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TL:DR - The motorsports community is filled with the most generous, caring, and supportive people you will ever meet in your life. This article speaks to some specific instances of people who have affected the life of myself and my family after my near-fatal accident in May 2021.
I released a documentary about my accident called "Survival" in February of 2022 and it was passed around quickly throughout the ranks of the motorsport community. The support for the video and my message of safety has been overwhelmingly positive. Instructing, driving-legend, and all around awesome guy Ross Bentley saw it and told me he'd like to share it with the readers of his excellent Speed Secrets Weekly newsletter (and if you're not a subscriber then you really should be). He had a couple of topics he thought I could write to accompany the video, but I really wanted to share some of the specific stories of support and greatness that my family experienced by our co-conspirators from the world of motorsport. With Ross's permission I'm sharing the entirety of the content from the March 8, 2022 newsletter.
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Do it for the love of driving.
Here's the scenario. In 5th gear, hurtling down the front straight toward the brake zone for Turn 1, eyes searching for the turn-in to the 2nd gear right-hander, the reference which tends to trigger the timing of everything to make this single section of track flow. Flicking by the 5 and then 4 marker, hard initial pressure on the brake pedal while looking to where the release of the pedal in the corner begins, the reverse-thruster feeling of the shoulder harness counteracting the longitudinal g-loads. In what feels like multiple seconds, but are really tiny fractions of that time measurement, clicking down through the gears rhythmically begins: 4th, 3rd, 2nd, all the while planning the ideal corner entry speed. A couple of car lengths from the end of the red and white curbing on the left, the final modulation of the brakes to fine-tune entry speed and balance begins, and then comes the real magic: blending of controls. Rotating the steering wheel with a light touch, hands at 9 and 3, brake release matching the rate of turning; g-loads changing from straight on to a combination, the left shoulder loading on the harness building, while the helmet begs to head toward the A pillar. The left front tire strains under the workload of changing the car’s direction while continuing to decelerate, its growl of rubber doing everything to interlock with the track surface picks up an octave from the additional lateral load, the steering effort building, sensed through the hands, wrists, forearms, biceps, triceps, and shoulders. Left arm, shoulder and hip attack the side of the seat as the foot finally and gently eases off the brake pedal, maximizing corner effort, the left rear tire beginning to take its share of the lateral load. Squeezing into the throttle, the steering effort lightens almost unnoticeably, but the fine-tuned receptors in the arms sense the subtle difference, indicating a hint of understeer, the car not changing direction the desired amount. Muscle memory stored in the brain’s database triggered the instant the steering wheel is turned more, only to realize it’s not making a difference, so it rotates it minutely back the opposite direction, a seemingly tiny flick of the wheel, feeding more information to the brain. The progressive application of the throttle hesitates, momentarily halting the rearward load transfer, assisting the lessened steering angle and the car responds, clipping past the apex on the ideal arc towards the blackened red and white exit curb. Head turned and eyes aimed towards the straightaway, instantly scanning back towards the second-to-last red panel of the curbing, just beyond the darkest and most heavily rubber-ed area, and then flicking back up the track again, back and forth, scanning from target back to next waypoint and back again. On the ideal arc, throttle progressively and aggressively heading to 100%, the subtle relaxing of the steering effort begins. The big ask is now of the rear tires, the goal being a hurried launch out of the corner; a momentary rotation of the car as the rears struggle to keep up with the front tires, and an immediate response of increased unwinding of the steering wheel to increase the radius of line, vision directing the way, and a subtle relaxing of lateral g-loads indicating the nearing of the end of the corner. Left-side tires climbing the exit curbing, the fronts parallel with the outer edge fractions of an inch from the dirt, vibrations felt through the entire car, but especially the steering wheel, matching the change in tire noise. Easing off the curbing onto the asphalt, click up to 3rd gear, eyes straining for the next corner....
Imagine that. Imagine that times ten or so corners, times twenty or so laps, and on each one the track and other cars around you change. The thrill, the managed (and sometimes not managed) anxiety, the physical and mental challenge, the focus, the pure joy in the moment. Prior to and afterward, the smiles, the conversations with fellow drivers, the stories, the cars. Imagine that. Recall it, because I know you’ve experienced it all.
Now imagine not being able to do that. What are you doing to ensure you can continue to do it?
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