After that inauspicious start, it was back to the staging lanes. For those of you, like me, who are new to autocross, how it works is you do a lap, then pull in and park, wait five to ten minutes, and then go out again. For me, I was sharing the 944 with the owner, so we had to alternate laps. The affect that these random pauses have on your mind is fairly bizarre. I would stand around and make small talk for roughly ten minutes, then sit in the passenger seat for a hot lap, then stand around for another ten minutes. After roughly twenty minutes of doing nothing, I suddenly had to switch my brain into full attack mode, flog the Porsche as hard as I could, then go back to killing time. The wild swings of adrenaline were difficult to process, and lead to a lot of the afternoon being a blur.
So here’s what I do remember. My first lap at speed involved an instructor riding shotgun with me to give me a bit of guidance. He seemed slightly nervous about the fact that my first time driving the car had been the parade lap and that I’d never competed in autocross. Some people have no sense of adventure.
But that went very smoothly, if a bit slow. He did question me after the fact, saying “I thought you’d never done this before?” To which I had to reply, “It’s my first time doing autocross, it’s not my first time driving fast.” Now, there’s a reasonable chance he was just trying to build up the confidence of a helpless rookie. But obviously, he was just dazzled by my sheer raw talent. Disregard the fact that my co-driver was nearly ten seconds faster than me.
As for the 944 itself, it was amazing. Not a fast car, or even particularly quick, but like all great cars, it talks to you. Even on my first hot lap, I felt entirely comfortable letting the car slide out wide in the sweeper, and then lifting off the gas to get the nose to tuck back in for the slalom. Sure, I didn’t have enough experience to really test the limits of the car, but at no point did it surprise or frighten me.
I was too distracted by trying to keep the speed up to really delve into the nuances, but the fact that I was turning quasi-respectable laps with less than two minutes of seat time under my belt says the whole story. Similar to the legendary Miata (which everyone in the class was driving except us), the 944 teaches you to refine your craft. You’re never going to get ahead by sheer power or grip, but instead you need to conserve momentum and carry speed wherever you can. Push your limits, trust the car, and you will be surprised at how far beyond your expectations you can go.
As for the dramatic, dirt throwing photo here… Well, let’s just say I never quite got the hang of the hairpin at the end of the high speed section. I was always trying to eke out a bit more oomph before getting on the brakes, and always overcooked it. As with all of this, it comes down to needing to fully trust the machine. I never was able to really stamp the brake down as hard and fast as needed. There’s a degree of trust that your build with a vehicle as you slowly tease out each other’s limits. Just like with your college girlfriend, you need to try a finger before you cram it in there.
At the end of a very long day, how did I feel about my first autocross? Well, first of all, I’m slow. Like, really slow. I mean, you can watch the video for yourself. That was the final lap. The driving was an unbelievable rush, and it taught me to get more comfortable driving beyond the traction limit. I started to learn how hard a car can be pushed, and how to try and reign it back in. That being said, the amount of seat time you get compared to the length of the day is laughably poor. If I didn’t share a car, I would have had eight minutes of race time, out of an eight hour day.
I understand that this may be region specific. Our event had 150 cars enter, which as I understand it, is way higher than other regions. But because (as I often lament) we don’t have any easily accessible race tracks, anyone who is remotely interested in racing comes out. So everyone needs to get their runs in, plus has to do their time working the course. But still, a full day, and fifty dollars, for less than ten minutes of racing is a tough pill to swallow.
I say all this now, and bemoan how unfair it is, and what a poor deal it is, but then I look at my Mini in the garage.
You know, it might look real nice with a number placard on the doors.
Will keeps telling us to get out and race.
And I’ve already got a Snell rated helmet.
And the track is only twenty minutes from my house.
Fuck.
