When I was seventeen years old, I found myself strapped into a Formula 3000 car in Marseille, France. It was my first time to drive an open wheeled race car and my nerves had left me. My instructor at the Paul Ricard School Of Racing was none other than Alain Prost. He looked on expectantly as I eased out of the clutch and stalled.

Shit.

I fought my shaking hands, got the car fired, and got on the track. The first lap was an easy tire warmer, but you wouldn’t know it by my pulse. I couldn’t get the nerve. As I crossed the start finish, a track hand waved a green flag as a sign – the tires should be warm. It was time to do this.

I hammered the throttle and went through the gears. My first obstacle was the Verriere – a quick left/right at full throttle. No problem. Then came the Chicane. I got on the stoppers a little early, but nailed the apex and came out hot. Too hot! The Saint-Beaurne, a fast right hander, was next. I carried too much speed and ran the left side off the track. The sound of gravel hitting up against the belly pan scared the hell out of me, but I got the car back on the track in time for a full throttle left-hander that sets up the long Mistral Straight.

And then it happened. My nerve came back. Another student entered the track ahead of me and my competitive nature somehow drowned out any lack of confidence that dwelled. Everything left my mind… The only thing I cared about was passing the car in front of me.

I drove. My eyes focused two obstacles ahead and my brain kept a registry of my competitors position. He was braking early of the points and I knew I could get him. As he entered the Virage Du Pont, a sharp right hander, I dove inside him and let my brakes do the work. As we exited, he gave way and I made the first pass of my career.

I was exhilarated. As I passed the start/finish again, I saw something black in my peripheral. I then I got a tone in my helmet signaling me to get off the track. When I did so, I was met by an instructor full of French emotion.

I had broken the rules. This was a teaching session and passing of any kind was not allowed. I knew that prior and had no intentions of pissing anyone off, but my nature took over. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was focused on the track, the car, and driving.

……..

Welcome to DOGFIGHT Magazine fellas… It’s gonna be one hell of a ride.