A Newbie At Driving School

So there we are, lined up against the pit wall, all 25 members of the freshman class for this Boston Chapter High Performance Driving School, looking expectantly up and downtrack for our arriving instructors. We've just been through our first classroom session, so we've got the hot tip on curves fresh in our minds.

Here's what I've learned:

TURN IN - A point on the track where you ought to be on the outside (as opposed to inside - such as the administration building) and you must unfreeze your death grip on the wheel enough to actually turn it in the direction you wish to go, so as to get to the:

APEX - Something in the middle of the curve on the inside, which you apparently must be on time for; or; if you're early or late, it must be on purpose. After hitting (really?) the APEX, you go for the:

TRACK OUT - a point on the track that's sort of the antonym to TURN IN.

All this in pursuit of THE LINE around the track. How come they don't just paint one on there for us, huh?

A confident looking gentleman approaches, and says, "Hi. I'm Will. Are you Bruce Augenstein?" I admit it, and Will asks if he can drive the initial lap or two to show me the course, or if I want to drive. Since I've deposited my Machoman pills in one of the garages along with other extraneous stuff, I urge Will to drive, and we take the silver M3 (my pride and joy) out on track.

Moving around slowly in traffic, Will keeps up a constant, informative patter about where suggested braking and turning points, apexes and track outs are, along with safety tips. I've heard these tips in the Driving meeting, but it's good to hear them again. After a couple of laps, Will pulls in and it's my turn. I have been making mental notes regarding Will's comments and my observations, and I've already got it pretty well figured out how to drive this track.

Meaning: NOT clockwise.

I meander out on the track, and don't actually get lost. Will keeps the information and advice going in an almost constant stream, and it's invaluable, even though he must think he's dealing with some one afflicted with recent (and massive) head trauma, judging by my performance. We only get around three laps before we have to pull back in, and Will suggests I get up nearer the front of the line next time out so as to possIbly get more track time.

I listen hard in the next class, and by the time it's over; I'm ready to turn pro. It's simple. Watch for those cones, and don't worry too much about the other stuff. They use
*cones* instead of a double yellow in order to mark THE LINE. I've got it now.

BRAKING POINT - First cone.

TURN IN - Next cone.

APEX - Third cone, only on the other side of the track.

TRACK OUT - Fourth cone.

I'm a little confused about what might happen on those turns that don't have marked braking points (BRAKE at TURN IN? TURN IN at APEX?), or those that have several choices for braking points, but I figure Will probably has a handle on all that, and he'll let me know. I'm confident of this because, at one point, whistling into turn three (after I'd eyeballed the braking cone and rapped the binders with perfect timing), Will suggests that I may want to brake a little harder. We then both get to determine that the 318is up ahead has an engine in perfect tune. We do this by eyeballlng the inside of his exhaust pipe in considerable detail, up close and personal. Sigh. OK. Maybe worrying a little about the other stuff would be a good idea, after all.

The next time out by the pit wall, who should show up but my old buddy Fred. I've known Fred for years, and he's been urging me for around that long to come up and play, so he's swapped with Will for a session or two. We get out on the track, and, after the warm-up lap, I come saillng into turn one at a decent rate of knots, and begin pulling up to the left of a car out by the rail, who is signaling me to pass. Fred informs me that it would not be a good idea to pass at this point, since we can only pass out on the front straight. He uses remarkable brevity in this communication, utilizing only three words to convey the idea, the first of which is DON'T!, and the last of which is PASS! I get the message immediately, I'm proud to say. Around that turn, Fred says "Maintenance Throttle", and, after consulting my Captain Video decoder ring, I feed a little more right pedal, and, COOL!, we go around in a completely neutral attitude. HEY, this is neat stuff!

We do a couple of laps, with Fred keeping up the same type of informative patter that Will did (with the same high value to me). Fred's line is a little different than Will's here and there, but no matter; I'm only getting acquainted with the line in the same sense that you get acquainted with the equator: If you travel a lot, you
cross it from time to time. I'm pleased to say that, by all accounts, I'm crossing the line more and more often as the laps reel by.

The next actual event of that session comes at turn eight, after I've gotten the speed up with successive laps. We're ripping up that hill out of turn six (aka "the bowl"), in the fat part of third gear and beginning to really haul the mail, and Fred is saying "Stay on it. Stay on it." I assume that Fred has taken an interest in the color of my glove box lid or something and has lost track of where we are. The thing is, dead ahead, there are these trees, and no road that I can actually see. I refrain from suggesting to Fred that he's lost his mind, and brake. OK. OK. I knew that there actually was a road there somewhere, but, see, there were these trees.

One of my sons flies an F/A-18 for a living, and, in his business, when you get in a position that you're completely out of step with what's going on and have lost the abillty to process inputs properly, they call that condi tion a "helmet fire". Happens pretty often in training, they say.

OK, so I had a helmet fire. A two alarmer.

Fred suggests that it isn't a good idea to brake over that little crest, since you can get Sincerely Out of Shape by doing that if you're really cooking. Once again, he uses admirable brevity in this communication, but with the volume control set at a sufficient level for me to Get the Point. I refrain from suggesting that we're probably not really cooking at that point, since my braking has caused the kid on the ten speed (selling lemonade to all the group four (novice) drivers through that turn) to actually over shoot me, and steam on by without a sale.

OK. I made up that part about the kid on the ten speed, but if you're an instructor; you're probably thinking that's more like a minor exaggeration than an outright lie.

Other than my little exploration of "reality is merely a concept" in turn eight, though, we're beginning to get with the program. After a few more laps, Fred is really getting into it with attaboys here and there, and quick, valuable comments on how to set it up through here the next time if I've screwed up. We scoop up a car or two on the front straight nearly every lap, and I am having enough fun for a month of days like this.

At one point, I am following a red M3 through turn eleven, and I determine that I am going to collect him when we get out on the front straight. Actually, it was an Avus blue M3, but I am gazing at it through the Red Mist, and have assumed a role similar to Reggie Jackson's character in "The Naked Gun". (MUST... KILL... M3! MUST... KILL... M3!) I run wider than he has on the transition out of eleven (Hey! That was a really good track out!), and am on the floor earlier; before cutting through twelve and moving inside past the pit wall as we come out onto the front straight. I am also pulling up on the reddish blue M3, and there's not much he can do about it.

YEEHAH! GOT 'IM! He waves us by as we walk up on him past the pits. I'm yelling and so is Fred.

Given my mental state, it's probably a real stroke of luck that the yellow comes out for the next lap, and I get to cool down as we meander around with me talking to myseif. "No, idiot, you run it WIDE through here!" The line, which was a complete mystery at first, and started to suggest itself as a natural state as the rate of knots picked up, is now mysterious again on the cool down lap. No matter. This is about as much fun as one can have fully clothed, and I can't wait for ses sion four.

Out by the pit wall again, Luka Serdar calls us together; and reminds us (men and women) to not activate our blister packs of testosterone for this fourth, and last, session.

Will's back for this last run, and now the pace lap is remarkably faster than that first one, earlier in the day. When we get the green, everybody's movin' right out, and is a bunch faster nearly everywhere. I'm talking to myself practically all the way around ("Bring it down. Add throttle. Add throttle. Here comes the apex. Full throttle. Start bringing it out.") A couple of times through turn two, I notice that the car is suggesting I start bringing it out, so it's unanimous. Will is still advising me a good part of the way around, but now it's not constant, which suggests either that we're getting closer to where we should be at any given point, or that he's mentally thrown up his hands.

Once, I come into turn three too hot, with the Michelins complaining bitterly (in French, I presume), and I am laughing as I call myself a bad word involving body parts, while gathering it up and aiming just to the inside of the tire wall by the fence and the hill. I have no idea what Will is thinking about the complaining Michelins and the giggling driver (and don't want to know, thank you), but he yells "Punch it!" as we turn in on the tran sition up the hill. I do, and we sail up that hill very nicely indeed, thank you. It isn't until the next day that I figure out why you can actually punch it at that point, but hey, punching it is fun. No questions asked.

We collect a bunch of cars that round, and get some free space for awhile, which is when I learned that even the car can suggest the line through turn two, and presumably others as well.

At the end of the last session, Will says "Awesome!", which I take to mean either that I've learned something and am doing well, or that he's never seen anyone so far off the line while simultaneously going so slowly. He's grinning as he says it, so I assume the positive, and I've been on the planet long enough to leave well enough alone and not ask.

On the way back to Massachusetts that evening, I'm doing apexes at every opportunity. In fact, I notice that I'm doing apexes in and out of the family room from the kitchen when I get home.

Since that school (and the subsequent ones), I find that I'm now mostly a two-hands-on-the-wheel kind of guy out on the road, and I'm paying a good deal more attention to what's going on around me at any given time.

I guess that's the point, though. Isn't it? See you at the next school.

May 1997 BIMMER

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What's Happening: Driving Time Is Here! by Mike Webb

May 1997 New Members by Barry Tarr

1997 Boston Chapter Autocross Series: Autocross Starts This Month by John Mansfield

HMS Track Prep Tech Session by Steve Goldstein

Joe's Travels Part 1: Florida for a week in a Z3 2.8 by Joe Marko

A Newbie At Driving School by Bruce Augenstein

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