LIFE IN THE FAST LANE
HALLETT – The Porsche 911 was glossy black. As in sexy, glossy black. Only this wasn’t the run-of-the-
mill 911. This was a 520-horsepower 911 GT3 RS titanium and steel beast that retails for $193,000. This 911 is the great-great-grandchild of Dr. Ferdinand Porsche, the Austrian-German engineer who created the Volkswagen Beetle and helped develop the Mercedes-Benz SSK.
I owned it for about 15 minutes.
Last weekend, my family and I had traveled to Hallett, a small town off State Highway 99 in northcentral Oklahoma. Located in Pawnee County, Hallett has a convenience store, a church or two and a handful of houses – population 125.
Hallett makes my hometown of nearby Yale – with its population of about 1,200 – look like a metropolis.
Yale is known as the home of Jim Thorpe, the famous Native American athlete.
Hallett, however, is known for its racetrack.
Just north of town, the Hallett Motor Racing Circuit was founded in 1976 by driver Anatoly Arutunoff. Arutunoff, a wealthy Bartlesville businessman, said he wanted to preserve the old spirit of road racing without the bureaucracy. The 1.8-mile track features 11 turns and hills that bend and rise with the rural Oklahoman landscape.
The track quickly grew in prominence, hosting the International Motor Sports Association circuit in 1977, 1978 and 1979 and hosting The Sports Car Club of America Trans-Am circuit in 1977 and 1980.
In June of 1982, actor Paul Newman raced his turbocharged Datsun 280-ZX, fighting to maintain his Sports Car Club of America championship.
Still, though Hallett’s track is known all over the globe, it has struggled financially.
In 1983 Arutunoff put the track up for sale, saying he wanted to devote his time to other interests. Fifteen years later, in 1998 the track faced closure until it was saved at the last moment when Mike Stephens, the track manager, accepted a multi-year contract extension with Arutunoff.
Late Saturday, however, there were no actors-turned racing legends but there were lots and lots of people. Several hundred had come to Hallett to fulfill a fantasy – the chance to drive an outrageously expensive exotic sports car as fast as possible on a racetrack.
The event, sponsored by the Chicago company Extreme Experience, offered those in attendance – who were over the age of 18, spoke English, had a valid driver’s license and who were willing to pay the $400 fee – the opportunity to sit behind the wheel of a high-end exotic car and drive as fast as possible.
For three laps.
I’d planned to drive the Lamborghini – a low slung snarling creature – that is handmade in Sant’Agata Bolognese, Italy. Angular, with sharp lines and an unforgettable growl, Lamborghinis have long been on my bucket list. However, a last-minute trackside switch put me in the Porsche, the Lamborghini’s German competitor.
For the record I wasn’t disappointed.
But before you slip behind the wheel of a vehicle that sells for more than the aver- age Oklahoma home, there’s lots and lots of paperwork. Forms, waivers, insurance and a host of “sign here” documents are the first step in the quest to drive a car with a six-digit price tag.
You also have to go to class.
All drivers are required to attend a 30-minute safety class before suiting up. The class features the typical review of what to do and what not to do, safety procedures and a few slides on just how much the company will charge you if you drive one of their $200,000 cars off the track.
The class made sense. Most of the would-be drivers here were more comfortable in a pickup. And few had ever driven a real racetrack.
I like going fast. And I drive a sports car.
Still, the voice in my head told me I was in for a unique experience.
Foreign race cars – the exotic ones – have long been the fantasy for many Americans. Sure, each year there are thousands of buyers for Mustang GTs, Corvettes and Camaros. A few years ago, Chrysler shook up the sportscar market with the introduction of the Dodge Challenger Hellcat.
It’s true. Americans like to go fast.
But the apex of the fast- car fantasy doesn’t lie with a Camaro or a Hellcat. Across this country little boys still dream of owning a Ferrari, a Porsche or a Lamborghini. And the market for rental and leasing of exotic cars continues to grow.
According to the website Market Research Nest, the luxury-exotic rental market was worth about $10 billion globally in 2016. Since then, the firm said, the market is expected to grow to $22.5 billion by 2022.
A story published by Auto Rental News, a publication that follows the industry, notes that exotic rentals have grown behind the Corvette and the Mercedes.
“Today it is common to see Ferraris, Lamborghinis and Porsches among the selection,” the publication reported. Typical exotic prices range from $1,000 to $2,000 per day.
Chicago-based Extreme Experience offers a less expensive alternative. Instead of a daily rental price, the company offers the exotic car fan the chance to drive the Lamborghini Huracan or the
Ferrari 488 GTB really, really fast. You can have the driving experience for about $400. The price jumps if you want to drive more than one exotic car or if you want to take a few extra laps.
The catch is you drive with an instructor in the passenger seat and your trip is limited to three laps around the track. Still, three laps at triple digit speed in your favorite exotic car isn’t for the faint of heart.
I slipped inside the Porsche. The cockpit, which resembled that of a fighter jet, wasn’t designed for commuting. This is not a car you drive to work on a daily basis. The steering wheel is flat on the bottom – a design feature in racing that allows the driver to know whether or not the wheels are straight.
The stick shift and the clutch are long gone, too.
My 911 had a double-clutch automatic transmission with paddle shifters on the wheel. A huge tachometer and aircraft-style lighting served as a reminder this wasn’t a car you drove to the grocery store.
As I slipped into the seat, my head, wrapped securely in a racing helmet, brushed the roof’s interior.
This 911 was made for one, single reason: to go really fast. Designed specifically for track use, the 911 GT3 RS features a 4.0-liter flat-six-cylinder. Somehow Porsche pulls 520 horsepower and
346 pound-ft of raw torque from that flat six. The result – when you hit the gas you zoom from zero to 60 miles per hour in about 3.3 seconds.
Top speed is 195 miles per hour.
Next to me Fred Sontag, my instructor, adjusted his face mask and began to talk me through the next 15 minutes. Fred, a tall man from Colorado, races the 911, so I had the perfect coach. He was smart, easy to talk to and it was obvious he enjoyed traveling at very high rates of speed.
“Okay,” he said, as I pulled the Porsche onto a straightway. “Now romp on it!”
I pushed the gas to the floor of the 911 and felt my entire body pushed back against the seat. I had no idea how fast I was going, though I’m sure Fred did. He did most of the thinking. I was focused on steering, gas and brake.
Almost instantly, we approached the first turn.
Fred, speaking in a calm, reasoned voice said: “Now lift your foot off the gas.”
I lifted my foot. We were still traveling at warp speed – the Oklahoma landscape blurred like a rain-soaked watercolor.
“Now brake,” Fred said.
I put my foot on the brake. “Harder,” Fred said. I noticed a touch more excitement in his voice as I hit the brake a second time. I twisted the steering wheel hard left.
“Harder!” Fred said. I braked and jerked the wheel right. The Porsche hurled itself round the turn and onto the next straightway.
“Now, hit it again,” he said.
Behind me the 911’s motor growled an unearthly growl as we roared down the Founders Straight portion of the track. I watch the tachometer peg at 9,000 rpms.
Ten minutes later the drive was over.
I’d survived Hallett’s Cimarron Straight, Turn No. 10 and the Martin House Straight. And, thankfully, the 911 was none the worse for the wear. I pulled into the pit and parked next to a bright red Ferrari and talked with Fred for a moment until the next driver arrived.
I’m pretty sure my heart was still beating at triple digits. Fred and I took a photo together. I stepped out of the 911 and met my wife and kids in the pit area. It’s funny, but walking seems incredibly strange after your body has hurled down the pavement at speeds exceeding
120 miles per hour. We walked toward my wife’s car. On my right, a man who looked about 30, turned and smiled at his girlfriend. He’d driven the red Ferrari.
His ride, like mine, had been a gift from his significant other.
“Thanks, honey,” he said quietly.
“How was it?” She asked as they walked toward the parking lot. “Did you have fun?”
The younger man smiled – but I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“That was the stuff dreams are made of,” he said.