All reporters like to figuratively get inside the head of the athletes that they write about. If a writer can experience the same things as the athlete it becomes an invaluable tool in creating articles and columns.
  So, when I was presented the opportunity to climb into a race car at the Richmond International Raceway, I tried to convince myself it as a necessary part of my job. 

  Since 1994, the Richard Petty Driving Experience has provided ordinary, everyday people the opportunity to climb into a two-seat NASCAR race-specification vehicle and feel what it is like to zoom around an oval at over 150 mph. In 2000 the Indy Racing Experience began doing the same for open-wheeled race fans.

  This past week, both came to RIR and as a member of the media, I was given the opportunity to be a test rat..eh… racer and feel that experience of speed.
  With the option of trying out one of the two, I made the choice based on my heritage. As an Indiana boy had to go with the Indy racer. However, after shooting off my mouth I quickly wondered if maybe I should have chosen the confined enclosure of a NASCAR vehicle rather than the exposed openness of an Indy racer. But by then it was too late and I was being whisked away for processing.

  Naturally, when one goes for a ride such as this, there is a certain amount of liability paperwork that needs to be signed. Little did I realize that by the time I finished I’d look back on closing my house as a brief experience. I signed so many papers I wondered if I was buying the car rather than riding in it. One signature was followed by another and yet another leaving little time to contemplate or closely read the fine print. And through it all I don’t know which represented the greater fear, the legalese that implied the remote possibility of suffering a fate worse than death or the fact that I had to truthfully write down my age reminding me that I was too damn old to be doing something as crazy as this.

  Just when my writing hand started developing the early stages of carpal tunnel, I moved on to the next step; getting suited up for the ride.

  I held my breath as I climbed into the sleek black fire suit, not because I was nervous but because the damned thing was a size too small. I glanced at my racing compatriots and they all looked like a snazzily dressed group of professional drivers. I on the other hand, in this fire-suit/pseudo corset, had my innards rearranged pushing them upward to expand my torso making me look like Wayne Newton on ‘Dancing with the Stars’.

  There was one benefit however, I didn’t have to worry about any embarrassing bodily malfunctions due to fear. The suit was so tight I couldn’t have squeezed out a tear if I tried.

  Next came the flame retardant gloves, a spiffy set of flame retardant suede leather shoes, flame retardant head sock and of course a helmet, once again flame retardant. This gear must have also been courage retardant because for some reason all of this equipment meant to insure my safety was scaring the stuffing out of me…or it would have if not for the tight suit.

  Then finally it was time to get into the race car. Climbing into the cockpit of the Indy car is like squeezing back into the womb, however in this case considering the recklessness nature of what lay ahead for me, this metaphoric womb would have to belong to Britney Spears.

  Former Indy car driver Davey Hamilton was at the wheel of the car which gave me some feeling of assurance, however, as they buckled, strapped, welded, glued, pasted and taped me into the cockpit, and the engine roared to life, all I could think of was, ‘How many times did this guy wreck during his career?’ I mean, he was a ‘former’ Indy car driver after all.

  But with a hint of derring-do, I gave a thumbs-up to my survivors….er, I mean my co-reporters and away I went like being strapped inside of an ICBM on wheels.

  To say we took off fast would be an understatement. In fact, accelerating down pit row resembled the Millennium Falcon going into hyper drive; all I saw was a blur of lines. I estimate we were doing 100 mph before we reached turn one.

  Now, growing up in Indiana I’ll admit I did my fair share of racing around on country roads. From that experience I knew that physics demanded a car to go into a tailspin when the centrifugal forces are as great as what I was feeling as we rounded the turn. But in my narrow-minded concept of Indy racers, this sucker defied the laws of nature. It clung to its course like Hillary Clinton to the campaign trail. And all the while we continued to accelerate leaving me thinking; ‘If one of these tires blows I’m done for.’

  I could visualize us doing a live reenactment of Michael McDowell’s fiery tumble for anyone who may have missed it. 
  The trip around RIR’s ¾ mile was like a whirlpool spin cycle at 160 mph. It was so fast that I think it took the glow of our taillight five minutes to catch up with us after we stopped.

  The closest I can come to describing the ride would be to say that the next time you’re flying somewhere, ask the pilot to strap you atop the fuselage and brush the left wingtip off the control tower as he’s landing. Every one of the three laps around the track, Hamilton trimmed the distance between the front left tire and the orange cones at the entrance to pit row by mere centimeters. Heck, I know it was only a rubber cone, but I didn’t want to hit so much as a Styrofoam cup doing 160 mph.

  Then before I knew it we were back on pit row and Hamilton was braking to a halt; I was safe and reasonably as sound as I left. Yet as I climbed from the car my head spun because I think the fluids for my equilibrium were still somewhere back on turn three.

  When I climbed back over the pit row wall and removed my gloves and head sock, I had a new found respect for the men who do this job week-in and week-out. I had just gone three laps around RIR in less than a minute, I was exhausted and I hadn’t even driven. I could not comprehend the stamina necessary to keep that pace for hours on end and hundreds of laps.

  Through it all, the clothing scared me, the cockpit scared me, the walls, cones, grandstands and track blew by so fast I have difficulty really recalling much. But would I do it again? In a second, baby.

  Tickets are still available for the NASCAR Nationwide 250 race on May 2 at Richmond International Raceway, was well as the Crown Royal Presents The Dan Lowry 400 NASCAR Sprint Cup Series race on May 3. Tickets are also still available for the for the Sun Trust Indy Challenge weekend, June 27-28. Go to www.rir.com for more information.