Head-turners

Every car we drive gets a reaction. Some cars get a reaction from everyone, some just from middle-aged men, some mostly from women and children and some from the select few with a keen eye for a rare classic. 

The head-turning isn't always a positive, as sometimes Colin and I are cast a scolding look due to "unnecessary" exhaust, speed or tire squeal. But, in general, when we take our cars

 out, more often than not they receive approving gestures. These gestures come in the form of waves, whistles, thumbs up and the ever popular light 'em up motion made by making a circular gesture with your hand that loosely resembles spinning rear wheels. 

In fact, one of my favorite memories of such said reactions took place when my younger sister, Rachel, met Colin for the first time. Rachel found herself fortunate enough to be a passenger in Colin's Jeep Cherokee. There are two key elements you must know, first, Rachel's favorite marque is Jeep, and second, this is no stock, run of the mill Jeep Cherokee. Oh no, but rather a supercharged SRT 8. So as Rachel fastened her seat belt she was surprised to be met with such a monstrous rumble as Colin turned the key. That deep growl from the exhaust must have awoken something inside Rachel as she proceeded to say quite loudly to Colin, "Light em' up, bitch." Colin handled being called a bitch better than most and even appeased my sister with a little tire squealing and what some more conservative types may have called excessive acceleration. Not sure whether he was trying to impress my sister, or me. 

Not everyone has the same appreciation for the Jeep as my sister. But there is one car in our arsenal I've found to universally turn heads. This car alone has the power to bring 

poised, sophisticated men to their knees, turn classy ladies into giggly school girls, and put the spring back into the step of an arthritic elder. The Ford GT. 

Every time we release the Ford GT from it's prison that is the garage, driving down the road is like watching a parade unfold in front of our eyes, but we're the only parade entrant. Pedestrians hear us coming. We see them stop. Turn. Look. And then their eyes get wide and their mouths fall agape. Soon both sides of the street are lined with onlookers who resemble Venus fly traps. 

The Ford GT not only stops people, it stops traffic, and may even have been

 the cause of a minor fender bender. I can't say for sure, but we were at a stoplight a

nd the oncoming car was stopped waiting as well and we see him staring at the car (familiar Venus fly trap face), and then the light turned green and we started to go. That's when we heard the unmistakable sound of bumper meeting bumper. Our onlooker had been rear ended. Now I can't say for sure what the cause was but I'm guessing he was busy looking and he didn't go when the light turned but the guy behind him did, or the guy behind him was busy looking and forgot about the car in front of him.

Hopefully we weren't the cause of that unfortunate meeting of Detroit fiberglass, but we were definitely the cause of a temporary traffic delay. This guy gave one of the most colorful reactions, and it was fun because you could see he was just thrilled to be even in the presence of the GT. He was so effected I couldn't help but think one day he's going to tell his grand kids about the day he saw the elusive Ford GT. We pulled up next to him and I saw him see us and then there was a delayed reaction. He looked away  and then paused, I could see his mind processing what he'd just seen. He then looked back and smiled. His smile was that of a child who had just been giving a bowl of ice cream bigger than his head and told there was more where that came from. Then he started shouting things I couldn't hear with his window up, then as we pulled away he got out of his car - in the middle of traffic, mind you -  and started yelling, "That car is f*^%ing nice." All while laughing as though the meaning of life had just been revealed and all the while the cars behind him are honking and yelling their own thoughts about things. If this was his reaction at just seeing the GT, I think if Colin had given him a ride, it may have been more than his system could handle, resulting in Milwaukee's first case of human spontaneous combustion. 

All the wonderful entertaining head-turning gestures aside, there is one reaction I'm most thankful for. As the Ford GT is the car I was driving when I almost learned the meaning of "felony speeding." I will forever be indebted to the kind stranger who saved me from jail with a quick flash of his lights.  

Lyn St. James in training

I've been saying I'm a racecar driver for years. But my only real track time consists of a couple of Northwoods Shelby Club track days at Road America. Considering that's closer to racing than most people get, no one could really dispute me.

So when Colin decided a trip to Bondurant Driving School would make for a great anniversary gift, my initial reaction was excitement. However my excitement was soon replaced by fear. Going to driving school is the first step to getting a competition license. What if I didn't pass? What if I crashed and burned? A poor performance at driving school could out me once and for all, completely discrediting the happy little delusion I'd been living - and letting others believe - that I was in fact, a racecar driver. Plus I was pretty sure Colin would decide I was unfit to marry if I couldn't pass driving school. 

But this is what I wanted, wasn't it? I wanted to have some concrete evidence behind my "I'm a racecar driver" story. So off I went to Bondurant driving school in search of my competition driving license and my nerve. 

Bondurant has a photographer on staff to take pictures of the students along with offering the option of having an in car camera installed to capture your track time. Naturally, I thought it'd be great to have the experience captured forever on a DVD. Two laps in it dawned on me, maybe the in car camera wasn't the best decision. Simply because it meant that if I did in fact fail, now there'd be documentation of my failure. I couldn't make up a story about mechanical failure, poor teaching or the lack of talent on behalf of another student because the whole experience would be caught on camera as proof. I seriously considered exiting the track so as to have the camera removed. But then I realized I was driving a C6 Corvette on a racetrack and instead of focusing on my impending failure, I should really be concentrating on the track. Isn't concentration the first defense against making a fatal mistake anyway? 

That was the last thought I gave to not passing the class. Honestly, how bad could I do? I'd had track time (though limited), Colin's confidence and an innate desire to go fast paired with just a hint of being overly cautious all on my side. Plus, it's the job of the instructors to teach me and guide me and make sure I pass. So if I didn't pass it was more a reflection on their ability as teachers than on my ability as a driver. (Isn't it nice to be able to rationalize anything?)

I did pass the class. And I even showed Colin the DVD. It wasn't the embarrassing evidence of what a poor driver I am I was worried it would end up being, besides that fact that maybe it showed a little more of my overly cautious side than my desire to go fast side. In fact, the DVD is really a great teaching tool. Colin and I can watch it together and he can help show me where I did well and where I could use some improvements. 

Now all I need is a racecar. Any sponsors out there? 

Life, 14 seconds at a time

When I road raced I was always surprised how calm the atmosphere inside the car was. With long straights stretching the engine to peak rpm's before every shift followed by the start of the braking zone before downshifting and then entering into a graceful turn and back on the accelerator. I'd expected it to be chaotic. But it was peaceful. No oncoming traffic, no real hurry. It was about planning, thinking, maneuvering. Basically it felt like being on a deserted open road, free to manipulate the car anyway you want, as fast as you could. Ultimately trying to reach the finish line first, but, with the exception of a crash at the start line, the race certainly wasn't won in the first sixty feet. To me, road racing is about what happens along the way. Road racing is ballet on wheels with the miles in between being the crescendo into the final scene, the curtain falling as you cross the finish line. Road racing is refined.

So when I tried drag racing for the first time, I thought the atmosphere inside the car would be the same. But I found out drag racing is raw. Drag racing is chaotic. A controlled frenzy. You have a quarter mile to go and you want to get there as soon as possible - but not necessarily as fast as possible. Fast doesn't always mean first. It's possible to drive faster than your competitor and still lose. A drag race can be, and most often is, won in the first sixty feet. Reaction time. Simplified, drag racing is reaction time. Stage. Wait for the lights. Yellow. Get the rpm's up. Yellow. Hold it there. Yellow. React. Green. Are you already launched? Did you hook up? Don't spin the tires. Feather the throttle. Shift. Floor it. Shift. Faster. Shift. So much going on, and in so little time. There's no room for error. React late, dump the clutch, spin the tires, those mistakes can all mean defeat. Drag racing's not like road racing where you have lap after lap, mile after mile to make up for a mistake. There's no planning. No maneuvering. It's react as fast as possible, hook up and go and it's over. Did your win light come on?

Money as metal

Yesterday I held $5 million in my hand...give or take half a mil.

First I just stared at it. Taking it all in. The way a person stares at a pile of puzzle pieces deciding where to begin. How to tackle the task at hand. Then slowly I began to touch it. I stroked it front to back, top to bottom, trying to memorize how every smooth, cool line felt beneath my fingers. I wanted to pause this moment in time so that I could burn the image into my mind, engrave it into my memory like a jeweler inscribes a heartfelt message on a piece of fine jewelry. The inscription in my mind would say, "You have touched greatness, you lucky bitch."

People would give a kidney to have been in my place today. How did I get this opportunity, and who has 5 mil just laying around for me to play with? Well this 5 million was not cash, but instead in the form of cars. And it was my honor to dust them off and wipe them down with detail spray. I'm probably in the minority, but if given the choice I'd take the cars over brief cases filled with cash any day. Of course if I did have the cash, I'd just use it to buy cars.

So how many cars does it take to equal $5 million? In this case, only seven, comprised of one very dirty 1957 Mercedes SL Prototype, 1961 Austin Healey 3000, a Meadowbrook winning 1965 Shelby GT350, a '66 GT350, a 1968 L78 Chevrolet Camaro, a 1974 Ferrari Dino, and the coup de grâce, a 1966 Ford GT40 Mark I. How's that for a dream car garage lineup? Some American muscle paired with some European sports car styling.

Of course the Dino and the GT aren't allowed to park next to each other. They don't play nice as the Dino is still bitter about his predecessors losing to Ford at Le Mans. You'd think after 40+ years the Ferrari would just accept the loss and move on.

I didn't get to drive any of these cars yesterday, but as my reward for cleaning them - as if cleaning them weren't reward enough - I got to drive something else as a means of my first drag racing lesson. A 1965 Pontiac GTO. Tri-Power. Next weekend is the Supercar Reunion, and I will be drag racing. Look for me around the means streets of Milwaukee this week, practicing my launch. I've already amassed one fan. Some guy pulled over to watch as I was getting ready to launch and told me he wanted to see me light 'em up. I was more than happy to try and oblige. I wonder if he's always dreamed about finding some cute young blonde driving around squealing the tires of some old Goat?

Define passionate?

Does being passionate about something mean you have to be knowledgeable and capable?

When I think about the people I consider to be passionate, they all have one thing in common. They are all extremely knowledgeable about their specific interest or hobby they're passionate about.

I'm not an expert on anything. I have interest in many things. I like horses, but I don't know anything about them. I like to read, but I can't quote Dostoyevsky. I like stained glass, and even know how to use a soldering iron, but I'm no expert craftsman. I like cars, I like to watch racing, go to car shows and auctions. One of my favorite past times is to just ride in the car with my fiance while we drive around looking at cars. But when it comes decoding VIN tags, rebuilding an engine, or even discussing the history of a certain marque at length, I'm not your girl. But I could be.

I'm just an average person with average talents. I've always accepted the fact I'm just not a passionate person. But I've reached a point where I don't want to just coast anymore. Until now I've been driving down the center line of life. It's time to find out if I'm capable of more.