At the wheel of her 2001 Audi TT convertible in June, Sue Orvik enters a turn at 60 miles per hour, more than twice the posted speed limit, as she screeches up a mountain road. During the week, the 57-year-old Danville (Calif.) resident is a regional sales manager for a systems-integration company. But on her own time, she dons a crash helmet and races cars. This weekend, it's a hill climb in Virginia City, Nev. "You don't have to be a guy age 25 to 35 to love this," she yells as she downshifts before a turn.
Orvik is one of a growing number of people taking part in amateur car-club racing. Clubs formed around cars such as Ferraris, Porsches, and BMWs have long existed, but more are holding events in which members can drive fast, not just show cars. For beginners, they include autocrosses in which drivers compete individually on a track or a course around pylons set up in a parking lot. The more advanced can test their skills against other drivers in wheel-to-wheel racing. Other venues include closed public roads, such as open-road races or hill climbs, where drivers compete individually for times. The racers' income and age spectrum are wide, and more women are participating.
The Virginia City hill climb, held every year since 1972, is one of the oldest--and quirkiest--of club races. The 5.2-mile course on Route 342, which is closed during the race, rises 1,200 feet from a valley to Virginia City, where it ends right at the sheriff's department, in full view of law officers watching on lawn chairs. Drivers negotiate 20 sharp curves. Few turns have guardrails, so a mistake can cause a crash down the scrub-brush- covered mountainside. Indeed, several cars have gone over the side, but the race has had only one fatality. Drivers line up at the bottom and participate in multiple timed runs up the course on Saturday and Sunday. The times are kept secret until Sunday night's closing banquet.
To enter the Virginia City hill climb, drivers must get the $385 entry fee in early enough to land one of the 70 spaces. While the racers' skills vary from novice to expert, virtually all come with some high-speed driving training. Toni Smith of Reno, Nev., who is in her 50s and races a Porsche Boxter S, started five years ago, after her son got involved in the sport. She began with autocrosses run by the Sports Car Club of America. In these, which cost about $50 to enter, she learned to drive fast around orange cones in parking lots and on tracks. Smith also has participated in wheel-to-wheel racing with the Porsche Club of America. These are open only to Porsche owners, but the SCCA sponsors races for drivers of all makes. To qualify for either, a driver gets licensed through autocross events and must have a car with extra safety features, such as a roll cage and a race seat with a five-point harness system.
Initially, only Ferraris could participate in the Virginia City race, founded by the Ferrari Owners Club of Los Angeles. But that soon changed when the drivers discovered they could go faster with other cars. By the late 1980s, many were bringing thoroughbred race cars--superpowerful, light machines designed only for the race track. The state of Nevada ended that by ordering that all cars must be street legal to drive on the public road that leads back to the base of the climb. Luckily for the drivers, the sheriff's deputies who monitor the race are willing to bend the law. Some cars aren't completely legal, missing turn signals, headlights, and even license plates.
Drivers worry more about going fast than they do about getting caught. Doug Hayashi, 42, brought his $100-an-hour mechanic to service his Acura NSX. Borrowing a trick from street racing, the mechanic added a nitrogen-oxygen bottle to the engine. With the push of a button, his Acura gets one short 12% boost in power. "It's like an arms race," says Jeff Regan, who drove a 1994 Ferrari.
Nobody asks how Hayashi can afford the mechanic. Racers rarely, if ever, discuss what they do for a living. (Hayashi retired from Microsoft at age 39.) Instead, they talk about cars and the race. "We're all here for the same thing: the treachery of the mountain against the clock," says Ed Barnett, 56, who drove a 1969 Porsche.
All strive to test their limits. On a hill climb, power and traction are essential, but a fast time turns on the racer's ability to carry speed through corners. Orvik, in her second year of racing, focuses on the line she takes through turns as she speeds up the hill. "Stay out, stay out," she mutters as she enters the outer edge of a sharp turn. "In, in," she adds as she cuts to the inside edge of the pavement to effectively widen the bend in the road. She hits 91 mph on the fastest part of the course.
In comparison, Steve Beddor, 41, who won the race this year for the seventh time since 1992, drives smoothly and silently. His Porsche-powered, 540-horsepower Ruf CTR-2 feels as if it's dancing on ice, ready to twitch out of control with one misstep. Beddor is a blur of shifting, braking, and precise steering. He positions the car inches from the road's edge as he sets up for a turn exiting a short straightaway, where he passes a 25 mph sign doing 140.
Despite the dangers, there were only two crashes this year, about usual for the race. David Le Sage, 50, had one when his quick-release steering wheel came off in his hands as the $150,000 race-modified Porsche he drove exited a straightaway at 133 mph. He skidded into a rock ledge, tearing off the front, right-hand portion of the blue car. "It's a friend's car," he lamented.
All who finish a run get the thrill of finally learning their best time at the banquet. Orvik placed 55, with a time of 4 minutes, 14 seconds--17 seconds faster than her time last year. You can bet she'll be here next year to try to beat her personal best.
By Robert Berner
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