Having spent the last 20-plus years as a freelance writer and editor has allowed me to spend those years pursuing stories about things I’d always wanted to do. I started out writing about the activities I pursued when not working, and was extremely fortunate to be able to parlay that into a career. In effect I was able to get paid to play, and thus was able to accomplish most of things that were on my “bucket” list over the years. As age caught up, however, two things remained elusive: I hadn’t made it to Everest (I had become a fairly decent rock and ice climber over the years, so I was willing to consider that a wash) and I hadn’t been able to race in Formula 1. Now, these two things weren’t anything that detracted from what I’d intended to accomplish in life, and — given the things I’d been able to do — I didn’t mind not being able to empty the bucket, so to speak.

My 60th birthday was approaching (has come and gone as you read this), and I was adamant about not wanting any kind of grandiose party to commemorate this auspicious event, but something was afoot about the house. I was given one instruction by my wife: have two specific days in November available for an unspecified something. Usually, I’m not terribly curious insofar as, Christmas, etc., so I was willing to not ask beyond that, albeit occasionally a “just gimme’ a hint” remark would creep into the conversation. Nonetheless, both my wife and daughter remained mum until one weekend they presented me with a hand-drawn birthday card — two months early. On the cover was a well-rendered, Indy 500-style racing car. I immediately assumed that I was going to get an opportunity to participate in one of the programs that follow the NASCAR circuit; some laps in a stock car around a big oval, something that, by all accounts, was something with which I would have gladly partaken and thus crossed off one of the two remaining items. But I was in for an even bigger surprise: I was going formula racing.

Lime Rock Raceway

By “formula” racing, I mean racing in single-seat cars with open wheels. The cream of the list are the Formula 1 cars, followed by the Indianapolis 500-style open wheelers, and then a plethora of lesser but even more hotly contested classes. Some of these cars have 130 horsepower engines, but since the cars rarely weigh much more than large motorcycles and are pure race cars, the speeds are impressive. Add to this the opportunity to drive around turns at speed (with no on-coming traffic), and you have a birthday present that exceeded my every expectation and then some.

The Skip Barber Racing School is legendary. Barber — now retired — was a nationally famous racer, and his school has a Who’s Who list of racing star graduates; alumni such as Montoya, Andretti, Unser, Fangio (the second), and others who have become champs in virtually every type of auto racing have all learned the basics of their craft with the Skip Barber School (Paul Newman, Tom Cruise, Al Pacino and dozens of other athletes, actors, and celebs have also learned to race at the Skip Barber School; Frankie Muniz, the former star of the sitcom Malcolm in the Middle, had gone on to become a Champ Car Atlantic champion, one of the top levels of formula racing).

The school holds various levels of lessons at tracks around the US, and one of the tracks is the legendary Lime Rock Raceway, nestled just over the New York border in northwestern Connecticut. The 1.53-mile-long track, has it all: sweeping — and blind — uphill turns, fast down hills, technical esses and a hairpin at the end of a fast-enough-to-get-me-in-trouble straightaway.

Our cars were four-cylinder, 16-valve, 150 horsepower, Mazda-powered Formula Skip Barber cars, weighing around 1100 pounds. The idea behind the formula is to provide a (relatively) inexpensive, but professional, entry platform for those interested in entering the world of open wheel racing.

On the Track

After an hour of classroom work on vehicle dynamics, turn apexes, braking points and more which, as our instructor noted to the 12 participants, we would completely forget, we get out on the track apron and get a close look at our chariots. The instructors last words were, “If you forget everything, jump on the brakes and take the car out of gear. Those are good brakes!”

Most of the bodywork is stripped, and the cars are “cars” only a racing aficionado could lust after. Tubular steel chassis, monstrous brakes, sticky race rubber, four-point harnesses, a non-synchro transmission (this means you have to double-clutch, which can get tricky at speed) and — naturally — a roll bar. If you’re going to crash, this is the kind of car you want to do it in. Our instructor explains and demonstrates the heel-and-toe method of brake and throttle control. These brakes aren’t power assisted and require a good bit of punch — too much and you’ll go too slow, too little and, well … you get the picture.

Then it’s time to get in the cars. This is a misnomer, because getting my 220 pounds into the cockpit of this car is visually reminiscent of stuffing a sausage skin. But there is no way I’m not getting in and finally accomplish this feat and am only a little out of breath after cinching the seatbelt system down fighter-pilot tight.

To avoid having people such as myself destroying cars, tracks and other drivers, we are broken into five-car groups and line up behind a Mazda Miata piloted by a third instructor. We will follow him around the track, increasing speed until we demonstrate that we shouldn’t be increasing speed anymore. As this instructor notes, “If all goes well and everyone does what they’re supposed to, I’ll have the Miata running about 90-percent of its capability, and you’ll be running about 60-percent of what your car can do.”

(My daughter gets to ride in the pace car, and assures me that the instructor’s remark, insofar as the Miata was concerned, was understated, in her opinion.)

The mental situation — at least as far as this newbie driver is concerned — is akin to that encountered when climbing, cave diving or parachuting: your focus is on the immediate sensation. My mind slows things down in direct relation to how fast the stimuli approaches, concentration becomes rapt, and any the sense of noise, speed and or imminent death recede, as the desire to function properly takes over. Plus — Jeez! I’m driving a formula car! The fact hits me so hard I almost start crying on our third lap.

I can’t tell you how fast we went, but we went plenty fast. I can tell you that G-forces, and engine, tire and brake noises only get noticed after a while. As you get a wee bit comfortable in the car’s ability to do what it seemingly wants to do — go fast — you find yourself holding the throttle down at the crest of the hill, believing that the tires will get you around a turn as long as you line it up right, and that, well, you’re actually driving a race car.

Naturally, all does not come without some error — although I seem to be the only one of the 12 of us who gets to that spot. Cockiness makes me brake late at the end of the straightaway and I slide off on to the safety pan. I over-estimate my skill level in the esses and manage to do a dirt-and-turf throwing 360 into the infield, but I do manage to correct a high-speed error on the downhill turn without losing a beat. I’m even told I put together a “couple of good laps” at the end.

When we have to stop, an hour has gone past, but you could tell me it was 15 minutes or a day, and I wouldn’t be able to argue. My face hurts, mainly because I’m not exactly the most “smiling” person in the world and I’m grinning so much I feel like Howdy Doody with a facelift.

For more information about Skip Barber Racing School call 866-932-1949; or go HERE. For information about Lime Rock Park call 800 RACE LRP or visit HERE/.