April 17, 2001 — I cursed inside my helmet and squeezed my steering wheel.
I needed more speed.
But I couldn’t maneuver around the slowpoke in front of me. Time to make my presence felt. I figured a few bumps from behind should do the trick. So that’s what I did.
Tap, tap, tap.
That’s the great thing about auto racing at the Andretti Speed Lab in Roswell. Helmets and jumpsuits make everyone anonymous. Even the most demure drivers become defiant. The Intimidator comes out in all of us.
But you better hope you’re moving too fast for your opponents to catch your car number. Because these races are long, and payback could come on any corner.
“It’s the closest thing to real racing,” said Doug Wolf, 31-year-old owner of the $4.5 million, 100,000 square foot Andretti entertainment complex. “It’s wheel-to-wheel competition.”
And my wheels had this racer rattled. He or she took the next turn too wide, and I snuck by on the inside. My tailgating time was over. I pushed down hard on the gas and sped toward the straightaway — which doesn’t last long at Andretti.
The 1,000-foot long track is designed the European way. Tight turns, and many of them. The walls have some give to them, too. Trust me.
“I’ve done regular go-carts, but not this,” said Jeff Reid, 34, of Marietta, after a race. “It was a slick track. There was a lot of wheel spinning. It takes more skill than I thought it would.”
It’s hard work, this racing stuff. Prepare to be soaked in sweat when it’s all over. Prepare not to care. You’ll likely want to do it all over again.
The carts themselves are lightweight and low to the ground. I was told that they feature a 6.5-horsepower engine, twin-piston braking and can pull 1.5 Gs in the corners. I nodded politely, having no idea what most of that meant.
The carts can get up to 35 mph, though — and yes, I do know what that means. There’s also a high-tech timing system that keeps track of each car’s individual lap times. The Lab provides you with a printout of your performance when the 8-minute heat is over. You may, or may not, want to look at it.
After you receive your helmet and racing suit, but before you race, you must head to the “briefing room” and listen to a sharply smug British voice tell you what — and often what not — to do out on the track.
“Go fast around the corners, go faster on the straightaways and go faster than the guy breathing down your neck,” he instructed. “Slow and steady does not win this race. Smooth, controlled speed is the only way.”
Kind of sounds like the trailer for a Jerry Bruckheimer movie, doesn’t it?
If you tire of the track — which the Andretti Web site considers “blasphemy” — the Speed Lab, which occupies a vacated Sam’s Club warehouse, has plenty more to keep you busy.
There’s a “zip line” suspended from the ceiling that flies you 300 feet across the room — and over the two race tracks. The venue’s other track is shorter and caters to the younger set.
There’s also an indoor rock climbing wall, billiard tables and more than 10,000 square feet of interactive video games that allow you to race anything from snowmobiles to stock cars.
Andretti also features a Fuddruckers restaurant and a bar called the Sky Box, which juts out over the race track. It even has a glass floor that allows you to watch the cars speed by beneath your feet. Imagine that after a few drinks.
I, however, chose to stay away from all the food and drink, the bells and whistles. I chose the place where you had to shout over the roar of engines, where the smell of gasoline and burning rubber pervaded all.
And when my two heats were finished, that’s where I wanted to stay.
It was rush hour on Ga. 400 when I left the Lab. I sat my body behind the steering wheel of my Toyota Corolla — but my mind remained back on the track.
I wanted to bump the BMW in front of me, take a swipe at the Saab by my side. But I didn’t.
The cars piled up on the highway and baked in the afternoon sun. I clenched my teeth and turned my music up loud. I wasn’t going to be back in Gainesville anytime soon.
After two packs of gum and an entire Supergrass album, I had finally inched my way to my exit — but some lady in a big red Oldsmobuick blocked my path.
No way. Not this again.
A little eye contact is all it took this time. She knew better, and let me in.