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Driving Experience Offers Vegas Thrills
Going 140 MPH Hard To Describe
Rick Garman, Vegas4Visitors.com
Updated: 10:55 a.m. EST March 17, 2003 LAS VEGAS -- There's no truly accurate way to describe 140 mph. It's really fast, sure. Exhilarating, absolutely. Scary as all get-out, yes siree. But how do you really explain that kind of blurring, headlong rush toward a concrete wall with not much more than your decisions and a five-point harness between you and oblivion? Okay, maybe that's overly dramatic, but now that I've completed the Richard Petty Driving Experience at the Las Vegas Motor Speedway, I don't want to hear about your roller coasters and bungee jumps anymore. This is the ultimate thrill-seeker experience that people of all sanity levels can get a kick out of. The Richard Petty Driving Experience currently operates at more than 20 tracks nationwide, allowing normal folks like us the chance to slip behind the wheel of a 600-horsepower Winston Cup-style stock car and take it for a little jaunt. The company was founded in 1994 by Petty, driver of the legendary No. 43 car on the NASCAR circuit, who has 200 career wins under his big belt buckle. Although the programs and prices vary at each track, the Las Vegas Motor Speedway edition offers experiences ranging from a simple ride along, where you get to sit in the passenger seat of a professionally piloted car at about 165 mph, all the way up to an "advanced racing experience" that allows you to drive 40 laps of competition-style NASCAR combat. I showed up bright and way too early on a Saturday morning for the most popular program, the "Rookie Experience," which provides you with instruction and eight laps around the track. After signing and initialing a bunch of forms that essentially warned me of my impending doom, a sharp-eyed RPDE employee sized me up for a racing suit, which is worn over whatever clothes you are in (moral of the story: dress accordingly). Each experience is done with a group of other drivers who range in size and makeup. I recommend you visit during the week if you can swing it, because most of the weekend dates sell out quickly and can be crowded if you get in. Because it was painfully early on a Saturday morning in Vegas, my group only had nine people. There were a couple of good ol' boys, some pushing middle-aged guys that you just know wear suits during the week, some curious and quiet types like me, and a woman. That's right, race fans -- the RPDE (and NASCAR in general) isn't just for men anymore. Our group had a wide variety of skill levels as well. There were a couple of weekend drag racers and a guy who had done some amateur competition, but most of the people were like me, with my only racing experience coming from frequent trips on Interstate 15 from Los Angeles to Vegas. An affable crew of instructors started the program by showing us a brief video about what to expect, reassuring us the entire way that the RPDE was built for fun but with a great deal of safety in mind. In other words, "You're not going to be crashing our expensive cars into any walls while we're on duty." And we believed them. They divided our already-small group into two smaller groups that would "compete" against each another in timed laps. Each group was assigned to an instructor who led us out to the track, where the cars awaited. Our instructor, Brad, an easy-going yet confidence-inspiring sort, walked us through the basics of the cars, which are virtually identical to those driven by the pros, with the exception of some additional safety equipment. We got lessons on how to climb in and out through the window (there are no doors) without making a fool of ourselves, how not to get impaled on the steering wheel stalk, the manual shift patterns (sorry, no automatics here), the emergency fire system and engine kill switches, and a host of other minor details. Next we were loaded into vans for a cruise around the track itself. The 1.5-mile oval at LVMS is marked with a series of white dots that indicate the path to try to stay on. Although each driver would get a car all to him or herself, the instructors would be in front of us in another car the entire way. This allows them to set the pace and keep you going in the general direction that you're supposed to be going. Back in the drivers' area at pit row, they covered the flags that might get waved at us as we were barreling along the oval, and then they pumped up the volume on the trackside tunes because it was time to race. After getting fitted with a safety harness and helmet, I patiently waited my turn and then somehow managed to cram my ample behind through the window and behind the wheel of the yellow and black No. 97 car, a replica of the one driven by champion racer Kurt Busch. It's pretty stark and very tight inside there. A few simple gauges line the dash (although I can pretty much guarantee that you'll never look at them) and then the rest is the shifter, the steering wheel, and lots of foam-encased roll-cage type stuff. If you're at all claustrophobic, this might not be the best idea for you since there is basically no room to move, especially with all of the safety equipment holding you firmly in place. The instructor's car got in front of me and I was signaled to go, stepping on the accelerator and easing off the clutch. A bit of clarification ... although the thing vaguely resembles a Ford Taurus, it isn't one, a fact that will become readily apparent as you are pinned back against the driver's seat from the power of that 600-horse-power engine. The next few minutes are pretty much a blur to me -- both literally and figuratively. Although the cars are being monitored by a computer at pit row, there is no speedometer inside, so I couldn't tell how fast I was going. Not that I would've had the presence of mind to actually look at the speedometer. My thought process was pretty much this: "Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!" Or something more manly. They encourage you to get within four car lengths of your pacing instructor's car, which at about 140 mph brings a whole new meaning to the term tailgating. On my first two laps, the flagman waved me to get closer to my instructor, something my brain refused to allow me to do out of abject terror. It also refused to allow me to get as close to the wall along the backstretch as my instructor was getting. By the third lap I had started relaxing a little bit, getting the feel for the car and learning that even though it seems like an uncivilized brute of a machine it is really, really good at doing what it was built to do. Once you start trusting the car -- something the instructors hammer into you repeatedly -- you can let go and really have fun. I got faster on each of my laps, ending with a high of almost 140 mph, about the limits of what they will allow amateurs to do. It was all over way too quickly, and as I rumbled into pit row I had a moment picturing myself blasting through pit row and back out for a few more laps, but I figured they would probably frown on that. At a final ceremony, the instructors presented us with certificates, printouts of our lap times, and the opportunity to purchase some photographs that they snap of everyone. The whole thing took a little more than two hours, but seemed to fly by much too quickly. I can't say enough positive things about this experience, from the instruction to the staff to the actual driving and everything else in between, this is one of the most unique and enjoyable entertainment destinations in town. For a complete list of the programs offered at the LVMS (and other tracks around the country), plus a listing of available dates and prices, visit the RPDE Web site or call (800) BE-PETTY.
The Richard Petty Driving Experience
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