When Volkswagen announced it’s Spektrum color program for the Golf R for deliveries in 2019, I was pumped. I had always lusted after the hottest of the hot hatches, but I didn’t like the standard VW blue offered for the R—it was too purple for my tastes. I wanted one of the older blues, and when I saw I could order the Deep Blue Pearl (which I remembered from the 2004 R32), I happily put down my $1000 deposit with my local dealer and started to anticipate the day it would arrive. I thought I was waiting for my dream car.
Anticipating the delivery of a car is kind of fun. You get on these car forums and listen to the rumors and then real stories, with pictures, about people taking delivery. By early spring 2019, people were regularly reporting on getting their cars … but none in Deep Blue Pearl. I called Justin at Pignataro—okay, I may have called him every several weeks—to see if he could give me any timeline on when my car would arrive. And he couldn’t. He seemed to have no more visibility into it than I did. By early June, I was chomping at the bit.
And then, on June 14, a call from Justin. I figured the car had arrived. But when he said, “I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news,” I kind of knew which news it was going to be for me. Sure enough: “The good news is I can have you in a Golf R next week.” And then: “The bad news is, VW decided not to make all the Spektrum colors it had originally anticipated, but I can get you in one in Welch’s Grape Soda [note: my name, not the official VW name] or X [some other color I didn’t give a shit about].”
All this trouble to put in the special order, all this anticipation for a car that I’d been kind of longing for ever since I owned my first VW, a 1977 Rabbit, that I just adored. I told him I’d need a day to think about it.
And then I drove straight down to the BMW dealership. You see, I was in a lease on a 428ix Gran Coupe, and my lease was up in several weeks. It was a pleasant enough car, but underpowered, maybe a tad too big, and just a little sedate. I had planned to turn the car in but now … I might as well see what was available.
The salesman heard what I was after and correctly pointed me to the M235i (I think, or was it the 240 by this point?). I was sold and we sat down to start the paperwork when the salesman said—and here’s where the clouds part and the ray of light shoots across the landscape and the angels start to sing—“Oh, before we do this, I just realized that we got an M2 in today and the guy decided not to take it, so that’s also available.”
At this point my memory gets a little funky. I’m pretty sure I tried to play it cool. I’m pretty sure I didn’t say, “The M2! The M2! The car I drove down at the M Driving School last year and swore that if it ever came available I had to have it,” only to be told that the waiting list for the car was two years long and the best I could hope for is that it might be my lucky day to walk into the dealership on the day someone who ordered one decided not to take delivery. That M2? Yeah, okay, I suppose I could take a look.
It was fresh off the truck, the protective padding all over the car, only a few sections of the body even visible. It was in Long Beach Blue, 6 speed manual, my dream configuration on my dream car. Honestly, it had a bunch of options I wouldn’t have chosen: the sun roof or the executive package that lifted the speed limiter and threw in a day at the M School. But I didn’t get to choose this car. It chose me.
I could bore you with more details: how my wife, who was there with me, simply said: “It’s your dream car, you’ve got to do it”; how we had to register it in her name because I’d forgotten my driver’s license; how we stopped down at the local Bank of America to grab a $10,000 cash down payment.
All I know is that a little while later, we were leaving the lot, me grinning ear to ear, driving my dream car. And I’ve been digging it ever since.
A track is a track is a track, right? You’ve got your straightaways, your curves, the pit, the paddock.
It’s like football fields: they’re all 100 yards long, end zones, sidelines. The playing field is the same at the high school down the street as it is at the Orange Bowl or Heinz Field in Pittsburgh.
The components are the same … and yet there are some fields, some tracks, that just seem a little bigger, a little more epic, where the game is played at a higher level. Laguna Seca is that kind of track.
You approach the track from the valley floor, turning off the Monterey Salinas Highway and winding your way up the 16% grade to the entry gates before topping out and peering over into a large bowl (a former lake bed) filled with track.
If you’re a race fan or a gamer, all the sights and signs are immediately familiar: the WeatherTech Laguna Seca banners on the bridges and the famous Corkscrew sign high up on the hill that obscures the actual corkscrew, one of the most famous turns in racing, from view.
And then you enter the paddock, first crossing over the straight that separates Turns 5 and 6, then winding down into the lake bottom and into the massive parking lot in the center of the track. As the driver of a modest BMW M2 Competition, I wasn’t expecting to be the belle of the ball, but holy shit, there are some cars here! There’s a whole row of race prepped 911s of one type or another (I’m going to disappoint my Porsche friends by failing to distinguish them all), the dominant make among a smattering of other cars: Mustangs, a Camaro, some BMWs, Audis, a Caterham. The garages—there are 24 bays—are filled with the real precious cars, with more GT2RS models than you can count, Audi R8s, and real race cars as well, a stock car (that I neglected to photograph), and an LMP2 car I believe. Outside the bays are the massive trucks used to haul them in, some of them combining full RVs alongside the car storage. Hell, many of the “support cars” that pull up put my little M car to shame.
And then there are the really special cars (and drivers): a Gunther Werks 993 piloted by none other than the nicest race car driver on earth, Randy Pobst. Pobst holds track records for most makes of cars at Laguna Seca (including the M2, at 1:40.83) and he set one in the air-cooled 993 at 1:30.99. Pobst rolled up to the track in the most modest rent-a-car you can imagine—was it a Chevy Sonic?—and walked around and said hello to everyone. We should all be so comfortable in our own skin.
The other stunner was a McLaren Senna that was trailered into the paddock late in the day Saturday and immediately caught everybody’s eye. I’ve seen the car in the mags, but to see and hear it up close—the dazzling technology, the bold aero, the rip of the engine—made all the difference.
But enough of the wide-eyed gushing. Neither I nor anyone else were here to be car fans; we were here to drive.
Track Day on Steroids
The weekend’s event was run by Exclusive Track Days, led by former pro driver Ace Robey and his excellent crew. All I can say is, these guys take the normal track day conventions and turn them up to 11. There were three run groups—Race, A, and B—and even in the B group that I ran in, people were out for speed. The ETD guys jammed 7 sessions into the day and it wasn’t a question of whether you could get your money’s worth; the question was, did you have the stamina to run all 7? Not everybody did.
Laguna Seca has 11 turns, but the one that loomed largest in my mind as I lined up for our first session was Turn 8, the famous corkscrew. So as we set out of pit lane for a yellow-flag, get-to-know-the-course lap, the early corners were a blur until we climbed the hill toward Turn 7 and then set up for the hard left and the roller-coaster ride down the corkscrew. It was every bit as steep as expected … and yet, it wasn’t really all that scary. You had to scrub speed to make the first turn, and from there it was just like falling off a log—only with a lime green GT3 glued to your ass, itching to get by. What I soon came to recognize was how much I had to learn on all the rest of the course.
The first session on a new track is always a bit of a blur for me. No matter how much I prep for the day by watching track videos and studying racing lines, there is simply no substitute for having wheels on the ground. You simply can’t prepare for the elevation change, the sight lines, the sheer texture of the surface … all the things that make reality so much more compelling than the virtual experiences. I love the preparation for track time, the videos, the games, reading track tips, but it all pales next to the visceral thrill of finding out how fast you can go and how hard you can brake in the real world.
What surprised me then was that Turn 8 wasn’t so scary, but Turn 1, a slight turn to the left, scared the crap out of me! Coming out of Turn 11 it was full throttle down the straightaway, up a hill toward the slight Turn 1, knowing you couldn’t see what lay beyond. You knew you should keep your speed up, but dammit you just didn’t know what lay over that hill until you’d done it time and time again. It took me at least a dozen laps before I got over the pucker factor going up over that hill and finally trusted that I could keep my foot to the floor, only lifting once I completed the turns and straightened the wheel for the hard braking into Turn 2. It made me feel a lot better that even more experienced drivers like Thad “Land Baron” Berger had to get over the heebie jeebies on this one.
Mark Manson, the author of the book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, says that the secret to a happy life is finding interesting problems to solve—and that’s what makes driving on a track so damned fun. A race track is a whole bunch of interesting problems, all strung together in a row. There are so many variables: placement on track, where you turn in, where you apex, where you track out. The moment you solve one problem and think you’ve got it mastered, next level problems show themselves. You’ve got visual cues that you need to learn, sound cues as your tires tag the rumble strips, and you’ve got that mysterious sensation that we call “seat of the pants” that tells you when you’ve figured out the best path through a turn. I think it must be that endless depth of interesting problems that keeps people like Randy Pobst coming back to a track again and again.
The biggest problem you’ve got to solve is the one in your head. You’ve got to be confident enough to hold your speed going over the hill in Turn 1, and then brave enough to hold off on braking too early in Turn 2. You’ve got to trust your grip going into Turn 9, which looks so simple and yet proved to be one of the most difficult turns for me to unlock. There’s a mental game to every corner on the track, and you have to match that to your technical approach. Sounds a lot like life, doesn’t it?
All of day one, I just tried to “solve” one or two corners per session, trying different entry and exit points, different braking points, etc. Anybody who thinks guys are not talkative should hear the between session banter—we all compare notes about how we’re approaching parts of the track, and even the most experienced drivers are eager to learn and improve. Everybody talks their drive a little differently, and this makes it worthwhile to listen to as many different people as you can. Doug Steding (who is a serious student of technique) had a driving coach there named Robert Orcutt whose approach was smart, subtle, and low-key; he may have been coaching Doug, but he was so generous with his insights that all of us learned something. Other people told you how to read a curve; Robert asked questions—Where did you set up? What did you look for? Where did you track out?—and led you to unlock it for yourself.
At some point, I don’t want any more talk; I want to get out and feel the road.
What a treat to have a second day on the same track. I was able to sleep on all I learned on day one, and then day two felt like heaven. The nerves were gone and I was already fairly happy with how I was doing, so I felt like I could really just lean in and get into the flow of the track. The feeling I had on a number of laps on day two, when it felt like all the turns linked together seamlessly and I didn’t have to think, just drive—I’m smiling just thinking about it.
As the turns became more familiar, as I was able to see and feel more of the details, it became easier to take some of the coaching from pro driver Andrew Evans and put it right into practice. The world needs more people like Andrew—who along with beloved Avants leader Adam Cramer organized the trip. Despite being a rising star in prototype racing, Andrew was incredibly patient and gracious with all of the drivers from Avants. I wasn’t ready for the help he offered on day one, but mid-way through day two I was ready to sit down and listen to him unlock some of the corners I had been struggling to come to terms with. The feeling I got when I finally nailed Turn 6 (brake at the second marker, turn, keep your wheel just off the curb, and right back on the gas) was one of the highlights of the day.
At the end of the fifth session on day two, Jeff Hsu and I were debating whether we really had anything left. I’d put two wheels off the track between Turn 2 and 3 in the previous session and it had shaken my focus, and I wasn’t sure I had the stamina to stay focused and sharp for another session. But we bucked each other up and went out for session 6, and both of us had real strong runs. For me, it was some of my best flow of the whole day.
At the end, I was wrung out, track drunk, ready to chill. First, I had tires to change …
Prior to November 2nd, I would have told you I didn’t have a bucket list, or I would have at least scorned calling it a “bucket list.” Partly it’s the 2007 movie with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freemen, which just seemed stupid; partly I think life is just too spontaneous to have a list of things you’ll check off as you go. But I’ve kept a running list of mountains that I want to climb, places that I want to visit, and (naturally) race courses that I want to drive on. The Nürburgring; Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps; Interlagos. But one above all else: Laguna Seca.
So imagine how I felt when I got a message from Adam Cramer at 3:58 PM on Monday, November 1: “Hey Tom, should have sent this to you earlier. Since I know that you are a track junkie, thought you might be interested in the Laguna Seca trip that we have coming up. It’s Nov 21-22. Two days on track at Laguna. Hotel, food, etc. Details here: https://www.avants.com/avants-laguna-seca-driving-experience.”
I was sitting out on the back porch in the sunshine, soaking up this amazing sunny day. I had cajoled Sara to sit out there with me, telling her that this may be the last sunshine we see in a while, and we were enjoying a nice cold martini when the message came in.
“Sara, you’re not going to believe the message I just got,” I began, and quickly laid it out. “Tom,” she replied, “you’ve been wanting to drive on that track all your life. You’ve got to do it.” We took a big gulp about the money and I told Adam, “Hell yes I’ll come.” Let the planning begin!
Now I quickly confirmed with Adam that this wasn’t one of those deals where you showed up and drove other people’s cars, like the Porsche and BMW driving days I’ve done. Nope, this was a bunch of folks from Avants taking their own cars down. So my wheels starting spinning: I was going to have to get my car down there and it was going to have to be track ready.
Job 1 was new brake pads. My last day out at Pacific Raceways I’d really been hammering on the brakes and as the day wore on they were starting to fade, not badly, not dangerously, but enough that on my last session I had to slow down, especially at the end of the long straight, and use my engine braking more. It was good experience, but when I talked to my friends at Broadstroke, our local BMW performance shop, they said this was as good a sign as any that I needed to step up to some track pads.
I’m sure there are some people who would have dug the prospect of comparing specs on the available pads for their car, and would have had all the tools to put them on themselves. But I’m not that guy: I’m a guy who will obsessively watch track videos to try to visualize the perfect line and braking points, hoping that if I drive the track enough times in my head it will be easier when it’s real (generally true, by the way, but it’s also true that the map is not the landscape). But dammit, I’m just not into the mechanical stuff!
Luckily, I belong to some amazing car communities: Avants, first and foremost, but also the BMW CCA Puget Sound Chapter and a group of people I’ve met at track days and at AutoX at Evergreen Speedway. I started pinging my connections there and within a matter of days I had it all figured out: I was going with Carbotech XP 10 and 8 brake pads , and I worked with our Avants partner down at Discount Tire to find what seemed like the last set of Bridgestone Potenza RE-71R track tires left in the whole country. Both the pads and the tires were hybrid equipment, straddling the line between road and track use, because my blue M2 is not a pure track car but also my daily driver (though that concept had been radically reshaped by the pandemic).
The plan was now in place, all I had to do was get the pads and tires put on and plan my route and it was time to go. But that’s for my next installment.