It’s Fun in the Relatively Fast Lane : Hobbyists Race Tiny Cars Just for Joy of Driving

Rick Galbraith stands alone on a cement platform overlooking the pit area. Below, a mechanic is making last-minute adjustments on a sleek, green racing car. The Wankel engine revs up to 6,000 rpm, spitting white smoke and the smell of gasoline.

The other drivers have clustered around the registration desk to hear rule instructions from race officials. Galbraith has heard it all before. The tall, thin 22-year-old won the last major race at this track in the fall, and he has run a 52.41-second lap, which makes him one of the hot foots. He remains coolly to one side.

“You’re never the fastest,” he says, shaking his head and gazing out onto the course. “There’s always someone else out there.”

An argument erupts at the rules meeting. Art Charles, referred to by the other drivers as “the John McEnroe of racing,” stalks angrily away from the official’s table, waving his arms in the air. He is upset by a ruling that may keep him from racing in what is considered to be the fastest car on the track.

‘Forget It’

“I’m the best driver out here, so I want to go with the best,” he shouts. “Now with this bull you guys are pulling, forget it.”

A race official runs after Charles, hoping to console him. The public address announcer welcomes racers and spectators to the opening night of the 1986 Virage Cup spring racing league. Driver Tony Woodford smiles widely.

“Racing cars is what I live for.”

The Virage Cup isn’t exactly big-time racing. In fact, you might be hard-pressed to call it racing at all. This is no Riverside International Raceway. It is the Malibu Grand Prix amusement center in Northridge. Anyone with $1.75 and a driver’s license can drop by seven days a week to take a spin around the five-eighths-mile course in cars that are miniature copies of real grand prix cars. No one ever hits the wall at 180 m.p.h. and bursts into a ball of flame. About the worst that can happen is that a driver will spin off the track and have to suffer the indignity of waiting for an attendant to push him back onto the pavement.

Tightly Twisting Track

But the cars are equipped with wide racing tires and 28-horsepower engines that will propel them at speeds up to 40 m.p.h. along the backstretch of the Northridge course’s tightly twisting track. And, among a small circle of regulars there, racing Virage cars has become a passion. Galbraith, of Encino, spends a lot of money to drive as many as 75 practice laps a week. Charles is a 43-year-old film industry carpenter who averages 50 laps a week. Scott Kerfoot, 22, showed up with his own helmet and custom racing gloves.

The regulars, known as “the club,” are almost exclusively male, ranging from teen-agers to men well into their 40s. They are students, manual laborers and office managers. Some also race dirt bikes or sports cars. Others have only the Malibu Grand Prix to come to for competitive driving. These drivers have honed their racing technique, running laps that are consistently 10-15 seconds faster than the average driver’s. They walk away from the cars drenched in sweat, with arms and legs shaking and sore. When asked what it is that inspires them, the racers most often answer, simply, driving.

“It’s the idea of going out there and controlling the car, making it do what you want it to do,” Woodford said.

“There is a skill to this. There is a discipline,” said Scott Fisher, a 30-year-old technical writer from Canoga Park. “It’s something you can learn and get better at. It’s come in handy once or twice on the Ventura Freeway.”

Galbraith shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s the art of driving.”

Financial Trouble

For Malibu Grand Prix, the Virage Cup is something entirely different. Corporation officials hope that the racing series will attract a few more customers, said Fred Nelson, a manager at the Northridge track. The Malibu Grand Prix people, who operate five tracks in Southern California and about 41 more around the country, have recently been beset by debt from improvements and acquisitions of new parks. Bad weather at tracks in the Midwest and East has forced frequent closures. The corporation, many of whose facilities also offer video arcade games and miniature golf, lost $6.3 million in 1984 and $4 million in the first three quarters of last year.

The entry fee for the eight-week series is $20, plus another $10 a week. There are weekly prizes of $30, $20 and $10 for the top finishers, plus a season-ending race that pays $300, $200 and $100. But Nelson was careful to point out that the Virage Cup was designed to be a moneymaking venture.

Estimated-Time System

After much arguing among the 21 drivers who showed up on the first Wednesday night of the season, the rules were finally worked out. A drag-racing format known as the “estimated time” system would be used: The driver must predict what his average speed will be for five laps. The driver who clocks in closest to the average speed he has predicted--whether that speed is fast or slow--wins.

Several of the faster drivers, who would have preferred a fastest-time-wins format, grumbled. Galbraith remained calm.

“I think it actually helps the fast drivers,” he said. “If you’ve driven here a lot and you know the track, you can go full out and run laps that are identical, or within a 10th of a second.”

And so the racing began. Because the cars race against the clock, rather than against each other, Virage racing is hardly an enthralling spectator sport. The regulars clustered together, discussing what line to take through this or that curve, wondering about tire pressures and gesturing often with their hands.

Speed Not Enough

Galbraith proved to be the fastest consistent driver. All his laps came in close to 58.5 seconds. Unfortunately, he had guessed 59 seconds, so he finished well out of the running.

“The back end on the car I was running was real loose,” he said. Stoic to the end, he smiled. “Hey, that’s racing.”

Sheree Woodford, Tony Woodford’s wife and the only woman in the competition, listened to advice from her husband, who refinishes classic cars as a business and races sports cars when he isn’t at Malibu Grand Prix.

“I don’t mind being the only woman,” Sheree Woodford said. “It gives me more willpower to beat the guys.”

Her first two laps were perfect. But then she faded and finished well off her time.

Charles, after more arguing and complaining, roared through the course like a madman, hitting the fastest lap of the night. But the next four were inconsistent. The widely varied times shown on an electronic scoreboard drew cheers from other drivers. Charles, still racing, responded with an obscene gesture toward his competitors. He ranted and raved away from the pits.

Smoke on Track

Hours into the night, the cars wove through the course, one at a time, each driver taking three practice laps, then five more for competition. One of the cars was having mechanical difficulties, thick smoke blowing from the pipes, and, by 10 p.m. the track had become enshrouded in a fine, white mist. By 11 p.m., the air turned wet and cold. The drivers huddled on an observation platform.

In the end, it was not a regular who won the first race of the season. It was an outsider. At first, when no one recognized the name, they thought he had left before the outcome was official. But Jeff Clark, 24, of Oxnard was standing by the back of the platform, away from the others.

Clark, a quiet, amiable man who works in a muffler shop and has an extensive background in formal jalopy and drag racing, said he comes to Malibu Grand Prix only sporadically--”when I can afford it.” He turned to the amusement car park as a matter of practicality.

“I started this because my driving record had decayed. . . . Sacramento sent me a letter that said I was a menace on the highways,” he explained. “I had to find a legal way to drive fast.

“These really are race cars,” Clark said. “And there are some very fast drivers out here. I haven’t had the chance to talk to them yet. Maybe now they’ll talk to me.”