What It Feels Like To Drive Over 200 Mph

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At 200 mph in an Indy race car, little mistakes become larger than life. A sudden movement -- say, on the steering wheel, brake or throttle -- can cause the car to spin wildly. Translation: Be careful, or perhaps pay the ultimate price, as have countless Indy racers over the decades, the most recent being the late Dan Wheldon, killed last fall at Las Vegas.So why even try it? For me, it began with the great Tom Sneva. In 1977 when he broke the magic 200 mph barrier at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway -- at the time a mark thought impenetrable -- I lusted for the experience. What does it feel like to watch the world flash by at the length of a football field per second in an open-cockpit car with your backside just inches off the ground? After attending a bevy of racing schools, including Skip Barber, Mario Andretti Racing and Bertil Roos, I finally was to get my chance. Dressed in a fireproof driving suit, I arrived at Texas Motor Speedway, a high-banked, 1.455-mile oval just outside of Dallas, at 10 a.m. There I met my coach, Robbie Buhl. Buhl knows his stuff; an Indy 500 competitor-turned-race-team-owner, he ran on the Indy circuit for 11 years.First, Buhl took me out on the track in a rental car, giving pointers on the critical racing line. While I had done laps at Texas before in smaller cars, it was always in a lead-follow situation. This time I would be on the track by myself.When it was time to get into the race car, a 700-horsepower machine capable of speeds above 220 mph, my heart was racing. The crew strapped me into the claustrophobic cockpit with five belts, tightened to the point where I had trouble breathing. The clutch, brake and throttle are all within inches of each other in the nose of the car. Good thing you don't much need the first two. Unlike street cars, once up to speed in an Indy car, you rarely shift. And you use the brakes only when coming into pit lane. To slow down for the corners, just back off the throttle. With thick helmet padding, I couldn't hear much other than sporadic radio communication via my earpiece. An umbrella was put over the cockpit to keep me as cool as possible until the ambulance and fire crews were in place. I closed my eyes and tried to envision the configuration of the quad-shaped oval I was about to drive. Because of the extreme heat that day -- 120 degrees Fahrenheit in the cockpit -- I was quickly drenched with sweat. When the starter tool was inserted into the back of the car, I flipped up the ignition switch, depressed the clutch and put the beast into gear. I ran my first three laps slow -- just 125 mph -- to get a feel for the twitchy thing and to check the track for debris. When I came in, adjustments were made and I went back out for a few more faster laps. On the fourth lap, I brought the car up to 185 mph on the back straight, and it felt solid -- incredibly fast, but solid. My helmet felt secure, too, with a tolerable amount of buffeting. I experimented with my racing line, finding that the low one best suited my driving style. I came in again, more adjustments were made, and then it was time for the test. I figured it would take me at least 10 laps to work up to 200 mph, if I could do it, so my plan was to gradually pick up the pace, by a second or two each lap. That way the speed comes gradually, almost hypnotically. On the fifth lap, I saw the speedometer touch 200 mph at the end of the front straight. That boosted my confidence. But the goal was to average 200 mph, a much more difficult proposition, and that meant keeping the speed through the corners. I squeezed the throttle a little more and had a "moment" in turn one where the car got high, up near the concrete wall, on the 24-degree banking. I didn't panic, though, and kept the higher line through turn two; I was rattled but OK. After a few more faster laps, I heard the words, "199.4 Clash, don't do this to me again," crackle over the radio. From the speeds I had seen on the dashboard -- over 205 mph -- I knew the number was an average, so I was almost there! I matted the throttle between turns one and two, and held it down the back straight and well into turn three. What a ride! My body was pulling 4Gs, and my vision narrowed. I was on the absolute edge, and had no time to focus on anything but the videogame-like track ahead rushing toward me. After flashing by the start/finish line on the front straight, I heard the words, "Pit, pit, pit -- you did it!" I backed off the throttle, and immediately was overcome by a powerful combination of joy and relief. "Thanks, guys,” I managed into the helmet radio as I coasted down the back straight. Those few moments, alone in the car, were some of the best of my life. I savored the sensation. When I brought the car to a stop in the pits, everyone was smiling. Buhl gave me the thumbs up, and people were clicking off photos. I even had the crew sign my T-shirt as a souvenir. My dream had begun in 1977 with Sneva. Who would have thought that, decades later, I would run a lap slightly faster -- and on a shorter track? Computer telemetry showed that my fastest lap was 26.034 seconds, or 201.2 mph, and that my top speed was 207.7 mph. Sneva had averaged 200.5 mph.A few weeks later, in Indianapolis, I met the town’s mayor. When I mentioned my Texas test, he explained that he had met many racers at Indy who had done it but that I was the "first normal person" who had driven above 200 mph. "What was it like?" he asked."It was like being a big kid," I said, smiling. "And someday I want to do it at your track, too." He smiled and replied, "That’s what they all say about Indy. But, hey, you never know." Continue Reading

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