Adventure: My Indy Racing Experience

By Stuart Carter

My family moved to Indianapolis in 1971, and almost instantly we were enraptured by IMS and the Indy 500. As small kids, we dreamt of racing at the Speedway. Now, 36 years later, I had a chance to live a dream. As a 40th birthday present my big brother, Chuck, ran us through the Indy Racing Experience.

After signing waiver after waiver in the museum lobby, we hopped into a van and were taken to the pit garage area. The two seater was in the garage, next to a rack of drivers’ suits. A very nice young lady asked me my shoe size and showed me to the “changing room”, a makeshift tent off in the corner. I’d forgotten awkward it can be to wiggle into the shoulders of a one-piece racing suit.

We went out to the pit wall, where other participants were waiting their chance to play follow the leader for four laps of the Brickyard. The lead car was driven by Davey Hamilton, and there were two “customer” cars. The first was bright yellow with a number “1″ on the nose. The second was white and dark blue, with only a small IMS logo on the nose. The two cars were in rotation for participants — One driver would strap in while another was on track. This kept things moving very smoothly.

The cars themselves look a little ratty compared to the race-prepared machines we’re used to seeing turned out at IMS. There is no dash, no pi system, no gauges, nada. Just a toggle switch for the ignition and a push-button to start the Honda Goldwing engine hiding in the bay.

When the program first started, drivers needed to work the gearbox. In the words of the instructor, “That didn’t work out so well”. I can only imagine what he meant. So now, the thing is stuck in one gear, and needs a friendly push from the crew to get it rolling.

Several other drivers were ahead of me, so I had to wait about a half hour before my turn came up. I was last of the single-seaters for the day, after which the two seater was coming out. I watched as a stream of drivers in Delphi racing suits unbelted and walked by with big smiles on their faces. A crowd of people was there to watch their family and friends, and those signed up for the two seater were dribbling in. I put age before beauty, and shot a few pictures of big brother getting strapped in. He rolled out, and then it was my turn. Balaclava on, helmet on, and I hopped in.

Gift giver extraordinaire Chuck Carter gives a thumbs up as he prepares to leave the pits.

Getting into the car was easier than I anticipated. One little twist and I slid right down. Two crew guys handled the belts with no help from me, snapped on the horse collar, and in a few seconds I was ready to go. I was a little surprised at how reclined the seating position is. It’s much more horizontal than I anticipated, though I was in no danger of dozing off.

The bulkhead around the hips is pretty tight, but there is actually a ton of leg room. The footbox isn’t cramped at all. The upper body, however, is another story. Once strapped in, there is very little room for movement of the arms or shoulders. If you’re claustrophobic, I wouldn’t recommend getting in an Indy car.

Head movement, too, is limited, even when not wearing a HANS device. All you can see is steering wheel, tires and belt buckles. The mirrors weren’t adjusted for my height, so all I could see was rear wing and tire. But who needs mirrors?

As I waited for my chance to roll, I looked in front of me and tried to take it all in. There, framed by the “Firehawk Indy 500″ logos on the front tires, was the exit of the pit lane. There was nothing between me and the track where heroes have raced and legends have been made for nearly 100 years. And I was about to drive a race car out there. Wow.

The crew gave the signal, so I flipped the ignition switch, pressed in the clutch and hit the starter. The engine fired right up, and I waited for Davey to drive by. One of the crew members snapped down my visor, and motioned me forward. Davey sputtered by, I felt the car being pushed, and one thought crossed my mind.

Dear God, please don’t let me stall this thing.

I gave it some gas, let off the clutch, and was off. Phew, no embarrassment - so far. Immediately, I noted that the car desperately wanted to go left. Oh, so THAT’S what stagger feels like.

Entering the warm-up lane, very little input on the wheel was necessary to get the car to turn. It did, however, require some physical effort. I jiggled the wheel a little, and it was like being in a go kart - instantly reacting to whatever you did. I’d never felt grip like that in my life. This was also the only time that I thought “wow, I’m going fast”.

At “speed” on the front stretch.

Out onto the backstretch, and turn three was looming. I kept my distance from the car in front, followed through the north end, and set sail for three and a half more laps. Down the front stretch, turn 1 looks like a solid wall. Then I reminded myself, don’t forget to look at the bricks. I even gave a thumbs up to the pits as we went by.

On the back stretch on lap two, I began to feel the helmet lifting a bit. I can see how THAT would be annoying at 220. In turn three, I thought, “Wow, these corners go on forever.” You really do spend a lot of time down at the bottom of the track.

Front stretch again, two down, two to go. Just then, I darted to the inside and shot right past Davey with just enough room to get back in line before turn one.

OK, not really, but I was imagining what it must be like to pull up on someone at full chat and have to decide whether to dive inside and take the corner. Put “confidence” at the top of a driver’s job description.

Just then, Davey ran over a piece of paper that shredded and flew out from under his car. Hey, that’s kinda cool. Wish they were sparks.

Through the South Chute, I took a deep breath and realized I had the wheel in a death grip. My entire upper body was very, very tense and I thought about the need to relax in the car. But, even at these slow speeds, cornering takes some effort. The car felt far heavier than I thought it would.

And, I didn’t realize the effort it takes to make the thing go straight! While on the back stretch on lap three, I eased up a bit closer to my host and then pulled to the inside. You really feel the turbulence when you get out of the slip stream, and now I have a sense of what it means to be in dirty air. Boys, that takes some work!

Into turn three on lap three, Davey seemed like he picked it up a bit, and began making a quick jink to the right before diving into the corners. I wasn’t following his line exactly, but was turning in when he did. I guess I wasn’t following him through the corner, but “mirroring” him in the corner. Better work on taking it deeper next time. Turning the car felt like it took a bit more effort, and I noticed my whole body being pushed into the right side of the car. Gee, force?

One final lap, and I swear, I felt a bit of a bump in the track exiting turn two. Or was it just my heart jumping for joy?

Entering turn three, Davey put on the turn signal, as the left-side of the rain light began to flash. I guess that meant my time was up. We glided into the pit lane, and Davey slowed WAY down. I pulled to his left and drove on. Finally, about half way down the pit lane, I put in the clutch, switched off the ignition, and pulled onto the concrete to coast through a few pit boxes before I “hit my marks.” Man, that inside lane is BUMPY.

The horse collar was pulled off, and I released the belts - or so I thought. The shoulders came out, but as I tried to get out, the lap was still buckled in. A friendly face flipped up my visor and asked me “So, how’d you like it?” while he released the belts. How did I like it? Did he really need to ask? I lifted myself rest of the way up and pulled myself out of my dream.

I have no idea how fast I ultimately went, but I can tell you, it was an experience like no other. My whole life I’ve imagined what it would be like to drive an Indy Car around the Speedway. Countless hours of computer games and several trips in the tour bus gave me an idea. But until I sat in the chassis and did it myself, I couldn’t fully appreciate what it takes to drive one of these cars. Now, I have a better frame of reference. These things take a lot of physical effort, concentration and commitment. Seeing the track at half-speed, I can’t fathom how fast things happen at 220 MPH, let alone with 32 other cars on the track. I’ve idolized racers my whole life. Having had a tiny taste of IMS, though, has increased my respect for everyone that runs there - from Helio, Dan and Sam all the way to Marty Roth.

Back in the pit lane, I paused to look back and forth up the main stretch. Did I really just do this? Then, taking off the helmet and gloves, I walked up to my brother and dug into my cooler. Inside were two bottles on ice. I handed him one, opened the other, and we had a nice cold drink of milk standing in the pits at Indy.

Got milk? Chuck and Stuart Carter defy the yellow shirts with glass bottles.

And this, my friends, was perhaps the most amazing part of it all. I was able to get GLASS BOTTLES inside IMS!

For more information about the Indy Racing Experience and the various drive/ride programs available, visit their web site at SindenRacing.com or call 1-888-357-5002.