Life is a Highway, Part 19: The Road More Traveled

I love to drive.

I love feeling the road beneath me, I love upshifting and downshifting through the gears and feeling the acceleration or deceleration, I love being on a twisting road and steering the car, feeling the G-forces in my belly.  I even love fixing the car when it breaks…


And so you might guess that my 2015 road trip was really something awesome for me.  Hundreds and hundreds of miles, driving on everything from mountain switchbacks to vast expanses of nothing.  As you already know, George was a great companion, and despite being an automatic, his tiny turbo made driving a joy.

There’s something about driving into the mountains, even on completely flat ground, that makes you wish you could live out there.  It’s a spectacular view, and we honestly don’t have anything like this back East.  I think it’s something I’d never get tired of seeing – and that you can watch them in your rearview when you drive away is also just as amazing.



Of course, not every single road gets to be heading into something amazing, and fun to drive on.  Some are terrible *coughthestreetiliveoncough*, pockmarked with holes the size of soccer balls, or “repairs” that act more like launch pads.  And no, not all of them have twisties and elevation changes.  But out there, even the flattest roads can leave you speechless.

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This left me speechless for another reason – a blizzard, in mid-May. It was at 10,000 feet, had white-out conditions, and George might as well have been wearing Sperrys. It added several hours to the travel time, so having to pee was not ideal…

My favorite roads were through the mountains in Wyoming and through the winding canyons in Utah.  They’re no touge in Japan, but they certainly hold their own.  While I wasn’t able to drive the long way through Yellowstone, as it was closed due to snow, I was able to head out of the Grand Tetons and do a little bit of hanging back and accelerating through the curves.  And oh, the roads through the canyons – I feel lucky to have been able to drive on them in something with a bit more pep than your average rental car.



Philosophically, driving down a road is a lot like living your life.  Sometimes it’s flat and boring, but you know you’re eventually going to get there.  Sometimes you can see what’s up ahead, and it makes it a lot easier to keep your eye on the prize.  And other times, it’s winding and twisting; you never know what’s around the next curve, and that can be exhilarating.  Sometimes it’s a really freeing feeling, to just drive forward, without any plan or agenda.

Of course, it can also be scary – conditions are poor, you feel unprepared, or it feels like you’re going too fast and will hurtle out of control.  That’s how I felt at the beginning of my racing career.  Too fast!  Too much to think about!  Oh my God I’m going to hit something!  But in the end, the worst I did was spin and stall the car and come to a stop.  Maybe hit a cone or two as well, but nothing as much to throw me so far I couldn’t find my way back.  Spinning, stalling, and stopping gave me a chance to regroup, hit the reset button, and continue on.

Eventually, I learned how to feel a spin coming on, and learned to control it.  As I’m getting older, I’m learning how to feel for and pre-emptively control the spins in my life.  That’s not to say they don’t happen, but every time I come to a stop, it really helps me reflect on my surroundings and take note of exactly where I am.  We all need to spin the car at some point, and if we’re lucky, most of us do (maybe even more than once per run!).  It’s scary at first, but deep down, you know that you can stop, take a look around, and then continue through the course, or down your road – and that the very lucky ones get to drive off into the sunset.



Back in the Saddle

…or the race seat, as it were.

Back in April, I had these dreams of grandeur that staying away from racing would make getting back on my feet easier.  There’s a reason they are called dreams (or nightmares, rather), because every time I saw race results on Facebook, or in SCCA press releases, I was instantly depressed.  While I’d found some other crafty things to do, and traveled to some truly amazing places, the racing bug had been eating away at me since the spring.

A visit from a DC region friend, a “F the world, I am a panda” attitude, and a very generous offer from a good friend led me to get back into the race seat in mid-October.  I wasn’t as fast as I’m used to, but I still didn’t suck 🙂


Despite a setback with some unexpected challenges showing up, it was a good day.  I had a lot of fun and I needed the reminder of why I do things like this:  The challenge, the competition, the camaraderie, the adrenaline…I’d been away for far too long.  So two weeks later, when the last event of the season rolled around, I once again ended up in the S2000’s driver’s seat.

Feeling more confident and feeling welcomed back into the community the second time around made the day a lot better, even though it was cold and raining for the first half.  I ran the car in an empty class (if I’m going to attend an event, I want a guaranteed trophy for my $30 entry fee!), and I was truly competing with only myself.  Even though I wasn’t actually racing against anyone, the technical aspects, figuring out the nuances of the car, relearning the idea that the rule of percentages is actually a theory I learned from driving…it was all there.  Even discussing car setup, to the point where I stopped myself and asked, “Where did that come from?  Who am I?”  In the beginning, I used to just repeat what I heard, but after a decade, I guess the actual physics and theories sunk in and I can now speak intelligently about them.  Go fig.

And all of it paid off, because I ended up skirting the owner, bu 0.25 seconds, and nearly grabbing the fastest time of day. I know there were factors in my favor, but it was a sweet, sweet victory, and exactly how I needed to end the race season.

_20151025_204746rawThen, I began to wonder.  What kept me away for so long?  Didn’t I love racing?  Didn’t I miss it?  Why hadn’t I just relied on my friends, and trusted that they’d still be around?  Of course I love racing, and of course I missed it.  And with my travels this year, financing a full season would have been tough, let alone finding a consistent ride, and consistent friends, that wouldn’t cause drama based on what became a nasty split last year.  And I certainly didn’t want to have to choose, or force others to choose as well.  What it came down to was that I was afraid.  Yes, that is exactly as pathetic as it sounds.  I let other people dictate how I could spent my money, my leisure time, and let them make me think I wasn’t welcomed, or missed, or that it was even noticed I wasn’t there. I was afraid of what people might think, or what they did think, or what I thought they thought…even typing this makes me a little angry with myself.

Perhaps I did need a break from that life, and perhaps I did need a little time away so that the dust could settle.  I think the dust has settled, and next year will bring a new season, new cars, and hopefully a new region.  After the last two events, I think I could go back to racing, and while it would be a little awkward at first, in the end, I’d be doing something I loved, and I’d finally be doing it on my own and for myself.  No pressure, no expectations, just challenging and enjoying myself, for the sake of me.  I can’t ask for much more than that.

It’s Not You, It’s Me

Dear Baby G,

This is one of the hardest things I’ve had to write in a long time.  Eight years ago, I never thought this day would come, but sadly, it has.  It breaks my heart to say it, but…I’m sorry.  It’s over.

I know you’ll say we were such a great team for so long, and you’ll try to remind me of all the good times – yes, the time we met was one of the most important moments of my life.  The minute I saw you, I knew that you were the one for me.  You were young – younger than any that had come before you, and though you’d had a bit of a rough history, I was certain we’d last forever.

I remember the time that we went to the race event – you totally saved the day.  Heat stroke and sun poisoning were running rampant, and if it weren’t for you, so many more of us would have gotten sick.  You kept us cool, got us ice, and allowed us to relax.  You always seemed to save the day.

But as the years went on, no matter how much I loved you, I saw that you were getting tired of this.  You were starting to act like our adventures together were a chore.  Yes, I admit we had moments where I should have been more proactive and preemptive – I never meant for that guy to hurt you.  It was a bad moment in both of our lives, and I’m sorry.  But I tried to take care of you after that and make it up to you – and instead of forgiving me, you have tried to make me pay for it ever since.

I know there’s the theory that the squeaky wheel gets the oil, but all you do is tell me that you’re upset.  I can’t figure out why, and I’ve exhausted every option I can think of.  And yet you still complain, still whine, still grind my gears about something that you won’t fill me in on.  And that’s not fair.  I’ve spent countless hours and countless dollars trying to fix whatever it is that’s ailing you, and yet you’re having none of it.  This is exhausting, and no matter what I do or hope for, it seems as though you won’t change.  You won’t ever change.  It’s just not who you are, and this will be a part of you forever.

While you and I have had a good time together, and I hoped it would last forever, but it just can’t.  I don’t know that you can be what I need now, and based on the way you care for yourself, it’s clear you don’t love yourself anymore.  How do you expect me to love you, then?

Of course, I do, and I always will.  But I think the time has come for us to go our separate ways.  You knew this day would come, months ago, and despite my best efforts to salvage our relationship, they’ve failed.  I’m sorry.  This is really for the best – for both of us.

I’ll always love you and remember you fondly, and I hope you find happiness with someone else.

Take care of yourself, Baby G.  I’ll miss you.



Life is a Highway, Part 3: Meet George Jetson

Driving is one of my favorite things to do.  I am a self-proclaimed car purist (ok, snob, elitist, whatever you want to call me) and I have very specific tastes.  So the idea of renting a car is generally pretty “meh” to me, because I don’t get the high performance I want without the high premium.

However, renting a car is easy, and sometimes a necessity.  In the past, I’ve had cars ranging from Hyundai Accents to a swanky Lincoln Navigator.  But walking down the aisle, searching for the perfect home away from hotel for a week, I felt overwhelmed and uncertain.  Then, I saw it.

Well, ok, I didn’t see IT, I saw it’s white twin, but Whitey had pleather seats, which made my inner purist turn up her nose and snootily walk away.  So instead, a few vehicles down, the unassuming slate-ish blue car sat quietly waiting to be chosen.  It was like Indiana Jones selecting the correct grail.

Photo from

Photo from

A quick overview noted cloth seats, very basic interior, no sunroof, and what would amount to being a nimble, peppy car with incredibly vast upgrades over the last Jetta I drove.

Behold, my chariot:


A 2015 Jetta TSI SE.  This means it has a small engine, a turbo, and is one step up from the base model – heated seats, 16″ wheels, and Sirius radio that didn’t work…Oh yeah, and it was (like 99% of rental cars) automatic.  Still, it was ok.  It was a very decent car.

I believe cars name themselves.  So, the entire week, I could not figure out what this car was trying to say.  I asked it repeatedly what its name was, and only when sitting down to talk about it did this name come to me.  My Dear Readers, meet George Jetson.

Photo from

Photo from

He’s a reliable, practical, efficient, no-frills kind of guy, despite being a huge, giant, vast upgrade from last year’s model.  It’s like he came from the future!  (Or at least caught up to the present.)

George is quiet, unassuming, and at first glance, he doesn’t seem like there’d be much that’s special about him.  But get in, buckle up, and hit the button to start the engine, and you’re surprised.  He’s got pep, he’s got energy, he handles curves well (wink wink), and he just enjoys his purpose, which is to be driven.

Granted, George is easy – you don’t have to shift, or work a third pedal.  I suppose I like my cars like I like my men – they take a little more effort to get them going and to where you need to be, but in the end it’s worth it (about the journey and all that stuff) – and so I generally despise automatics.  Minimal effort, not really participating in driving the machine…So although George was equipped with an automatic transmission, it wasn’t a bad thing. He placated me at times and allowed me to get my Asian Tourist on, and take photos like this:


All in all, George was a pretty great companion to spend a week with.  We traversed many kinds of climates, many kinds of weather, and had a great adventure together.  He’s the guy with whom I drove off into the Great Beyond, and he was totally worth it.


What’s In A Name?

Just as people name their pets, children, and boats, people also name their cars.

You love them, you work on them, they become part of you, and they deserve some sort of name.  There have been several Pandas (there were several versions, but it was always a super awesome, custom-built race car that was white with a black hood), there was Baby Panda (Baby, for short – she is the older model under Panda, and she was smaller, slower, and far less temperamental), and Tots (the Nissan Titan – the towing vehicle).  I drove a 2010 Miata named Newt, a 2003 z06 Corvette named Chicken, and a 1991 CRX named Smurf.


I’m sure you can figure out why this car earned the name “Smurf.”

But the car whose name takes the cake is the 1999 FRC Corvette I drove in 2013.  My friend James had purchased it, and in an effort to get it race-ready as soon as possible, offered the seat to basically anyone who wanted to drive it, so they could give feedback. Somehow, at some point, due to a very hilarious conversation in which one of the season drivers was dubbed, “Assman,” the car took on the name Gangbang.


Photo by Chang Ho Kim.

Because we would discuss the car often, I decided I needed to add it to my phone dictionary, for easy use with Swype.  The autocorrect would put in all manner of things, so I figured, “Why not?”  I mean, it’s a very specific pattern in which to get this word, and it would save a lot of trouble trying to type it all out.

Post-2013, I was no longer the Ladies driver for Gangbang, and the car has since been sold.  It was a sad day to see it go, but the memories of it were great.  What I’d forgotten was that it was still in my dictionary…


Sigh.  RIP Gangbang.  And thank you, autocorrect.

Driver of Eminence, Part 2

A friend of mine that has since retired from racing sent me this screenshot of our conversation from May:


I laughed, because I had totally forgotten about our conversation.  I had wanted to establish a new award for women, but I wanted to talk to someone in the know about nominating women for a typically male-dominated award.  I ran it by him, and started discussing women in the sport.

When he sent me the conversation, I just seen this email:Untitled


March of the Cornhuskers

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you breaking news from the East Coast.

I am sitting here, at my computer.  I am not sitting here, at my computer, in the Midwest.

In past years, in fact since 2009, I’ve spent two consecutive days falling between 25-30 August in some sort of vehicle, traveling 1,600 miles to Lincoln, Nebraska. The trip took anywhere between 23 and 30 hours, and I’ve been left at rest stops, left on the side of the road, or had one or any combination of the following, including but not limited to: flat tire, blown tire, no gas, fluid leak, nearly flipping over, suspension failure, GI distress, wrong directions, forgot to pack XYZ – you name it, it’s happened.

One year, I drove out in 1992 Nissan 240sx with a massive exhaust leak and no AC, and we were following a giant trailer that couldn’t go more than 55 mph.  And it was 280356203586 degrees.  We got stuck in several hours of traffic in South Bend, Indiana, when a tractor trailer flipped sideways and blocked four lanes of traffic, going both directions.  I had never driven on a median before then.

The next year, it was a slightly better ride, a 2004 Infiniti G35, but my travel companion (aka sister-in-law) had lots of knitting to do (and she hated driving anyway), so I drove most of the way.  I’m not complaining – that car is a blast and a great one for really long drives – leather seats, AC, cruise control – but I am just sliiiiiiiiiightly too short for the seat belt, so I ended up with a kink in my neck.

Last year, she and I drove out in her car – a 2008 John Cooper Works Mini Cooper S named Gilligan. It was comfy it was fine, but it was small.  And being girls, the guys in the truck ahead sooooooooort of stopped listening to us, so they “forgot” to stop in Indiana for 93 octane gas, despite us pleading over and over, and saying we weren’t going to make it the 600 miles across Iowa.  They don’t sell 93 in Iowa, and Iowa is a really,  fucking long state.  This is important, because the engine is tuned a certain way, and using a lower quality and lower grade fuel can damage it.

We finally nearly ran out of gas and stopped at a Kum & Go (aka the best gas stations in the Midwest), put in 91 octane. The guys had left us, and our phones were dead.  When we finally got back in range, we decided to play a joke.  They asked us what octane we used, and we told them that the gas station attendant said 89 octane with a chemical booster should be fine.  We weren’t able to keep the joke up for long – both of us know better, and we both started laughing hysterically when the guys started freaking out.

Last year, I also nearly won the National Championships in the old Nissan 240sx. This was a car with 8 years and $80,000 (or so) in development. It was not the prettiest, but it had the most heart and soul.  And I worked my butt off to be able to drive it well, and it only took my entire racing career.  Massive suspension failure on Day 2 meant I came in second place for the two consecutive days of racing, despite a healthy lead on Day 1.

That car is now gutted and junked, but has been replaced with one with no weaknesses.  This car is cleaner, faster, more powerful, and basically does everything the old car did, just better.  It’s really a logic and physics defying machine, and given what I know about the courses this year, I would have won, hands down.  The only competition I’d have is fast, and gorgeous, and over $300,000 worth of development – but the huge glaring weakness for that person/car is the one in which my car excels.

Unfortunately, due to both some seen, and unforeseen circumstances, I am sitting at my computer at work.  I’m not in Nebraska, I’m not racing with 1200 of my friends from all over the country.  I actually think nearly every state in the union is represented, Alaska and Hawaii included.  I’m not celebrating today, I’m not even really going to enjoy Labor Day weekend, since it’s the first time in years I’m not at big kid summer camp.  Yes it was a long drive, yes it was expensive, and yes people gave me funny looks when I was excited about going to Lincoln for two weeks.  I didn’t care.  And yes, I’ve had my fair share of issues while out there.  But no matter how bad things got, the racing part, the actual driving and skill, made it better.

I suppose there’s always next year, but this year, I’ve got a broken heart and no race car to fix it.