PDX_Article

The transition to track racing from Autocross seems like a giant leap. Schooling, novice license, building or buying a race worthy car, a tow vehicle and trailer is a major commitment in anybody’s book. Unmentioned is the lingering question of “Am I ready to drive at that level?” For me, the first step towards bridging the gap from the relative safety and modest commitment of autocross to road racing was the SCCA’s Performance Driving Experience (PDX); the first level of the SCCA Time Trials program.

I love autocross and my family has a great time at it. However, from time to time I wonder what it’s like to use the other 4 gears in my car. In autocross, I rarely get beyond the rev limiter in second gear. I’m not ready to give up my daily driver. I don’t own driving suit. My car doesn’t have a roll cage or fire system. The thought of a mid-corner collision in a car that I’m still making payments on, isn’t in my plans. PDX solved those problems. I had heard that WDCR was starting up a Time Trials program.

I signed up online, giving a brief summary of my experience as a driver, plunked down my $200 and downloaded a tech sheet. It’s basically a safety inspection. Brakes, tires, is your car roadworthy above highway speeds? I Googled a map to Summit Point and talked my wife into driving my tires and tools down to the track (No, a set of 285/30-18’s R compounds won’t fit inside of a 350Z and no, I’m not cutting a hole in the bumper for a trailer hitch.) The two and half hour drive and the 7:30 am gate opening time convinced my pit crew that we would drive down the night before. Thankfully, the hotels are reasonable in Charlestown, WV. It also meant that I arrived at the PDX rested and ready to change wheels & Tires. I could have run on street tires, but the R-compound tires were a blast at track speed!

Registration was easy and everyone at the track was patient with the Newbie. Drivers and track times were broken into 4 groups identified by color. As I recall, instructors were black, experienced students were red, middle of the road students were yellow and the inexperienced were green. I was assigned to the yellow group. The groupings also allowed the organizers to control the number of cars on the track. Only one group would be out at time. By the time I got through tech inspection, another look at my car and paperwork, it was time for the drivers meeting. Students and instructors were introduced to each other and the rules were laid down. Yellow and green will drive with instructors in the car at all times on the track. Red got the freedom to drive alone. Track time would happen in approximate 20-minute sessions with one group on track, one group in the classroom and the other two groups would have time to observe and inspect their cars. That time would come in handy later in the day. Passing was limited to a couple of places on the track, ruling out my mid-corner collision. You can pass only when the driver ahead gives you a point-by. This means his hand comes out the window and points to the side on which they expect you to pass. The lead driver stays on the racing line (decelerating as needed) and the passing driver maneuvers around. This isn’t racing; it’s a chance to experience high performance driving. Flag stations would be manned and rules would be enforced.

The instructors were the first to hit the course, red group to the classroom. I watched the instructors drive to the “hot grid”, essentially pit lane. Their cars ranged from street cars to spec Miatas to an angry sounding full race Porsche GT3. The chief steward released the cars. A worker at pit-out slowed each car to add space between each as they entered the track. My heart rate began to creep up and the first of the butterflies kicked in. After 5 or 10 minutes of watching, I wandered back to warm-up my car. My wife looked up from a magazine

“Are you excited?”

“You bet!”

“When do you go?”

“In about half-an-hour.”

“Nervous?”

“Nah.”

Liar. She didn’t say it, but I could see it in her grin.

“OK, yeah I’m getting there…” Before I could explain further, they called for the yellow group to go to the classroom. I missed the red group heading out to the track but the class instructors were great. Here is what the flags mean. Here are the trouble spots. Here are the passing rules. Before I knew it, they were done and it was time to move my car to secondary grid. My heart rate cranked up another 10 bpm. My instructor arrived in a driving suit and a full-face helmet. He asked if I had driven the track before. No. I was grateful when he told me that he would drive a lap and show me the line. I had purchased an instructional DVD of the track out of the back of the Straight Pipe magazine. It was a great way to learn the line but I was still grateful to have him drive a lap. Youtube is full of homemade videos that are useful in learning many tracks. The organizers had placed orange cones at each corner apex. The instructor talked about the line, the braking points the apex and about holding back on the throttle here to position yourself there. Here is where to point the car for the blind hilltop and there is a flag station. You can pass here and here and brake as you pass under the power lines. There were more tidbits than I could absorb. “And, here, is pit in. It’s your turn.”

If you have seen LeMans with Steve McQueen then you’ll recall the race start where a slowly building heart rate fills the driver’s head as the start approach. By the start of the race, his heart is pounding out of control! (If you haven’t seen LeMans, shame on you. It is the greatest racing film, ever.) Well, it was just like that for me, except that the build up was already an hour old. As I walked around to the driver’s side, I was wired! I got in, synched up my seatbelt and he said, “ok, let’s go”. I approached pit out and a worker waved me out into a gap in traffic. As I approached the merge on to the track, I checked my mirrors and flipped on my turn signal. Oh crap. I can’t believe that I signaled on a racetrack. I was mortally embarrassed. I cancelled it with my little finger. If the instructor noticed, he spared me the embarrassment of pointing it out. In retrospect, he was probably praying, asking to be spared from the foolish mistakes of a novice. He was calm, cool and collected. As we merged onto the track, he began a litany of guidance and minor corrections. “Move left and set up for the right hander. Pick a braking point. Take your time and learn the line before you get aggressive. You were a little early on the apex. Move all the way to the left on exit. You have a lot more room. If you over cook this corner go straight off here. Get left. Left. More Left. More left. Hold off on the throttle on exit. Hold off. Hold off. Move right. Ok, crossover left, full throttle. If you do this right you don’t have to lift until the top of the hill.”

For the remainder of the 20-minute session the careful, continuous instructions were repeated lap after lap. My first opportunity to pass was a 320 series BMW. I followed for half a lap and as soon as he entered the main straight, his hand came out the left window and pointed over the roof. I slid out to the right and kept my foot on the floor. Somewhere around 100 mph I shot past, pulled left onto the racing line and braked hard for the entrance to turn one. I have to admit it was a little thrilling. Contrived? Yes. Maybe he lifted to let me go. Still, I liked it. I was beginning to get into a rhythm, developing a little more comfort each lap. My heart rate was dropping towards 100. An experienced driver in an M3 caught me on the far side of the track. When I reached the main straight, I returned the favor and pointed to my right. I lifted slightly as he cruised by and relaxed as he passed my nose. I relaxed too soon. What I failed to notice was the Z06 Corvette with open pipes just behind the M3. With well over 500 hp, he blew by me at 120dB. My windows were wide open (easier to crawl out if you need to) and the Vette sounded like he was I my back seat. 150 bpm and rising.

“Ok, that’s the checkered flag. Time for a cool down lap. Slow up and let your car recover.”

What flag? We just started, didn’t we? As we pulled into the pits, my instructor told me to pick something to work on for the next session.

PDX is not without risk. Most of that risk is in your hands. During the next session, I tried working on my braking point at the end of the main straight. I was flirting with 130 mph by the time I lifted. All was fine until my stock brakes began to fade at the end of the straight on my next lap. I started to turn in early to lengthen my braking path, following the right hand turn.

“NO! Go straight off!” my instructor shouted. I stopped turning and headed off the track. The brakes held and I hit the dirt at relatively low speed and avoided the gravel trap. The hot sticky R compound tires were coated with dirt and debris. I came to a full stop to plan a controlled reentry.

“If you go off sideways, there is a good chance you’ll roll.” With the help of a corner worker we entered the track safely, spewing the dirt and gravel from the tires. The clock had run out and we slowly drove back to the pits. Once I parked, the debris I had picked up began to smoke around the brakes. I jacked up one side and pulled off the wheels for inspection. The other drivers gather around to see how they could help. The smoke was harmless but my stock pads were smeared over the rotor surface. In 40 minutes of track time, they had gone from 50% thickness to 15% thickness. Folks began to scramble around to see if we could find pads to keep me on the track. We failed to find any, but the point was they tried to help. SCCA racing folks are friends. One more 20-minute session and I would use up the remainder of my rear brakes. I missed my fourth 20-minute run of the day due to the worn out pads. I limped home via compression braking with an occasional grind at stoplights; but I had a giant grin on my face.

Will I go back? In a heartbeat. Next step, Time Trials!