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Bridgestone Racing Academy: Fire Her Up
POINT A : Toronto, Canada
POINT B : Driving Development Center
Tamara Warren, 10.01.05
The pit crew is bustling with tools. I’m suited up and ready to go.
It is my chance to experience the ultimate car fanatic’s fantasy — I get to be a real racecar
driver. Watch out Danika Patrick, lady automotive journalist on the come up. At long last, I have found my own series, the
F-1. I am no longer in it for the safety skills alone. Racecar driving is fun.
 I am late to F-1. When I worked my
first car magazine job a few years ago, my colleague, who was F-1 or die, revealed the truth to me. Posters of Michael
Schumacher and his Ferrari dream car were plastered on his cubicle walls. He explained the big races to me and exactly what
made them so technically sweet – the Grand Prix de Monaco, Nurburgring and Kuala Lumpur. All I knew of racing was the
drag races I had seen on the Chrysler Freeway service drive, the Milan Drag Way and the NASCAR races my dad left on the Speed
Channel. While my colleague attempted to recreate Juan Pablo Montoya moves on Detroit highways, I wasn’t sold just yet.
Reporting on BMW, Mercedes-Benz and Ferrari products, I noticed my favorite car makers borrowing engines from
F-1 technology, which caught my fancy. With their stamp of approval, I took heed of the sexy, glamorous
allure that racing has in other regions of the world and began to investigate. Since I’m the type of lady who likes to
touch, taste and feel; I knew I would have to experience it for myself.
When the opportunity arose to experience the F-1 academy, I seized it. The Bridgestone Racing Academy,
located outside of Toronto, Canada was the move. After 21 years in the game, the school boasts a squeaky-clean safety record
and real winged F-2000s. The car weighs 1,000 pounds, packs a 2.0-liter engine and kicks 130 horsepower.
Many of the mechanics that study in the school’s intensive program go on to be real, working pit crew
peeps. Attending the school with Firestone heir and famed bachelor Andrew Firestone added a little playful spunk to the
experience.
After our preparatory class session, we were let loose.
After I put the helmet on, my palms started to shake as I pulled on my gloves. Though we were briefed before
we got in the car, being lowered into it, and fitted snuggly was its own animal. The parasol handed to me was not for show. In
my fireproof suit, the sun was powerful.
 
 
They lined us up like bullets in a gun, ready to explode onto the meandering curves. I didn’t know
whether it was the heat or my nerves that was causing the thin layer of sweat on my brow. I took a deep breath. At that
moment, all other thoughts flew from my head. Like a yoga shivasnya, I was in full-out meditative mode.
I set off in heat of the pace car assigned to me. I shifted into first, relying on the little bit of skill I
had accumulated in my humble driver’s training — look ahead, find the apex, track out and full throttle on the
straight away. Sitting inches from the ground it felt like I was rolling along like a fast-ball pitch, a lightening bolt
shooting through the sky from the stars.
The speed wasn’t the most thrilling part— as I made it all the way to fourth gear— it was
the nuances of the turns.  The car was fragile and delicate,
but still a wildcat. By manipulating the pedals I was a shooting star passing dudes right and left.
Much to everyone’s chagrin, later in the recap session, the instructors broke it down — Miss
Warren is a bit of a hot dog. The best part remains – the opportunity to go trackside and compete. Now it’s only a
matter of time before I get back for the four-day professional course.
Watch out people, F-1 here I come. Stay tuned.
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