THE RACER’S EDGE : School Helps Drivers Put a Spin on Their Technique

The car closed toward the sharp corner at the end of the straightaway at almost 100 m.p.h. From the cockpit, a traffic cone marking the start of the turn was clearly visible. Eyes fixed on it, the driver pressed the clutch, slipped the car into fourth gear and floored the accelerator.

The engine responded and the car picked up speed toward the cone. Wind blew through the seam between his face mask and helmet. He glanced quickly at the gauges to make sure the car was within its limitations, then resettled in the seat to prepare for the turn.

Suddenly, the cone was beside the car. The driver, thinking the speed was too great to make the corner, turned the wheel sharply. Too sharply. The tires squealed and the car faced the inside of the track. Excitement ended and panic took over. The driver let up on the gas.

That was the wrong move. The car started to spin. The driver put a death grip on the steering wheel and desperately mashed on the gas pedal. It was too late. The car was out of control. The driver could only ride it out and hope to stay on the track.

No luck there, either. The car flew into the dirt surrounding the raceway. The driver hit the brake and held in the clutch, praying the tires wouldn’t catch and flip the car over. Luckily, it finally stopped upright amid a whirlwind of dust and flying stones.

The scenario took only seconds. The driver swore, put the car in gear and drove back onto the track. Frustrated, he wondered if he would ever get it right.

Vernon Powell, 31, has gone fast since he was old enough to hold a steering wheel. He has always owned high-performance cars. His current model is a 1960 Corvette.

But the Rocky Mountains roads around Rangely, Colo., where he lives, weren’t good enough for the soft-spoken oil rig worker. He wanted to learn to race and win on a track with other drivers. So he packed his gear and came to Willow Springs International Raceway to learn how to drive.

Major sanctioning organizations won’t even issue a basic license for their race circuits unless a first-time driver has successfully passed an approved racing course. The International Motor Sports Assn. requires one class for an entry-level racing license. The Sports Car Club of America requires two courses.

The SCCA runs its own courses at almost every major track in the country. There are 15 other schools approved by the SCCA. The sanctioning body requires racing experience in SCCA regional club races and national amateur races before issuing a professional license--the kind that will get a person on the Can-Am, Super Vee or Trans Am circuits, for example.

The biggest independent racing course in the nation is the Skip Barber Racing School based in Canaan, Conn. Barber, an SCCA national champion, started it 10 years ago. The school runs three amateur circuits at Eastern tracks, one professional series and dozens of schools a year. However, the SCCA recognizes only the schools--not the Barber series programs--for an amateur or professional license.

Barber started the school because he wanted a job that didn’t interfere with his racing. Two years later, Barber had dropped racing and became involved with the school full time. The school is now moving West, launching new classes at Willow Springs and Firebird International Raceway near Phoenix.

A Barber alumni list reads like a who’s who of racing. A third of the qualifying field at last year’s Indianapolis 500 were Barber graduates. Trans Am champion Wally Dalenbach Jr. is a Barber graduate as is Ken Johnson, the Super Vee champion in 1985. Super Vee Co-Rookie of the Year Mike Groff, of Northridge, was a Barber series driver. So was the other co-rookie of the year, Jeff Andretti. The school graduated 1,500 drivers last year.

The school is a traveling road crew complete with cars, mechanics and a teacher. They travel in big rigs, teaching guys like Powell the correct way to drive.

The first lesson of the Barber school is that racing is an expensive sport. The basic three-day competition course costs more than $1,300. A full seven-day racing course runs more than $3,000.

Although a typical class size is 14, just six--five men and a woman--signed up for a recent class at Willow Springs. Only three were from California, the others traveling from Colorado and Arizona. The majority were racing fans, with aspirations of one day becoming the next Danny Sullivan, defending Indianapolis 500 champion.

They gathered early on a Tuesday morning in the VIP tower of Willow Springs for the first day of class. The teacher, Mike Zimicki, has raced for seven years and is a veteran of the SCCA and IMSA circuits.

Clad in a T-shirt, shorts and thongs, Zimicki teaches with a certain arrogance. He’s a good driver, knows it, and has no problem saying it. But like so many other gifted drivers, Zimicki, 26, doesn’t have the sponsors to drive for a living. So he travels around the country, training others for a sport that has already been saturated with talent.

“Skip Barber always has a saying: For every driver out on the track there are 10 in the pits with just as much--if not more--talent, just watching,” Zimicki said from his motel room after a day’s session.

Merely watching isn’t Zimicki’s style. It never was since growing up in upstate New York. He’s never been a racing fan . He always wanted to drive. If he happens to go to a race, he analyzes other drivers.

Teaching lets Zimicki do a lot of that. He always keeps his composure. He’s failed several students and dropped others from the school for especially stupid acts, but always in a calm manner. He’ll try anything to get the person to learn, including pleading, threatening or tricking them. Figuring out what motivates people is challenging for Zimicki and he enjoys teaching--whether it’s racing or skiing.

“It’s quantum leaps teaching people racing,” Zimicki said. “It’s not like that in skiing. You get a talented skier just every so often. That’s the thing that makes the job enjoyable--you get the little light bulb to go on in their head.

“In racing, I see very few students I get frustrated about. Even some of the students I fail--I dread the thought of going out and telling someone that they’re not going to pass: ‘Well, you spent your $1,000 bucks but you’re not cut out for it.’ But they usually understand the reasons why.”

Defining what makes a race car driver is difficult, however. Zimicki isn’t even sure. Many times, he said, a driver will have lots of natural ability but is a danger to himself and others because he won’t listen. Likewise, a driver could trade a lack of ability with hours of practice--as long as he can afford it.

Zimicki has seen it all, from the truly enthusiastic students to ones who wonder what they’ve gotten themselves into. The average student, he said, is a successful, middle-aged businessman. The kind who went sky diving last summer and this year he’s learning to race cars.

Whatever their intention, the fee doesn’t automatically buy students a diploma. Zimicki’s criteria is more simple: he watches the students during the final day of practice and asks himself if he would feel safe driving on the same track with them.

“They can be fast,” Zimicki said. “If they’re slow but doing everything right they’re a graduate. If they’re blazingly fast, but scary, they may not be a graduate.

“I’m proud of the job I do. I mean, we have a reputation to keep up, right? If a driver were to come out of the Barber program and be the terror of the SCCA and said, ‘Yeah, Mike Zimicki taught me everything I know,’ my reputation wouldn’t be as good. There’s enough bozos out there.”

Occupational pride aside, Zimicki has a hard time copping to what he does for a living in the real world. Almost everyone believes that driving a race car is an easy thing to do. Zimicki has walked away from several arguments with people he calls “barroom racers.”

“I really try hard to avoid telling people what I do for a living,” he said. “I’ll tell people I’m a ski bum or something.

“A lot of people come out to a course thinking they’re going to be world beaters. I mean, this is America, everybody knows how to drive, right?”

It’s a Wednesday morning, and Zimicki is making an example starring Zippy the chimp in the VIP tower of Willow Springs.

Zippy is one of Zimicki’s favorite subjects, as in: “With proper training, it wouldn’t be too hard to have Zippy the chimp drive fast in a straight line. . . .” Zimicki obviously has little respect for drag racers. Teaching people to drive road circuits is the school’s function.

The class schedule lacks frills. Concepts such as braking and cornering are discussed in the classroom, the VIP tower, then students hit the track to try to apply the lesson.

Try, sure. Succeed, rarely. Most students quickly learn that even basic skills like shifting and braking require an enormous amount of concentration when flying around a race track. Positioning in each corner is critical for the next corner. One small mistake can ruin an entire lap.

Said Zimicki: “Good auto racers tend to be good physical specimens, not amazing. But they’re smart.

“If you’re a top-flight tennis player, jockey, bowler, whatever, your concentration time is relatively short. An auto race isn’t like that. It’s constant concentration.”

Willow Springs, about 30 miles north of Lancaster, is a 2.5-mile, nine-turn course loaded with potential mistakes. There is one long straightaway, and most of the turns are long and sweeping. Almost everybody had a problem with at least one part of the course--either with handling the car or the track.

Concentration is key. A driver must shift, brake, accelerate, turn and check gauges almost simultaneously. Drivers who think too long often end up off the track. In many cases, normal driving instincts must be overridden.

That was fairly easy for Sharon Roberts of Phoenix and Brian Blain of Visalia. Both had some racing experience and attended the school to sharpen skills and earn a racing license. Both also fit Zimicki’s definition of the typical Skip Barber student well.

Roberts did just learn to sky dive. She and her husband, Don, recently sold a business and are semi-retired. After racing school, the couple wants to learn how to scuba dive.

Don was a SCCA national champion in Class-B production class. He gave his wife added coaching through the entire course.

“Think of all the people that never try anything,” Sharon said. “They wake up in the morning, go to work, come home and watch TV, then go to bed. On the weekend they may go to the lake. I love to get out and do stuff.”

What about the stress of high speeds?

“Racing isn’t any stress,” she said. “That’s fun--like a good horror movie.”

Blain, who owns walnut and pecan groves and a processing plant, agreed.

“It’s a real shot in the arm,” he said. “I get a real kick out of it. I can’t think of anything that gives you as much exhilaration as going around a race track.”

Increasing speed increases one’s exhilaration--and problems. Every time the class hit the road, Zimicki asked that the students drive faster. If there was a problem with a part of the course in the previous session, it had to be faced again at a faster speed.

That was easy to digest for Powell. He didn’t spin once throughout the three-day affair and felt comfortable with the car.

“Actually, there were several times that I was going faster than what he asked,” Powell said. “It’s a great experience. Even the tire smoke smells good to me.”

Above the smoking tires were Formula Fords. They’re open-wheel racers, a smaller version of an Indy-style car and powered by 1600cc four-cylinder engines. When the cars weren’t in use, a crew of three mechanics looked them over closely to keep them in top shape.

It’s left for the student drivers to get them out of shape. Zimicki said that there’s usually little damage to the cars after a three-day class. Injuries are uncommon.

Dave Kirkland, 28, of Broomfield, Colo., almost had a big problem. On the second day of the course, Kirkland did a 360-degree turn and kept going. It was similar to the spin performed by Sullivan at the Indianapolis 500 last year, but at a slower speed.

Kirkland, who plans to continue in racing, had virtually no complaints with the school.

“I’ve learned a lot,” Kirkland said. “Before long it seems like you’re doing the right corrections. It just looks like it takes a lot of practice. Just rent out a track and try to correct your weak spots.

“I get disappointed at times, but not too much.”

When Zimicki pulled out the diplomas on the last day, several drivers said they felt their heart drop. This reporter had spun the car at least a dozen times over the three-day class and was sure his name would be among the ones not cut out for racing.

It was a great feeling--and worth all the frustration--when Zimicki walked up, held out the diploma and said, “Congratulations. You survived.”