We’re nearing the end of day 8 as we snake our way through the Appalachian Mountains on the way to OH (yes, we were there yesterday) from the southern tip of New Jersey. Fighting queasiness from ingesting an incredibly vile slice of PA Turnpike pizza and from the gases being emitted by Tony, who is lactose intolerant, I hope to make it for one more full day of competition before we say our good buys, do one final fast pass through the skid pad circle and I (stress on the I) drive back to CO and the sanity that will restore my body back to health (eventually), both physical and mental.
Today we visited the newly minted New Jersey Motorsports Park. Per usual, we arrived late to the track, as Tony needed extra time to primp (he’s not getting any prettier), so upon arrival, we only had time to suit up, empty the car and get out on the track. On paper, the track seems simple enough, but as with most things that are seemingly simple, it is not. As I took off for my first “warm up” lap, I wished I had gotten more than the 4 hours of vodka induced sleep, as I felt my concentration was fading quickly….not a good thing. I tried to quickly recognize some visual points on the track to help me navigate the two fast, and completely blind turns which I would soon be taking at max speed (mine, not the cars), but as soon as I got to the starting grid, all was forgotten…..damn, I’m going to die. Heart pounding, mind going in several directions, none of this is doing me good, but its my turn to take off and chase the BMW M3 directly ahead of me. I make it through the first blind turn, and instantly I feel as though I may actually survive this,….turn 2 and 3, nailed….damn, I’m really good at this driving thing……the next blind turn coming up, a quick uphill transition, no big deal, gas pedal down, I’m confidant I know where the apex is……except that it happens to be a few feet over, but I’m fully committed, gas foot pegged, and the car stops responding to steering input that I’m frantically trying to dial in and I realize I’m about to run out of tarmac and go for tumble in the dirt and grass….the rear end of is starting to come around, but its hanging in…..I’m doing the opposite of everything I’ve been taught in driving school…..”both feet in”, the ultimate sign of defeat preached by every driving instructor out there, will not happen on this fine sunny day, as I continue sideway (but not spinning) through what is now a fairly spectacular plume of dust, I see the track straight ahead of me, and decide to gun the car for it…..I make it back on track, and I feel as though I’m going as fast as I ever have……adrenaline pumping, I feel exorbitant and triumphant, except I still have two + laps to go…..by the end of which I fall completely in love with the fast, fast, fast track. I come off from the mornings session jubilant and feeling like I have done all that I could have, which is about 1/10th of what the car can handle. I suck at this driving thing, but in reality I’m the eye candy of this driving duo, not the muscle…..which is Tony Hyunkie Song (that is a for real last name)
This trip is doing nothing to correct Tony’s pear shape, and since he had to give up his weight lifting routine for the duration of the trip, I think the lovely Jen’s (Tony’s much better 7/8ths) biceps will actually be bigger.(vs. the same size; yes this was proven with a tape measure) What Tony may lack in sheer upper body strength, he more than makes up with his sense of humor, and aside from his incessant rants about my body hair, he’s pretty damn good at being a non caring wise-ass. As he suited up for this afternoons run, he stated that he was not going to brake for any of the turns (a comment I appreciated, as we are getting close to running out of rear brake pads and still have two thousand miles to drive) , a comment that one would typically discard, except that we are talking about Tony, a man who believes that a brake pedal is only to be used when doing smoky burnouts at stoplights in his 450hp southern hick express, the Dodge Magnum. As he took off on his warm up lap, people started betting on whether or not we would again see the Lotus with its plastic skin on, and which turn would bring on his demise……faith…..something I have little of….maybe I should change my ways. As Tony took his first hot lap, turn one….screeeeetch……turn two, three, four…..screeetch……we didn’t need to look around, you knew exactly where Tony was on the track…..screeching around EVERY corner, he comes up on a fast 90 degree turn, and executed nearly perfectly, he gets sideways 90 degrees, except that he’s still sliding at 90 degrees after the bend…..we all perform a solid 10 second pant grab (where you laugh so hard you grab your pants at the knees) as we know he is giggling like a little school girl inside the shit box called Lotus. As he is THE man behind the wheel, he manages to keep the car on the track and pulls off a solid finish while managing to not be serious the entire time….should this man ever get serious, he’d finish in the top 10. Until then, if screeching the tires becomes sport, he’ll rule it.
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