As I crest the apex I ease my right foot closer to the floor, squeezing on the throttle ever so slightly and unleashing only enough horses to keep the beast in the slide. Fighting to be on grip side of the knife-edge limit of the tires friction, I unwind the steering wheel allowing the speed to carry me towards the outside of the track. Too much! My left tire runs off the pavement and rides over the grass. “KEEP YOUR FOOT IN IT!” I yell, as I toss the wheel back and forth to keep the car pointed forward. A cloud of dust and dirt make the track disappear behind me. The sound of rocks peppering the wheel well fills the car. I manage to put all 4 tires back on the pavement only losing a tenth of a second.
My BMW’s built inline six engine is screaming as I approach the 8,000 RPM redline. I check my mirrors, as I let off the gas only for an instant to push the clutch in and bang the shifter into fifth gear. In my rearview, I see my nemesis. The always victorious midnight black Porsche 911 is closing on me hard. He wants to get by me. Not today! As snappy as possible, I slam my foot back down on the throttle as I release the clutch and am pulled into my seat by the acceleration. I have to move to the inside of the track so that I can protect my line. “He’s not getting past me!” I say to myself. The engine is pulling so hard. Out of the corner of my eye I see the speedometer…130, 135, 140 mph! “Focus on the brake zone,” I tell myself, as I fly past the six marker. “Wait until the Porsche brakes.” We soar past the five marker. “Wait until the 911 brakes.” Four. “Wait for it!” Three. “JUST BRAKE ALREADY!” Two. Finally, he lets off the throttle and I immediately slam on the brake and clutch. Modulating my right foot on the brake pedal, I fight for every last ounce of grip the overused Hoosiers have left. My hands are sweating in my blue and white leather gloves as I battle the backend as it wobbles back and forth under the immense braking. Holding the black suede steering wheel tightly, I turn the wheel ever so slightly and hug the inner curbing. While still braking, I slide my right foot over, blip the throttle to match the revs and throw my shifter into third. Letting off the clutch, my rear tires lose all grip and the backend kicks out wildly. With lightning speed, I move my hands to full opposite lock and turn as hard left as the steering rack will allow in order to counter the slide. The metallic smell of the carbon ceramic brakes and the screeching of the tires engage all of my senses. Chunks of rubber fly off of my tires as I leave two strips behind me as black as the night. Just feathering the throttle and keeping the car sideways, I crack a smile as I feel the car coming back to grip. I mutter under my breath, “I got this!”
“Andrew! Get out of the car and come get your lunch,” my father yells. Snapping back to reality, I reluctantly stop jumping up and down on the super soft gray leather seats and yanking back and forth on the locked black leather three spoke BMW steering wheel of my dad’s Cinnabar Red e30 325is. I pull the door open and jump out of the car in my OshKosh suspenders and sweet 80’s green visor. Pushing the door closed, I hear the solid knock of the BMW’s German engineered door latch as the door clacks closed.
“VVVVVVVRRRRAAAAAARRRRRRR!” I yell, as I run off to get my juice box.
Sitting with my family in the small patch of shade from the one tree in the paddock. I take in the atmosphere of one of the most historic race tracks in New England, Lime Rock Park. My little ears taking in all of the sounds of the air tools and racecars being worked on. The sweet smell of 112 octane leaded race fuel and burnt rubber fills my nostrils. The bright sun gleams off all of the polished, brightly painted racecars, forcing me to squint as I try to make out what kind of cars they are. Sitting on a blanket in the freshly cut grass, my thoughts are filled with hopes and dreams that one day, when I grow up, I will be one those drivers piloting one of those machines.
Fast forward 26 years. I have a beautiful wife, a great engineering job, and a baby on the way. I somehow managed to purchase my dream car – what I believe to be one of the most modified, meanest BMW 1M’s out there. I have also moved up through the ranks with BMWCCA and various other clubs to become an instructor for driver’s schools. In addition to teaching others how to drive and sharing my passion for driving with them, I am also given the privilege to drive my car hard, just like I dreamed I would when I was a child.
I never became the next young stud driver for Ferrari and I didn’t get a multimillion dollar sponsorship deal. However, I am still continuing to chase my childhood dreams of being involved in the automotive world. While the road that lays before me is full of challenges, I am excited to have teamed up with the great people at FCP Euro to be able to share my journey with you.
