Race Driving School

I think I’ve recovered from my race driving school weekend. Jamey said I’d be tired after it, but I scoffed. He was right. The week started off stressful, because I was determined we would choose which Rocky Mountain train trip we are taking next year. We have been talking about it for months. Plus, we could get $825 off if we put out money down before September 30th. Originally, we decided on a 3-day train ride with 7 more days touring the Canadian Rockies, and that it would be at the Gold-leaf level, because this is the only time we are doing it.

After inviting Peg, who was enthusiastic, and Betsy, who said it was too expensive, I reconsidered. Perhaps it would be just as fun on a shorter trip. Okay. I narrowed it down to 4, checked the dates of the new moon in May and June, tossed a mental coin whether to go from Calgary to Vancouver or vice versa (C > V won), made a spread sheet of prices. Then Peg said she’d read that we could have Silver-leaf level hotels and get the Gold-leaf level train. I called the company which said this was true. Betsy decided she could come after visiting Kristina and Emily in Europe next summer. Then, when I asked Grant to help me decide exactly which trip we wanted, he pulled up a blog touting the idea we could buy the train trip then organize the bus tour on our own. I went nuts. I had told him months ago that I just don’t have the energy to find hotels, rent cars, look for guides. I had been very clear. He wanted a Rocky Mountain train trip. I found tours.That’s all I could organize. Fine, let’s just not go. Things deteriorated. After the shouting wound down, we kissed and made up. Then decided exactly which trip, which date, which direction. I texted Peg. We put our deposits down. She can work out with Betsy how they divide up their share.

Tuesday, I was finally able to concentrate on Hurricane Ian, coming up the Gulf, heading for Tampa. We had a 6:58 AM flight to DC Wednesday. Surely we would be okay. As the day wore on, things were looking worse. I kept checking the airline app. Peg called and said Tampa airport was closing at 5:00 PM. Nothing on the Orlando airport website. I cancelled a lunch date. We put the patio furniture and grills inside. We packed. I kept checking the app and the website. Still all good. Mid-afternoon I get a text: our flight is cancelled. I look for flights Tuesday evening. They are listed at $1,250 or more. But it doesn’t matter, there are no seats. I called American Airlines and asked for a refund because I needed to be in DC Thursday afternoon. Not a prayer I could get rebooked in time for that. I also cancelled the parking reservation for our truck. 

All day, we’d assured ourselves the flight would go. I just couldn’t get my tired mind around to consider that not happening and rebook for a flight Tuesday. Now our only option was to drive, so at o’dark hundred (5:58 AM) Wednesday, we started. I took the first two hour shift in the dark and rain. By the time we got to Daytona and turned onto I-95, it was slightly better. From Saint Augustine north, the weather was beautiful. While we drove the 13 hours to DC under blue skies, Ian turned east and came ashore at Sanibel, devastating the southwest coast. Bridges are gone, buildings destroyed, homes flooded, and several killed. Fort Myers Beach is ruined. Lives are ruined. All the funny, interesting motels and restaurants will be replaced with soulless condos blocking anyone else from enjoying the beaches. 

Ian continued across Florida, went to sea, then turned northwest, and came ashore in North Carolina. Not as strong, but with rain all the way. Even Orlando flooded. 12+ inches of rain. We lost 2 more pool screen panels and lots of palm fronds. The canal was as high as our neighbor Nancy had ever seen it. Our electricity was off 2 days so Duke Energy could fix wires downed by trees on the other end of Oakdale. We missed it all, including picking up the palm fronds because Steph and family did that. We are so lucky.

The rain started Friday as we drove to Summit Point Motorsports Park in West Virginia. I rented a helmet at OG Sports, we stopped for terrible beer, perhaps even spoiled, at a brewery, the rain continued. Jamey had warned me driving was rain or shine, windows down for safety. He lent me a pair of rain pants. Dinner of chili, pulled pork, potatoes with nary a green veggie in sight, with his pals at the camper in the paddock, under three 10x10 tents and drips between. 

My stomach was too nervous the next morning for more than a sip of coffee before the drivers meeting. We went over the colored flags and their meanings which I immediately forgot. Next up, a drive around with my instructor Jackson in his car so I could get the lay of the track. As if. Classroom instruction to go over each turn and how to approach it. I am so in over my head. Yes, D Group was beginners, but everyone else had driven track before, some a lot, just not at Summit Point. Yikes. 

And then, helmet on, I was driving. Because the headset wasn’t working, Jackson used hand signals for acceleration and braking. One lap down. Back on the straightaway, I could almost breath, but no slowing down. “More accelerator.” “More accelerator.” “More accelerator.” “Brake.” “Little accelerator.” “More accelerator.” “Eyes up.” “More accelerator.” “Eyes up.” “Hit your mark”.  23 minutes of absolute concentration. I haven’t paid attention that long in years.

Some free time, another track session, then classroom where we discussed how we did on each turn. All I could say was I was doing as well as I hoped. I got good at pointing to let others know which side to pass me on.  Third session, I actually was able to see several of the corner towers and the flags being presented. Mostly I was trying to keep my eyes up to see the next turn. Over 100mph on the straightaway. I’m feeling slightly better. Then we went to the skid pad, a 300’ diameter circle with a painted line we were to follow, faster and faster. In the rain. Just as the car started to lose traction, we were to let up on the throttle a little and open up the steering wheel a bit, or we’d go into a spin. I went into a spin. Was my turn over? Please? No. I turned the car around and tried again. 4 more times I spun out. Then I did it right. Then I spun out. Finally I was done, my last nerve frayed.

The fourth and last track session, I barely got the car over 60mph. Half way through the second lap, Jackson asked me if I’d like to go in. Absolutely. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I put my arm out the window, with my fist in the air to let all the drivers stacked up behind me that I was going to the pit. I’m sure I heard them all cheer. Jackson gets extra points for being so patient with me.

That evening, I decided I was not going back to the skid pad on Sunday. I just don’t have the reaction time to make it work. The next morning, when I drove over from the hotel to the track, I decided I was done. Even driving at low speed in the rain was more than I wanted to face. When I went to the classroom to tell the teacher I was finished, he asked me if I’d had fun. “Truthfully,” I told him, “I’m too exhausted to know.”

We drove back to DC. The rain let up. I tagged along with April to look at houses. Monday, in beautiful weather, we drove to Trish’s, Tuesday we drove home. I was happy to lie in my bed.