The day I survived a downpour grinding gears in a Formula car
Laguna Seca Raceway, Salinas, 1996
My brush with the world of motorsports was a mere blip on life’s radar. I hadn’t pursued the lessons one learns during a three-hour Formula car racing school. It just happened, for me and a colleague, John Hermosillo, in 1996. We worked at the Salinas Californian newspaper and our boss, executive editor Mike Chihak, selected us as employees of the month. Our prize? A Russell Racing Test Drive at Laguna Seca Raceway’s Russell Racing School.
I accepted the award with some hesitation, worrying not so much whether I could actually drive the car, but rather could I squeeze my full-figured self into the cockpit. But it sounded fun, and I knew I would never be able to live with myself if I turned down a shot to drive around the famed racetrack. So I chose to put my foot firmly on the gas, go with it and just have fun.
Class day arrived: It was April 1. And it was wet. The forecast for rain was spotty — it was hard to pinpoint exactly when showers — or even hard rain — would come along. Would this go well, I wondered? There couldn’t possibly be any cruel jokes awaiting me on this day, could there?
Our instructor started the day with a lesson on the cars and the racetrack. Drivers were handed zip-up fireproof coveralls to wear over our clothing. It was early afternoon, as I recall, by the time we went to the track, where two rows of Formula race cars were lined up. I faintly remember swapping an expression of doubt with John as each Test Drive student climbed into their assigned vehicles. I also recall a lack of concern about the weather on the part of anyone running the school. Us drivers essentially were told to take it slow and easy.
It was a tight fit but I managed to wedge myself into my Formula car. The lack of legroom made it hard for me to push the pedals, but I figured I’d be able to do it. We were given helmets with a clear slide-down plastic window to cover the open rectangular “eyehole” on the front. I was wearing my regular prescription eyeglasses that I use for nearsightedness, so they were pretty much essential for focused driving.
“Start engine” time had arrived. A few minutes later, so would the rain.
Each driver would make about five trips around the track. Early on things were fine — driving the straightaways were easy at low speeds like 35-40 mph. I followed the other drivers just fine through the gentler turns as well as famed Turn 11, also known as the Corkscrew. The biggest challenge on Lap 1 was trying not to grind the gears.
As Lap 2 rolled around, the speeds on the track began to increase. I pressed on the gas pedal more firmly as well, wanting to feel the thrill of driving a fast car on a legendary racetrack. But the excitement was short lived: I began to feel uneasy, gripping the wheel as the darkening skies posed a quickly mounting threat. Mist was fogging up my eyeglasses. I reached through the window on the helmet to wipe the fog off my eyeglass lenses, trying to keep pace with the pack as my visibility — and anxiety — began to worsen. Making it safely through the initial straightaway, I entered the more curvy parts of the track, squinting through my wet eyeglasses as I tried to keep one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. I strained more and more to see what was in front of me, to get a good view of where the lines on the track were, and to stay aware of the other cars around me. So far I was keeping it together fairly well as my nerves were being tested more than my driving skills. Perhaps, I thought, the rain would let up a little over the next few minutes so I could finish another couple of laps without a rising flood of danger to my health, and without being a risk to other drivers rounding the track with me.
But my hopes for a calm cruise to the finish while controlling this open-cockpit death trap were soon dashed as Lap 3 arrived. It didn’t get easier. It got worse. The rain picked up, now coming at an angle straight into my eyes. I got through the straightaway but began to think I needed to take some kind of safety measure, such as pulling over, as I really could not see for shit. But it was too late, for the curves on the track made it too difficult to pull over to the right and get out of the way. I slowed way down, possibly spoiling the fun for the drivers who seemed to be circling the track with ease. By this point I was in survival mode, not caring as much about the welfare of others. I think it was this lap where I began screaming into the damp, dank void, begging God to let me live through this and not send my car into a tailspin or into another driver.
You might be wondering why I simply didn’t slide down the window on my helmet … well, I tried that. It fogged up, too, making the obscured vision twice as bad as the single whammy of having my eyeglasses get all wet. So, no solution there. It was wet eyeglasses or nothing. Going without the glasses altogether was another option, but that meant having my eyeballs pelted with rain. And the rain seemingly was growing worse at the most inopportune time.
As we started Lap 4 I recall not having anywhere to retreat from the pack, continuing through the straightaway. The lap was a repeat of Lap 3, but with more terror and more screaming into the void. I simply could not see in front of me. This time I didn’t beg for God to save me, I just accepted the possibility that there was a good chance I would be dying that day. “I’m gonna die,” I screamed. I felt like there was no way out. I was getting soaked in the misery of an experience that should have been so much fun. Hit the brakes, downshift, hit the brakes, look for tail lights to follow … and just hope to live to see another day.
As Lap 4 was completed, I realized I was still alive, and wondered how many more laps I’d have to endure before this joyride-turned-nightmare would be over. I seem to remember entering the opening straightaway for a fifth lap, one that went very much like Laps 3 and 4. It was a final lap of hanging on for dear life amid the poor visibility, seeing the finish line in my mind’s eye and picturing myself climbing out of the noisy little race car with all my limbs intact and my sanity in check. I would, in fact, make it to the end, where we were directed to pull into a finish lane to disembark. I had never felt so grateful to be alive up to that point in my life.
I didn’t get a chance that day to check with John, my co-worker, as to how smooth a ride he had driven. He left the track before I could talk to him. For me it was still another work day: I went home, decompressed a bit, and went to work about 5 p.m. for the remainder of my swing shift on the Californian’s copy desk. I didn’t say anything about my experience to my co-workers — I thought it would sound like I was complaining and whining. So it ended up being just another night at work.
Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that on this April Fool’s Day, the joke had been on me. Mother Nature … yeah, she can be a hoot all right.
- According to extremeweatherwatch.com, Monterey’s rainfall that day was .47 inches. A quick look at the rest of the month of April 1996 shows that April 1 was by far the rainiest day that month. Of course it would be.
Remembering John Hermosillo (1965-2014)
https://www.facebook.com/john.hermosillo.65
https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/127932704/john-christopher-hermosillo
It's My Serve 