What It Feels Like Behind The Wheel

By RICHARD CORLISS

What does it feel like to earn a living making left turns in heavy traffic at dangerously high speeds? Just ask Derrike Cope, 42, who won the Daytona 500 in 1990 and now calls races for the Fox Sports Network: "There is nothing like sitting in a projectile going 190 m.p.h. on the brink of going out of control. It's the sheer rush, touching every emotion you have." And a potentially lethal rush: three other NASCAR drivers died in the year leading up to Dale Earnhardt's crash.

On race day you rise around 7, pack your gear, attend a sponsor hospitality event. Sponsors call the shots: their money determines the quality of your team and your equipment. Before the race you say something blandly reassuring to your wife--"Hey, I'll see you in a while"--then get into your car. Your team mummifies you with five tight belts. You feel the throttle under your thin-soled shoe. For the first time today, you're alone. You hear silence, then a rapid thumping: "It's your heart beating inside your ears when the earphones are plugged into the radio," says Cope. Two voices will guide you: your crew chief and your spotter, high above the track. "He is my eyes and ears. He tells me what is going on: if I am clear to move, what openings exist. He gives me choices."

Then the motors start, and "you are into what you instinctively do." You follow the pace car, reach the green flag and rev to 190 m.p.h.--there's no speedometer, you don't need one. "You are sitting right on top of the exhaust. There are vibrations all through your rear end, up through your hands." The race is on.

There are other folks on the track with the same goal you have. You view them from a unique perspective. "You spend a lot more time looking in the rearview mirror than out of the front of your car," Cope says.

Strategy, both competitive and financial, demands that you be near the front of the pack. Your sponsor equates TV time with money. "Exposure is what it's all about. You have to create an opportunity where you can go up front." The smart spot during the race is second place, behind someone like Earnhardt. You fly faster in the leader's wake. Then there's the TV time being up front near a star. And, well, you just might beat him.

At the pit stop--about every 50 laps--a 16-man pit crew gasses you up, changes your tires, wipes the windshield. You swig some water; you'll lose 3 lbs. to 11 lbs. during a race. Your belts get looser, so tighten them up. "You don't want to move in the seat, you only want to steer the race car. You're just along for the ride."

Every sense is heightened. "You hear the motor, gear, transmission. You can tell when a tire is rubbing a fender--you will smell the change." You have a piano tuner's sense for the harmonics of your motor. It might change pitches because a valve spring is breaking. "When something changes, you understand," says Cope. You will know when a car is near. "There are times you can't see it, but you can hear it, or hear the air on your car." Your skin is a tool too. "You get a sense of buffeting. You can feel the air on the car and get a sense of when to find a pocket of air." You dive into that pocket.

In such extreme conditions, a car can behave unpredictably. It becomes "loose" or "gets sideways," the nose or tail swerving of its own accord. Tame it, or there's trouble. When the metal merges and some cars crash, you look for the exit. "All you are looking for is an opening. You don't have time to think. Smoke. There is just smoke. You are looking for a window, maybe just a shadow. Sometimes all you will see is the front of your hood. It's very unnerving."

In the last few laps, the spotter and crew chief are guiding you. "When you get down to that 10 to 20 laps, you are on 'kill.' It's a go-for-broke attitude. The last five to 10 laps, it is all you can do to handle. You are driving the car on the ragged edge of disaster."

--Reported by Jeanne DeQuine

With reporting by Jeanne DeQuine