Following our catered lunch and my feeble attempts at “muscle car” talk with the other race-car junkies, we headed back out to the track. This time I was able to sit in the passenger seat of three different vehicles and experience what these sports cars are really made of. Carl Buckland, a lawyer by day, speed demon by night, took me out in an older Porsche, embellished with expensive flat, black paint and colorful decals.

The inside was stripped down to the bones to keep the car as light as possible. I have to admit I got a little worried when the seat harness took nearly five minutes to fasten and there was a fire extinguisher strapped to the floor near my feet. Oh boy had I been wrong in my preconceived judgment of race car drivers. The roar of the engine made it impossible to be heard, but Carl drove it smoothly and unbelievably fast. I was holding on tight and couldn’t help but let out an occasional “woooooohoooo!”

My next venture in the driver’s seat brought out my competitive nature. I was hoping for top speeds. After a few laps around the track I pushed the engine into fifth gear (I hadn’t traveled above third all day) and took the speedometer to a screaming 122 mph! It was exhilarating! But excitement turned to trepidation when the braking points came up quickly and I hadn’t put on the brakes quite hard enough. I went around the turn too fast and not having learned from my previous mistakes, I spun out again. This time the spin took my breath away. The car spun around and around a few times and went into the dirt. The dust went flying as we came to a halt. John Scharf, my instructor smiled sheepishly at me as I asked, “what happenedfi” We were both covered in a fine layer of dirt. He told me to wipe the dirt from the windshield and it was back in the saddle again. We laughed about that for the rest of the day and I must say, I didn’t allow it to hold me back. The track was fun and the car was powerful. It was something I had never experienced and it was exhilarating to try it!

My day ended with the proverbial, “icing on the cake” — an invitation to get into a real Porsche-made racecar, driven by Bob Read. That man sure knows how to drive a car! Bob mainly races in California and Las Vegas, yet he knew every turn of the Miller track! Again, I had to strap into more seatbelts than a baby carrier and hold on for dear life as he cranked the engine to roaring speeds. The turns were smooth at a mere 80 to 105 mph, but it felt like we would surely lift off as we hit the straight-aways at a paltry 145 mph. The G-forces slammed me back against my seat as I gleefully cheered him on. It was a magnificent experience, one that is seared into my memory. I highly recommend this form of entertainment to anyone wanting to stand their hair on end, sweat literal bullets and come away with a smile that not even driving home at a plodding 65 mph can erase.