10,000 hours to shave off seconds

Motorsport and I share a complicated relationship status. For starters, I love it far too much. Having studied vehicle dynamics, I understand a large portion of what is required for one to be fast around the race track. When I couple that confidence with my general lack of fear for all things fast I believe (wrongly) that I am more than well equipped to drive a car fast around a track.

When I wasn’t squealing away on city streets, my profession allowed me to get decent exposure to exploiting a car’s handling potential. Later when I got myself a Lotus and started doing track days at the race tracks around Michigan, I noticeably improved in certain areas. For starters, I looked at the next corner when deciding on a line and never panicked whenever my mid-engined Lotus dream slid away from me mid-corner.

But improvement is a relative term. On a track, there is always someone who is faster than you and many who are significantly faster that you. When you start taking into account how many seconds they can shave off your fastest time, it turns into a humbling experience even on the best of days. On the worst of days, you can’t wait to get back home and stick to the theoretical friction ellipse that you lapped up in a classroom in Ann Arbor.

Last weekend, I was a part of a team of four amateur racers that participated in a 6 hour endurance style kart race event on the city streets of Sonneberg. During the race, we had to change the drivers at least 7 times which meant each one of us had to race a kart for stretches of 45 minutes twice. Before the race, we had to qualify. And before that, we got some time in the kart on the track for ‘Free Training’.

We didn’t win. In fact we had a string of bad luck through the weekend. Our kart stalled at the start putting us on the last position on the first lap out. Then as we started making back places, our transponder fell off the Kart resulting in uncounted laps. That put us in the last place with many laps down. From that point, we gave up all hope and just took turns driving as consistently as possible and having as much fun despite being a back-marker. 6 hours later our hard work indeed paid off and we ended up miraculously 23rd out of the 25 teams on track. The result never ever tells the entire story but that too is one of the cruelties of Motorsport.

I shaved off four seconds of my best time from the free practice to a lap in the actual race. However, seconds are eternities in the motorsport and the fact that the fastest driver on track was still a good three seconds faster ensured that my sense of pride was curtailed well within reason.

On a track the racing line is fairly defined. Eventually one understands the braking points. The apexes come forth lap after lap. You began to grasp the fast corners and corners where exit is far more critical than entry speed. You come quickly to a point where as amateur race-car driver you know what is to be done. But, because you are such an amateur, you cannot do it.

You unwind the wheel too late. The pedal apply in mid corner is too quick. The rear wheels spin and drag the motor down. You slide on braking; the excessive yaw makes your lap time embarrassingly slow. You are well aware that you should only focus on the next corner but you let one eye drift on to the tire barrier and repent when your kart scrubs its speed off it. You watch the faster driver ahead of pull away even though he appears to be following the same line. You start getting bumped by faster karts behind you and when they do whiz, they make you feel so ridiculous. You began to question the entire aspect of motorsport and exactly why you ever thought of this as fun.

But then on lap 222, you achieve a lap time of 54.6; Your best time that weekend and you know right away that in the lap you did everything right. The braking was ideal, you accelerated out of the curves, the kart hardly scrubbed and you unwound the steering the second you felt the kart pushing. The internal accelerometer measured more and you smiled uncontrollably inside a fogging helmet. All the variables had the right value on that lap and you reconfirm your love for a sport that mostly causes excruciating pain.

Like any other sport, motorsport too needs an investment of over ten thousand hours. My love for cars and understanding of tire force capacity cannot in any way equate with the scores of other drivers who have spent those frustrating 10,000 hours investing in finding that perfect lap. Unlike other sports, this one involves a partnership with a whimsical four wheeled contraption. She can stall on you, break on you and act imbalanced on the worst of days. She can make your ten thousand hours evaporate in the first few seconds of race start or exhilarate you as you fly past the chequered flag.

There is philosophy in motorsport and a good measure of theology as well. There is incessant humility to be taught and to be absorbed. There is cut-throat competition sandwiched in a span of a second. And here are many reasons for me to love motorsport but perhaps the greatest of them off all, is its ability to exhilarate within a helmet, grip a steering wheel mightily and connect your heart with those four tire contact patches like nothing else.

Even if there is no champagne or a podium waiting for you.