I have this problem. An obsession. I can’t get it out of my head. It even keeps me awake at night. Sometimes I find myself daydreaming about it. Actually, it’s sort of embarrassing to bring it up - especially among friends. But my therapist says admission is the first step toward recovery. So, I’ve decided to come out of the closet. Sometime, somewhere, I have to drive the perfect lap.

And I know you know what I mean. That one perfect lap when everything moves in slow motion. When for a few brief minutes you literally wear the car like a body suit, feeling every speck of dust on the pavement, every millimeter of suspension movement, and every ounce of horsepower. The car doesn’t just talk to you, you are the car. When you can accelerate flat-out until absolutely the last possible instant then stand the car on its nose at precisely the right moment. When you nail every turn-in and hit every apex, carrying exactly the right line through every turn. When your corner exits are so clean and so strong that the car naturally power-drifts out to the last inch of pavement, so close to the edge that the marker cones get sucked out onto the track in your wake for everyone else to dodge. When you know without question that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that you could have done better. Perfect for one entire trip around the track. I only have to do it once. But I have to do it once. The perfect lap. That is my quest.

So I’ve come to Texas World Speedway in search of the perfect lap. I made the same pilgrimage to TWS last year and it was a fantastic learning experience - but I was just a rookie. I’d never even been on a racetrack before and I’d only owned a Pantera for two weeks. I was too inexperienced and too in awe of the car and the track to realize why I was there. But this time I know. The perfect lap is out there somewhere. I have to find it.

TWS 2001, Day 1

Saturday morning had begun very early because I had neglected to make a Friday night hotel reservation until it was too late. Fred Hall (who also forgot to make a reservation) and I had been forced to drive to College Station to attend the TWS driver’s orientation Friday evening and then returned to Houston afterwards. After a very late Friday night, Kate (my 7 yr old daughter) and I got up at 5 am to make the 1_ hour drive from northwest Houston to the TWS facility. We met up with Kirby Schrader and Fred Hall along the way and after filling the cars with gas and the tummies with McDonalds, we caravaned to the track together. The weather was not exactly cooperating as ugly storms were forecast for the day but we managed to make it to the track without getting dumped on. Somewhere along the way the right side taillights on my car decided to quit working but I figured half lit was OK as I was sandwiched between the two other Panteras anyway.

The weather and lighting problems were quickly forgotten as soon as we arrived at the TWS front gate and lined up behind 20 or 30 very impressive cars - Porsches, Corvettes, Vipers, Ferraris, Audis, BMWs, not to mention at least three Panteras. After signing a liability waiver, we were waved one-by-one through to the track. The driver’s entrance leads through a double tunnel that passes underneath the TWS banked oval. By law (well OK, maybe by convention), everyone is required to rev their engine going through the tunnel. The Panteras are the clear winners in the cool engine sound category.

I’m assigned to the ‘Blue’ group (one baby-step up from the green group I was in last year), which is staged last among the 5 driving groups. So I have time to check fluids levels, tire pressures, lug nuts, etc. before taking the Pantera out to thrash it on the track. I only have about 1200 miles on an engine that I spent much of the fall and early winter building, so I want make sure that everything is OK. The new engine has so far been running great and it has pulled strong well past 6000 rpm in my limited street testing. But it is barely broken in and I want to limit the abuse — initially at least. So I decide to insert a 5700-rpm plug in my MSD rev limiter to help keep my evil half somewhat under control. I can always raise it later. I even have time to figure out that a blown fuse has taken out the taillights — and I have a spare fuse to fix it. Life is good.

The first track session is uneventful. The track is damp and everyone drives pretty slowly trying to learn the turns and feel out the slippery surface. Several cars spin anyway. Not me though. I’ve got everything under control. Since my trip to TWS last year, I’ve removed the spring spacers which lowered the car by more than an inch, installed a larger GTS rear swaybar, and increased the tire widths all around by two sizes (to 225/50-15 front and 265/50-15 rear) courtesy of some hand-me-down Euro T/As from Kirby Schrader. I’ve also added a chin spoiler to hold the nose down just in case I get going really, really fast on that banked front straight. Two weekends ago I replaced one lower ball-joint and both front wheel bearings. The suspension is tight. So in spite of the damp track, I can already tell that the car is handling much better than a year ago. It almost feels like I’m driving a completely different car. This is starting to get fun.

By the second blue session, the cars are moving faster as everyone’s confidence grows and the cornering line is dried by traffic. Over the course of several laps I begin gradually increasing my speed and am hitting 125 or so on the front straight. I can also hear the tires screech from grazing the inner fender sheetmetal as the suspension tries to absorb the fairly brutal impact of flying down off the front banking onto the infield. But I’m on a mission — I’m not stopping for any stinking bent sheetmetal. Quickly though, I manage to screw up Turn 6 with a late turn-in, which forces me into an awkward high apex — and right through a wet spot. Whoops, here I go off the track backwards into the mud. Luckily, I was able to get the car back on the pavement without a tow truck but had to hot pit to discuss the slip-n-slide episode with the track chief. He’s very understanding and tells me to be careful because the track is damp and slick. No kidding! While inspecting the car John (my instructor) points out that both front fender lips have been damaged from tire contact. Portions of the inner fender edges were now pointed straight down instead being inside the fender where they belong. At least the tires aren’t damaged. OK, OK. Time for some bodywork. The perfect lap is on hold.

I limp back into the pits. There is an incredible amount of activity in the paddock. All the Panteras are parked within eyesight of each other and everyone is busy helping everyone else with their cars. John Taphorn’s floor jack is probably the most popular tool in the paddock. John also notices that his nearly new throwout bearing is whining loudly— hopefully it’ll last through tomorrow. Gray Gregory and Tom Upton both end up replacing rear tires on their Pantera racers with fresh rubber. Nick Sakulenzki is running tachless because he’s afraid the tach cooked his old MSD control box and he is protecting the replacement. Jack Tunnel has finally worked all (well, most) of the bugs out of his GT-5 racer. While bleeding his brakes, Fred Hall realizes that his home made master cylinder lid is not sealing properly but fixes it with a Gray Gregory donated plastic tie. Jim Narum and his daughter Amy are doing a brisk business selling great looking Team Pantera Racing t-shirts from inside one of the garage bays. Kirby Schrader is convinced the rain is gone and decides to mount his racing slicks. Dennis Coffman is busy scrapping mud off his tires and underbody — the result of sliding off the track backwards into the muck the same way I did. Gary Hall is showing off his new pre-production billet EFI setup that had been recently installed on ‘Big Red’. Dennis Jones is proud of his newly finished yellow Pantera, which he resurrected from about 50 cardboard boxes worth of disassembled parts over an eight-month period. Visiting California dignitaries Mike Drew and Dennis Antenucci lent a hand wherever needed. Number one daughter Kate even chipped in to soothe the wounded egos of those who had visited the unpaved portions of the track by collecting driver autographs.

My wife Marilyn arrived from Houston with number two daughter Caroline (2.5 yrs) in tow just as I yanked the wheels off the Pantera to work on the fenders. Caroline wanders straight over to one of the Porsches and borrows some wrenches for me to use. Hmmm. Brand new, shiny Snap-on wrenches. Those can’t belong to any of the Pantera guys. We all use K-Mart stuff. I have to run over and put the wrenches back quickly before anyone notices. Then while I’m standing around puzzled over how to repair my bent front fender lips, Joe Carothers, renown Pantera sheetmetal expert, grabs a 2X4 and claw hammer and somehow whacks the fender lips back to their pre-TWS position without damaging the paint. Cool.

The track shuts down for lunch and all the Panteras gather on the banked front straight for a group photo. Fourteen of the fifteen Panteras present are lined up very impressively in front of the ‘Texas World Speedway’ lettering on the front straight wall. The missing Pantera belongs to Gray Gregory who forgot that he brought two Panteras to TWS this year and the racer gets left in the paddock all alone. The Panteras draw tremendous interest from the spectators and even the other drivers. There must about 30 people up on the pit wall snapping pictures. It’s kind of amazing that Tom Taajarda’s now 30 year old design has held up so well.

Unfortunately, the Pantera photo session ended up taking so much time that the normal parade lap was postponed until Sunday. Kate and Caroline are so disappointed that they don’t get to ride around the track in dad’s Vantera (as they call it) that they both break down in big boo-hoo tears. I patch things somewhat by promising that they can both come back tomorrow and go racing in the Vantera. The chocolate cookies from the nice lady in the Suburban, who can’t stand to hear little girls cry either, also helped.

The first afternoon run session ends after only a few laps when I hear the now familiar screech of tires hitting sheetmetal. A quick pit shows that the fender lip repairs were only temporary and I have to pull back into the garage area.

My relatively soft stock springs/shocks are taking a real smack coming down off the banking at the end of the front straight. The front tires must be grabbing the fender lips as the suspension rebounds, bending them down and out. I pull the wheels off again and carefully use the 2X4 and claw hammer technique to force the fender lips back in place, bending them in a little tighter than before.

I finished tightening the lug nuts just as the PA announcer called the blue group to grid for the next session. I jump in the car and insert the key to start it. What!!! The ignition switch won’t turn. Jiggle, jiggle. Nothing. I can’t get the car started! I get out and start walking around and around my obviously cursed car, totally confused. This has never happened before. Back in the car. Jiggle, jiggle. JIGGLE, JIGGLE. Well, walking in circles around the car didn’t seem to fix it either. How can I drive the perfect lap if my car won’t start?

Mike Drew sees me walking circles around the car for the third or fourth time and asks if he can help. I ask if he knows anything about Pantera ignition switches. That’s a dumb question — Mike knows every piece of Pantera trivia there is. He tells me it’s a common problem and that I can fix it with a paper clip. Yeah, right! Mike then bums a paper clip from Corvette Bob and hands it to me, tells me to bend it into an ‘L’ and stick it into the key slot. Then do some more of that jiggle, jiggle with the switch till it pops out. I’m skeptical of all this witch-doctor voodoo stuff but since I’ve already tried walking around and around the car and that didn’t work, I stick the bent paper clip in the key slot and pull. Pop — the switch cylinder jumps right into position. Amazing. I start the car and quickly head out to the track but I can only get in a couple of easy laps before the session ends. I know that perfect lap is out there, I can feel it. Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow.

TWS 2001, Day 2

Sunday morning is beautiful. All hints of yesterday’s rain are gone and the pavement is finally dry and fast. My first session out though is interrupted again by tire/fender contact. Arrrrgg!! Back to the pits. I come to the realization that I’m not going to be able to push the car unless I can get some more tire clearance. I pull the front wheels off and finally get serious with John Taphorn’s claw hammer. No more Mr. protect-the-paint nice guy. As carefully as I can, I smash the fender lips flat against the inside of the fenders. Well, it looks OK from the outside but the paint on the inside of the fender lips is pretty much broken loose. But I can fix that at home. And I’m pretty sure the tire’s not going to hit it any more. I have to sit and wait for my next turn on the track.

After a few warm-up laps early in the next session, I’m really starting to cook. I’ve got the lines through the corners down pretty well and am driving each lap a little quicker than the one before. Coming out of the carousel (Turn 10) I realize that I’m actually two thirds of the way through my perfect lap. The orange cone marking the apex at Turn 11 flashes past just inches from the left side tires of my Pantera, so close I could have touched it with my hand. I accelerate through the blind, off-camber exit of Turn 11 and drift out to the extreme outside edge of the pavement. Down the hill, straighten up, then hard on the brakes to set up for the sharp left-hand Turn 12, which is followed quickly by the equally sharp right-handed Turn 13. Then I dive into the last two S-curves leading up to the banked front straight trying to carry as much speed as possible out of Turn 15 so I can hit the straight full on.

Slam the throttle to the floor just as the concrete wall lining the straight comes into view on my right. Yowee — too much, too soon and I end up sideways at about 70 mph. My instincts take over (mistake!) and my foot lifts off the throttle all by itself (very big mistake!). The car whips around in a slow-motion 1_-rotation spin. At least I somehow smashed my foot on the clutch fast enough that the engine is still running. I’m so impressed with myself for not killing the engine that it doesn’t register instantly that I’m still cruising onto the front straight at about 40 mph — BACKWARDS. My instructor calmly reminds me to hit the brakes before we hit the wall, a task that I manage to execute cleanly. Then we sit still and quiet for a few seconds off-line while I catch my breath and admire my still good oil pressure. I watch all the cars that I’d just passed zip through the cloud of tire smoke. Stinky stuff that tire smoke. I hope it eats their paint off.

Just when I thought I had the track down cold and the perfect lap was in my grasp, I’ve managed to stupidly spin the car. Even worse, I’ve spun right in front of the paddock where there are about 15 people with cameras, including my wife (who thinks the car’s on fire) and two kids (who think all the smoke is a really cool magic trick). Everyone points and waves as I slink past on my way to get a verbal spanking from the track boss for doing donuts on his nice, clean TWS pavement. My confidence bubble is seriously popped. But at least my fender contact problem seems to be cured. I’m going drive to the next session clean. I’m determined.

As it turned out, Marilyn and the girls had just arrived after driving back to TWS for the parade lap that had been postponed from Saturday. After making sure my tires weren’t flat spotted from the 70 mph spin, I quickly strap both girls into the passenger seat and we line up on the grid for the parade lap. Finally we motor off, well behind the pickup truck which was leading us around (at least it was a Ford pickup). The girls are absolutely beaming even though they are not really tall enough to see out the windows very well. To their credit, they want to go faster and are disappointed when I tell them it’s not a real race. Obviously they have the right genes. Marilyn is able to bum a ride with Mike Drew, who’s bummed Gray Gregory’s street Pantera away from Dennis Antenucci, who bummed it from Gray originally. It’s all in the family, right? After a couple of fun laps we stop and eat lunch. The white run group begins gridding up as we are finishing our sandwiches. The Sunday afternoon track sessions are about to begin. I’m running out of time.

OK. This is it. I’m going to do it. I know the car. I know the track. That perfect lap is right in front of me. I’ve already seen it, touched it. And I pick up right where I left off in the last session. After a couple of decent but not great opening laps, I scream down the front straight touching 135, brake for Turn 1 and slam into the infield (no ugly tire screeching noises this time). Brake hard and then rip through Turn 2 accelerating hard. Suddenly, I’m right on Dennis Antenucci’s bumper. I follow him through Turn 3 and decide I’m going to take him on the straight following Turn 6. But Mad Dog fakes me out by slowing and then waving me to pass — in a no passing zone. I fall for it and pass him between Turns 3 and 4. Then I scream through Turns 5 and 6 before my instructor tells me I’ve been black flagged. We look at each other and both instantly realize that the Mad Dog pass was illegal. Dohh!!

So I cruise the rest of the way around the track and pull into the hot pit, nervous that I may get ejected or something — especially since I’ve been in there so many times that they know my name. The track boss is busy on the radio so we end up sitting for a minute or two before he comes over to the car. I’m surprised that he’s really reasonable and just reminds me of where the passing zones are and tells me not to do it again. Apparently I’m not the only one to pass Mad Dog illegally. He’s been waving everyone by. But the track guys on the radios have figured out MD’s plan to get everyone else off the track so he can have it all to himself. So they black flag Mad Dog instead.

And I’m free to go! There’s still time. But while accelerating out of the hot pit towards the track my engine suddenly shuts down completely. We coast to a stop on the edge of the pit road. Hit the starter. The engine spins but doesn’t even pop. I look over my shoulder through the back glass at the fuel pressure gauge. The gauge reads zero. No fuel pressure at all. I guess the fuel in the line boiled while we were waiting in the hot pit and when I jumped on it to get back on the track quickly, I burned up what was in the float bowls before the fuel pump could repressurize the lines. Vapor locked!

I give up. I’m cursed. The car’s cursed. It’s not going to happen. I’m not going to drive the perfect lap. And to heap insult on injury, I have to walk about a quarter mile back to the garage without my car. I’m now seriously depressed.

After a half an hour or so I walk back down to the car and hit the starter. Varoom. It starts right up and I drive it back to the Pantera parking area where most folks are loading up to go home. There’s still one track session left on the schedule but most everyone has decided they’ve had enough. But even though I’ve given up on the perfect lap, I can’t quite pass on the last track session. I decide I’m going out — but I’m going to take it slow and easy and just work on driving a smooth, clean last session so I can at least go home on a positive note.

So I picked up John my instructor and we headed out onto the track. I really intended to just cruise the track a few more times before heading home. I didn’t want to break the car during the last session because, like everyone else on the track, I was getting tired. I still needed to be able to drive the car home. I guess gradually though I began lapping more and more quickly. I honestly don’t even remember noticing how quickly I was driving until near the end of the session when instructor John mentioned it. Those last two laps around TWS, I did it. Two perfect laps. They were so smooth it was almost like a Sunday drive. A really, really fast Sunday drive. But I was concentrating so hard on driving that I almost didn’t even notice that I’d done it. I had to sit in the car for a minute after shutting it down in the garage to suck it all in. Then I got out and did a spontaneous little fist-pump dance. Too cool!

Epilogue

I don’t have any illusions that I’m the fastest, best driver on this or any other track. I know for sure that I’m not. But I do know that for two laps at Texas World Speedway on Sunday February 25, 2001, I drove the absolute best that I could drive. A brief moment of perfection. That’s not something I will soon forget.

But now the bar has been raised. I’ve come to realize that the next perfect lap is out there somewhere. I have to find it.

So I still have this problem. An obsession. I can’t get it out of my head. It even keeps me awake at night. Sometimes I find myself daydreaming about it. Sometime, somewhere, I have to drive the perfect lap.

Who is with me!