My tongue seemed swollen, an alien, huge, dry thing that had no business in my mouth. I reminded myself to breathe deeply, rationalizing that if this was that crazy, they wouldn’t let people do it. The Daytona International Speedway stretched out further than I could see in both directions. Its stands, flecked with colorful seats, rose far overhead. The flat grey of the track tilted into a monstrous bank in the distance. My racing suit protected me from the chill of the morning air. I focused my eyes on my feet. Okay. I’m breathing. Slowly, but I’m breathing. I’m fine.

That’s when some rocket scientist cranked up the rock music and the cars were started. Their engines were so loud you had to scream to be heard over them, spewing exhaust, leaving no doubt that they were nothing like the station wagon that your grandmother drives. I needed the extra adrenalin like a fish needs a bicycle. (Nora Jones would have been a better choice of music.) I quit breathing deeply and became convinced that I would die of a heart attack before I got anywhere near the car.

For some reason, my arteries didn’t explode, and a few moments later, I was climbing into the window of the 600 HP red and black Jim Beam car. The crew had to prop me up with pads – like you’d prop up a kid with phone books to reach the table – so I could reach the clutch. I managed to smile wanly for my picture before my instructor pulled his car in about 4 lengths in front of me.

“Ready?” the crew asked.

I wasn’t sure, but it seemed a little late to protest. Paul, my husband, had warned me beforehand that it would be pretty embarrassing if I wimped out. I fixed my eyes on the pace car in front of me, dropped my right foot close to the throttle, and gritted my teeth. Sure. I’m your adventure expert. I’m ready for anything. Next, I’ll make a perfect soufflé.

In the Richard Petty Driving Experience, you get to drive a NASCAR style race car around the track – by yourself – for 8 laps. The game is to “follow the leader” – the pace car—at a distance of 4 car lengths.  If you fall behind, drive erratically, or lose the line behind the lead car, it will slow down. Conversely, if you prove yourself by staying up with the pace car, driving smoothly, and staying in line, you will be rewarded by getting to go faster on each of your laps.

A little history is in order here. I am a conservative driver. I do not tailgate. I do not chat on the phone when driving. I do not use the left lane except to pass, and further, I have not gotten a ticket, for speeding or anything else, for at least 15 years.

The whole idea – filmed by the folks at VISITFLORIDA.com for an upcoming feature video – was Paul’s. Since people adore NASCAR and Daytona is the coolest track on the planet, the idea was immediately embraced. It was an adventure that simply could not be left off the list.

That’s how I found myself glued to the seat of an over-powered man-toy, living out someone else’s fantasy.

The crew tapped the hood of my car; it was time. I rolled off down pit row, stuttering through the gears but leaving the transmission intact. By the time we reached the track we were going at least 90 mph. I felt uncomfortably close to the pace car but remembered if I acted timid, we’d never get up to speed.

The car was not a smooth, gentle thing. It was more like a wild animal, twitchy and responsive. It jolted over the bumpy track, emitting deafening roars. I found myself grinning. It was fun.

The first bank rushed towards me, a mountainside of pavement. I didn’t back off, but suddenly lagged as the incline bled off my speed. To stay up, I had to lay even harder on the throttle. The car stuck itself to the bank, transmitting every pimple on the track through my body. The wheel shuddered, a living thing. I screamed, not in fear, but in ecstasy.  

I concentrated with every pore, not knowing how far I was through my session or what I had for breakfast or what my name was. The only thing I knew was trying to keep up, driving that incredible machine on that legendary track. I never saw the checkered flag that signaled our session was over. I just followed my instructor. He led me back to pit row and reality.

It was beyond unbelievable; it was beyond intense; it was beyond exciting. You could have powered New York City with my adrenalin. That the Richard Petty Experience has managed to make this adventure accessible to ordinary people, and that it has such a stellar safety record, is unbelievable. It’s not cheap, but I mean it when I say it’s worth every penny. The organization, friendliness, and professionalism of the operation are unbeatable.

Those of you who try it will never look at NASCAR racing the same. The drivers go much faster than I did for much, much longer, and they do it with LOTS of other cars around them. Wow.

How fast did I go? My top speed was 146 miles per hour. Paul drove a mere 145. You just tell me what you’d like in that soufflé. I’m “adventure woman,” ready for anything!

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