Advanced Driving School - Part 2

From Decided Anxiousness to Emerging Confidence

So forget tantric sex. Try learning how to drive! A 40-something virgin's testimonial.

By Nigel Etherington 11/1/2006

Being my third event in under a month I had to get creative to secure a spot in my second BMW Club Advanced Driving School, the celebrated 'Est Fest' held at the sublime Le Circuit Mount Tremblant. I convinced my wife she wanted to go on a driving holiday in Quebec and Maine and would really be safer if she were to meet me in Montreal four days into the trip. That was the time it would take for my new brakes and adjustable coil-over suspension to bed in at L'est Fest. Le Circuit was to be even better than Mosport as I was to benefit from a better car and arguably among the best instructors. A request for a certain John Dimoff was viewed favorably by the Chief Driving Instructor, Cherif Gress, as John had also been Cherif's first instructor seven years prior. It was a fortuitous circumstance as, under Dimoff's direction, I was about to undergo a similar transformation in my driving to that experienced by my Raven modified car.

Mount Tremblant Meditations

John is a quietly confident man who lets results speak for themselves. As a former Chief Driving Instructor of the BMW Car Club, his track record (pun intended) was evident daily as club members sought his advice on car and driving matters. I hoped I wouldn't disappoint him, or myself, as I took to the track at St. Jovite. None other than the Villenueves, father Gilles and son Jacques, had their careers launched at Mt. Tremblant. As my speed crept up I was trying not to get us launched. John's coaching was calm-inducing, delivered in brief but timely snippets: "keep turning", "drift out", "touch brakes", "now throttle." It kept us on the racing line and served to acquaint me with my car's new capabilities.

My enthusiasm at finding more pace was tempered by the apparently changing rhythm of the track. Everything was happening sooner and sooner - funny thing that! Carrying faster speeds into turns necessitated quicker and firmer actions. Yet they had to be linked together seamlessly in order to maintain smooth control on the racing line. It was unnerving and affected my consistency. A case in point was my entry to the Esses (Turns 3 & 4). At 120 plus km/h this student gave his instructor pause and himself a momentary scare, by braking while still exiting Turn 2. In an instant the M3's rear end stepped out, and, but for some quick reflexes, we would have pirouetted backwards into Turn 3. Calamity was avoided however a swift reminder from the coach was proffered: "Straighten the front wheels before braking, please"!

Etherington and Instructor Dimoff entering the Esses at Mt. Tremblant

I really began to understand the concept of vision at this my third school. This was no slight on my previous instructors who had reinforced class room lectures on this important topic from the start. The basic idea was to lift your eyes and look continually, with a soft focus, far down the road. However this summation is equivalent to written instruction on the butterfly stroke. Everyone knows that you can't teach swimming from a book, and guess what, the same applies to driving. None the less I informed John after our second class session that I had learned a lot about driving Mt. Tremblant and couldn't wait to apply my new found knowledge.

"Really", John said, with mock incredulity and amused by my enthusiasm.

"Yes!" I exclaimed. Philippe Letourneau, our instructor, had walked us through each turn of Le Circuit - brake points, turn-in, apexes, everything - in great detail. The engineer in me had taken copious notes and committed them to memory, certain they would yield a great result.

And so out I went hunting for the marker's to drive by - the silver birch at the top of the hill in Turn 2, the two black divots near the outside of Turn 3, and so on. What unfolded after the warm-up lap was embarrassing, if not comical, as I turned a couple of the most erratic laps I'd driven in the summer schools. I missed turn-ins, clipped 'turtles' (curbs) and went off-line half a dozen times as my mind worked like a teleprompter on steroids. Narrow tunnel focus on information counteracted my attempts at smoothness and consistency.

"Hmmm", observed John wryly, "it seems that you have acquired some rust over lunchtime. Forget the facts and find your rhythm. You need to feel, not think, your way around a track. Now, let's try this again"!

A lap later I'd found the correct lines again. John hadn't spoken while I'd gone about my recovery, until, clearly pleased with his student's rebound, he piped up, "See that lap was 10% faster. And you weren't pushing, were you"?

"No....I can't believe it!" I enthused. Afterwards in my post-session debrief with John I commented on this puzzling contradiction. I'd actually attempted to slow down but somehow had gone quicker!

"Yessss", he said knowingly," because it's your subconscious that drives the car. With soft focus your brain blends all the sensory inputs - sight, sound and touch - together. The effect is to slow down your perceived speed and smooth your driving."

I recalled grand master Derek Hansen's words at my first Mosport school: "When you find the track's rhythm its like a Zen experience - you and the car become one with the road ." Apparently I didn't need to consciously think, or focus, on each or any one thing. I just needed to practice meditating. In the next session I relaxed and effortlessly chased the orange Lotus Elise that had slipped by me before my metaphorical Zen awakening. Perhaps chanting 'zoom, zoom' was to be the next stage of enlightenment.

By Day 2, my signature driving skill, 'heel-and-toe' braking, began to fall apart under the stresses of advanced tutelage. I was now rigid under cornering, bracing myself with the dead pedal and steering wheel to counter forward or laterally movement in the seat. This was increasingly problematic as the brake pedal was traveling further past the accelerator as I carried more speed and each session wore on. I was pushing the car far past the turn-in as the clutch engaged an over-revved engine. It was as if the pedals had moved, and an intended throttle blip became a soaring tachometer. It made a complete hash of my racing line. I felt I was regressing and, worse, sounding like a novice learning to drive standard. By Day 3, I was frustrated, and while some progress on my brake and accelerator control was made that day, my student evaluation set this as an objective for my next school. That remediation would have to wait but a couple of weeks.

Genesee Valley Remedial Therapy

The Genesee Valley Chapter of the BMW Car Club of America was coming north to Mosport for its mid-week 'international' event and put out a call for local students. I obliged the organizers with my entry, 'eh', and myself with a present, as I returned to Mosport on my birthday. My mother was perplexed when I refused her invitation to a birthday dinner, purportedly to return to driving school. "What, again?" she enquired, "Are you having a mid-life crisis?" In a sense I was - I couldn't 'heel and toe' anymore - but I assured her that I would be all right in a couple of days. I was now suffering from a treatable addiction. I just had to return to ADS for remedial therapy.

And so summer school adventures continued with John Dimoff as my therapist for a second round at Mosport. Only this time I'd procured a handy device - a CG Lock for my seat-belt - to tightly secure me in the seat. With more practice and less in-car movement I was able to relax and make further strides in consistency. By day 2, I was 'signed off'. I'd completed eight track days and now, like taking away Lionus' comfort blanket, I was to lose my co-pilot. John said that he would be back in the car in the wet so it was a conditional loosening of the supervisory leash. He also sent me off with a proviso: "Have fun but don't make me look bad - I'm still responsible for you while you're out there". So with some trepidation, I made my way out onto the track to negotiate the ten turns and 4 kilometres of Mosport. I drove sensibly - at 95% - for were there to be any trouble I would have to get out of it on my own. I didn't have to wait long.

Solo was a brand new experience. I feathered the wheel and danced on the pedals, as my M3 sang to me in its throaty 4500 to 6500 rpm power band. I cavorted with a Ferrari 348 and frolicked with a Cadillac CTS-V. Tracking out of Turn 3, the real excitement came. Pedal to the metal after completing a pass, I pressed on to Turn 4, the blind downhill sweeper. Touching the brakes before the pedestrian overpass, I turned in unaware of assorted 'cow pies' - grass, earth and stones - strewn around the apex. Coming over the brow I strained to comprehend what was now blotting the track ahead. I had to take evasive action. I couldn't brake mid-curve so I drifted out wide. Changing my line into Moss Corner I missed the apex and sailed past the braking point at over 130 Km/hr. I was running out of road quickly. I straightened the front wheels (yes, John, I remembered!) and stood on the brakes. I avoided lock-up but rode deep into the hairpin corner rise before easing off and turning in. It was only then that I saw a marshal holding a Black Flag. Something had clearly happened here and the session was now over. Later I was to learn that a classmate had an agricultural excursion - including a 720 degree spin, a 'double sow cow' if you will - and had fled the scene prior to my arrival. As I crawled back to the pits, I wondered what I'd have done if a car had still been on the track or I'd driven through the debris? I figured I must have missed the Black Flag shown at Turn 4 entry, and a visit to the tire barriers could have been the consequence. I made a mental note to be more aware. With broader peripheral vision a drama needn't become a crisis.

After most of the school crowd had slipped off back to New York State, and as I was packing up, I heard a last call for my novice run group over the loud speaker. Bonus! I hastily donned my helmet and jumped back into the driver's seat for an unscheduled fling. But all too soon, as I crested the rise on the Andretti Straight at over 180 km/hr, the chequered flag came out. It was then I realized I'd passed no cars, in fact seen none, in the prior twenty minutes. I'd been driving Mosport International Raceway alone, except for the volunteer track marshals who watched over my progress. I saluted them as I slowed down to cool my brakes and engine. They waved back. I was calm, confident and contented as I came into the pits. I'd finally done it. I'd seized an opportunity and made a dream - and a birthday wish - come true. And it was the most fun you could imagine. Perhaps better than tantric sex, whatever that is.

Summer school nirvana was now over and I'd experienced a personal transformation. I'd begun confidently, challenging myself to become a better driver, perhaps even an advanced driver. But in the discovery process I soon lost that hubris. What I found surprised and humbled me - I was unaware of what my car could do, or how I was driving it! And then I learned, to both my joy and frustration, that skill development was non-linear and unpredictable. While track time sharpens awareness and reprograms instincts, it is a bit of a snakes and ladders game. You move ahead in one area and slide back in another. But there can be no stopping now. Like a reformed addict, I now knew I needed ongoing treatment for my cravings. Now the only question for someone waking up at 5 am turning imaginary laps is - what's the cure? I resolved to speak to my therapist about my next session as soon as possible!