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Skip Barber Driving School
Car of Choice: Dodge Viper SRT-10
Point A: Lime Rock, CT: Novice Driver
Point B: Lime Rock, CT: Racecar Bound
Scenario:
Ladies, start your engines. Skip Barber Driving School is the best-kept
secret for a stress-relieving getaway, not to mention an imperative
to learning smooth-as-silk skills for the streets.
In the scenic surroundings of Lime Rock, Connecticut, one of Skip’s
twenty nationwide track settings, the wind of turbo-charged engines
leaps forth in the calm of the early morning hours. I then roll through
the gates and speak to security. “Yes sir, I’m here to
attend the school.”
Entering the building where the students assemble, my stomach lurches,
feeling like Tom Cruise at fighter pilot class in Top Gun (who incidentally
is a Skip Barber alum). The team of five instructors pace back and
forth as the students trickle in -- mostly male. But about five brave
ladies have signed up. Among them is Christine who jointly operates
a Wall Street think tank and attends the course with her son; Heather,
a high school senior from Mississippi; and Nancy, a veteran amateur
racer and attorney by day. The instructors, who are real deal racecar
drivers, prime our group of fifteen on basic knowledge of driving
before we begin our first mission. The discussion kicks off with the
basics -- where the weight of the car rests on the tires. I feel my
stomach quake. Just how safe will I be behind the wheel of standard
transmission with the pedal to the ground? I calm myself with the
knowledge that the program has been continually fine-tuned since its
1975 inception by race guru Barber. I settle in and take notes while
soon finding out that driving skills are pretty damn sexy.
We move into the morning mist where the Dodge Neon RT’s are
set up for students’ use and abuse. When the flag comes down,
we accelerate at full speed ahead toward orange cones and then braking
as hard as we can. The ideal is to bring the vehicle to an abrupt
stop. The first go around was intimidating. However, by the end of
the drill I deem myself worthy of the samurai sword for bravery (Vivica
Fox and Uma Thurman, Kill Bill Vol. 1 style).
Our next stop is the skid pad, an exercise that’s like operating
the tilt-a-whirl at the local fair. Trust me, I now know what it means
to be spinning like a record, as I steer into turns trying to direct
focus on my target. But the Dodge Dakota just circles again and again.
The process is simple and akin to Zen philosophy -- brake, look, and
turn. Lead instructor and experienced safety master Bob Green repeatedly
drills us to absorb that phrase. “It’s a conscious act,”
he patiently reminds us as we constantly miss our targets, spinning
out on the pavement again and again. By the end of the day, I am spent
by the concentration required to drive to the best of my potential
thinking how the real world is a million miles from this adult playground.
  
  
Waking up with a burst of energy the next morning,
I hastily pull on sneakers, jeans and a comfortable tank, ready for
action. I make the short drive to the track with my senses keen and
looking out at the road stretched before me with a new heightened
awareness
Heel-toe-braking is the big skill of the day. It’s an intricate
process that requires agility and surefire athleticism to handle the
approaching bends of a track. After classroom time, we hop back in
the Neons for more practice of stopping on the dime, car control tricks,
and then onto the mini race course. My instructor, Travis Washay,
an SCCA autocross and rally champ, helps build up my confidence, calmly
directing me to absorb the process. I have an epiphany – driving
is like learning the steps to a new dance; timing, rhythm, and a whole
lot of finesse is required. “Women drivers are more intent,
they look further down the road,” Washay points out to me. At
times the references to ladies and cars in lectures fall short for
the female contingent one of my female-classmates points out to me.
Our all-male cast of instructors encourages bravado and always challenging
us. Yet, we hang in quite nicely. Some of us fare even better than
our male peers on skill tests. Others learn to drive a stick from
scratch. I fall somewhere in the middle – confident with my
shifting, but a tad shy on speed.
After lunch, we were deemed ready. It was time to leave behind our
training wheels and hop in the Dodge Vipers which lash out 500-horsepower.
As the car purrs under my authoritative control, my apprehension turns
to euphoria and I smoothly round the apex of the turn. All this muscle
is mines and I am ready for full-on throttle; though I’m not
hitting the max speed of 220-mph. I have never gone this fast in my
life. Something in my driver’s soul changes at this moment.
At course’s onset, the car would have been simply too much for
me. But now I am ready to push this whip to its maximum capacity of
0 to 60 in 4 seconds, baby.
I feel like a pro driver until it comes time for our instructors
to floss their skills. Riding co-pilot, with a real racecar driver
I decided then and there that I am coming back for the three-day course.
Every hair on my body bristles with the car being used as it was intended
– to make the spirit soar. This lady’s engine is bound
for checkered flags.
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