn 8,\u201d Jack had predicted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For the walk, I enlisted Annora\u2014my student from three years ago, and now a much better driver than I am\u2014and her dad, who\u2019s about my age. He got hooked after crewing for her one weekend and ended up buying a Formula Vee of his own. I also invited James, a regular driver who was volunteering instead that weekend, and Dennis, Steve Murphy\u2019s student, who was renting Steve\u2019s car for driver\u2019s school. Jess joined too, which was great\u2014he and Jack are two of the fastest drivers, and they could show us their different lines through each corner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Berck claimed he wasn\u2019t going to go, but changed his mind when he realized everyone he wanted to sit around, drink beer with, and talk racing to was already out on the track.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I tried to find Melinda to invite her along. She usually works grid, checking helmet straps and belts before each session. At the spring Pueblo race, we\u2019d floated the idea of me instructing her at driver\u2019s school, but she eventually chose Robin to instruct her in his \u201csheet brown Miata,\u201d as Martin calls it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n High Plains is two and a half miles long, so I loaded a backpack with cans of cold beer and cider. Conveniently, there\u2019s a port-a-potty at each bunker.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2019s a perfect way to take every corner: the ideal braking point, the right amount of input on the brake pedal, the spot where your tires kiss the apex just right, the throttle feathered so you use every inch of pavement without getting the tires on the opposite side of the car caught in the dirt. Get it right, and there\u2019s a rush of exhilaration. Push too hard, and the car spins out. Back off too much, and there\u2019s that gnawing regret, as you promise yourself, next time I’ll be braver.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s terrifying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n You can drive a track a hundred times, but walking it gives you something different. A slower, more intimate perspective. Jack kept squatting down to see it from car level. We noticed white painted rectangles along the left side of the back straight\u2014easy to miss at full throttle. I realized for the first time that the brake zone numbers count down from five. For some reason I thought it was from three. I don\u2019t brake until I get to one. I probably shouldn’t brake at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Down by Turn 6, near a little creek, the mosquitoes attacked, and I quick-marched up toward Turn 8, skipping the Turn 7 discussion. It\u2019s a minor uphill kink\u2014easy in a low-powered car like a Vee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At the crest of the hill, I was thrilled to run into Melinda. She was with Robin and two other drivers, all on bikes. Melinda had dismounted and was pushing hers\u2014it\u2019s a steep hill. I asked her how her driving was going. “Are you pushing the throttle all the way to the floor up this hill?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n “You see,” she answered, “I get scared. Because I can’t see over the top of this hill.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n “Here’s what you have to remember,” I said. “The track doesn’t change. It will still be in the same place as the last time you drove it. You have to have faith that you will still have plenty of time to brake once you get to the top of the hill.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n Right then we reached the top, and there they were: two sets of fluorescent orange plastic bollards marking the braking zone for Turn 8. There used to be three sets\u2014I\u2019d been struggling with that all day, trying to remember which ones were still standing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Melinda looked out over the curve and nodded solemnly. \u201cThe track doesn\u2019t change,\u201d she repeated. \u201cThat\u2019s helpful. I\u2019ll remember that.\u201d She got back on her bike and coasted away down the hill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Annora and Berck caught up with me at the crest. On the bright side, we were out of mosquito territory. On the other, a wall of thunderstorms loomed to the west, peacocking a disturbing amount of lightning. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Berck was lamenting the missing bollards\u2014there were only two instead of the usual three marking the braking zone into Turn 8. As we walked the racing line\u2014tracing our steps outside, to apex, to track-out\u2014we spotted something fluorescent orange in the grass. Bollards. I said we should put them back. Annora picked one up and replanted it in the grass, and Berck inserted the other beside it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We congratulated ourselves and laughed about how many students would go flying off into the grass the next day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And then it hit me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I had just<\/em> promised Melinda the track doesn\u2019t change.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And now we had changed the track<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Annora, said she was getting tired and suggested we cut across at Turn 8\u2014just as Jack had predicted we would. Despite the forecast\u2019s optimistic 5% chance of rain, a wall of thunderstorms was building to the west and north. We cut to Turn 13\u2014or 14a, if you’re superstitious (or maybe 12b, depending on who\u2019s labeling).<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt a couple of rain drops land on me as we wound through the corkscrew. We hustled back to the pavilion in the paddock just in time before the heavens opened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And boy, did they. It rained hard. Then came hail. Charlotte, head of tech, suddenly appeared, attempting to pull her Mini into the pavilion. We scrambled, dragging picnic tables out of the way to make a makeshift carport. Water rivered across the concrete, and I climbed onto a table to keep my feet dry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As the rain eased up, Melinda arrived at the pavilion. I confessed immediately: after solemnly promising her the track wouldn\u2019t change, we\u2019d gone and changed the track<\/em>, or at least adding to the number of bollards into the Turn 8 braking zone. I felt lighter having confessed, getting that guilt off my chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n More people filtered in, including Sean and Nathan (our chief driving instructor, fresh from watching F1 qualifying). They swapped stories with Berck, the kind of tales that only come from shared risk, oil-streaked weekends, and the mutual respect of racers, each narrative ending in laughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But Jack wanted something else: he wanted to know my motivation<\/em> for all this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The truth?<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s the hanging out. Sitting around after the track\u2019s gone cold, drinking beer, telling stories, then and then crawling under the covers and falling asleep on an air mattress in our tent to fall asleep. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The other truth?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Racing is hard<\/em>. It\u2019s terrifying. I\u2019m strapped into a thick fireproof suit and tight helmet, sweating in the sun, waiting to be let loose. I come back to the pits bruised. And those intervening 20 minutes on track take everything\u2014intense full-body concentration, a constant dance with fear. Each corner is a wager, a calculated risk, finding the right balance between valor and discretion. Push too hard, I spin. Too little, I get passed. Maybe twice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Jack grabbed another beer from my backpack, now perched on one of the now sideways picnic tables. I related to him about a tight race with Taig nearly two years ago. When we got back to the pits, we jumped out of our cars and shouted in unison, \u201cThat was awesome!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then Dan fixed up Taig\u2019s Vee and I never saw that black and yellow paint job again\u2014at least not after the green flag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Back in Competition School, Lynn tried to explain this feeling. He had plastic pieces shaped vaguely like cars and moved them around a diagram of a turn. Whichever car reaches the corner first owns it. The other yields. But if two cars arrive together\u2014and they trust each other\u2014they can take it side by side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s no feeling like it in the world,\u201d Lynn said, looking wistful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At the time I thought he meant terror<\/em>. But now I think he meant trust<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The rain stopped. Our tent had mostly stayed dry, and I got a solid night\u2019s sleep. During the warm-up session, I tried out some of the things Jack and I had talked about the night before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then it was time for the morning race. We gridded up based on Saturday\u2019s finish. I promised myself I\u2019d be brave at the start\u2014not let the whole field sail past me into Turn 1. I was starting on the right again, which I liked\u2014I could hug the inside of Turn 2.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Despite my best effort, Steve Murphy, driving Jean\u2019s car, got past me off the start. But this time, I wasn\u2019t letting him get away. I stuck to his gearbox down the back straight, drafting hard. I pulled ahead well before Turn 4.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mort was out showing Katrina the ropes at a leisurely pace, and I caught them quickly. Dennis, Steve\u2019s student, had pulled off track near Turn 7 with a mechanical. The combination of a yellow flag tow and Mort\u2019s rolling chicane gave Steve the opening to slip by me again. But I reeled him back in on the straights, using his draft and the Zink\u2019s power.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It became a back-and-forth game\u2014Steve would catch me in the corners, I\u2019d pull away in the straights. He was learning my weaknesses, but I wasn\u2019t making it easy for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the final lap, we came charging onto the front straight, Steve tight behind me. I stayed flat to the floor until Turn 1, then eased off to let him pull up alongside. We went around the turn side by side, as I gave him a big thumbs up as high as my arm restraints would let me. Steve did the same, pumping his fist in excitement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We completed our cool-down lap and drove back to the paddock where we were pitted next to each other (well, almost next to each other; Berck and I had arrived around 10:30 Thursday night, after last minute car preparation and trailer loading, and pitched our tent in the spot next to the spot next to the Murphys, as they had put some cones up to save the spot next to their trailer, only to have them tell us the next morning, “We were saving this spot for you!”) I unbuckled my seat belts and helmet strap and peeled off my helmet and balaclava, and stepped out of my car completely spent but with a giant grin. Steve and I met between our cars, shouting about how amazing the race had been. We both whipped out our phones to check our lap times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then I found Jack. He\u2019d climbed out of his car and lit his post-race cigarette.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I held up three fingers. \u201cThree seconds,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019d beaten my previous fastest lap by three full seconds\u2014thanks to Jack\u2019s coaching, and to the pressure of trying to stay ahead of Steve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The afternoon race played out much like the morning one\u2014except this time, Mort and Katrina weren\u2019t in our way. Steve and I went at it again. I started experimenting with different lines through corners I knew were slowing me down, trying to anticipate where Steve would try to pounce. We finished in the same order, giving each other a thumbs up again through Turn 1.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Turns out\u2014racing can be fun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As we packed up our gear and loaded the cars onto the trailers, Melinda found me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI improved my time by 20 seconds!\u201d she announced proudly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sure, it\u2019s easier to make big gains when you start out slow\u2014but I was thrilled for her. We hugged and promised to see each other at the next race in Pueblo\u2014her working grid, me in my race car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Jack asked me what my motivation for racing was. “I\u2019m just here to drink,” I answered. He wasn\u2019t buying it. We were back from a track walk at High Plains, sitting on askew picnic benches in the pavilion, waiting out the rain that had cut our walk short. \u201cTrack walk after dinner?\u201d I had asked…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5141","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-nonclassified-nonsense"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5141","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5141"}],"version-history":[{"count":25,"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5141\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5170,"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5141\/revisions\/5170"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5141"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5141"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5141"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"\"](\"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/06\/9f48e3b4-59d1-4c8a-9c23-4fc9050d8e58-1024x768.jpeg\")