Racing Culture & Really Serious Gearheads, or why I’m in Startups

I’m sitting here pondering the nights I was behind the wheel. 135 miles per hour and we pulled onto the twin span. Clearing regular traffic as if it were stopped.

We headed in line, watching out for each other. A flash for helicopters, two for traffic issues. We’d gotten used to each other, our techniques. We could tell the intensity of the drive by the slight movements of the wheels, the angle of attack on the cars. We could see millimeter differences from a distance, the twist of suspension and more.

The speed was almost like slow motion. The lift and drop as we rolled over bad interstate sections heading into New Orleans. We imagined what was happening as the suspension compressed and decompressed to light the cars firmly on the road. Those wings, that so many might make fun of, a very valuable physical asset to the cars at this point. Helping to keep the ass ends firmly planted and the front ends firmly aligned with our drive.

We’d notice the hard break of an cohort in the drive. 135 mph becomes 65mph in a mere few seconds. All of us in perfect succession break, knowing there is only one reason for such a massive drastic shift. Of course, off to the side the lead’s radar had detected a pig. We cruise by and at the respective distance drop the hammer again. We roll onward to an easy cruising of about 105 mph.

Yeah, we’re in the United States. Do we care about the speed limit or the police? Yeah, we care about everybody but we just don’t care about their nonsensical approach to all this. The adrenaline rush overrides all of that anyway, the precisions and the dance of it all makes us not care. We’ve been cast aside by society for so many years now we don’t care anyway. We know the ins and outs of the system, we understand what we’re doing, and we do what we can not to involve those that are innocent or uninvolved. It’s a simple thing really. Overall, we stay on the hard core, underground, down low.

The 105mph trickles down to 60mph as we take the off ramp that reads 25mph. Except we don’t slow down, because our cars are built to handle this turn at an easy 60 mph. Nobody is anywhere to be seen. We move toward Michoud. The technology in our cars reads back various metrics; air pressure, compression ratios, air and fuel mixtures, we get trended data of our average speed across the 6 mile bridge. We’re all data nerds at heart. The difference between other data nerds is we’re all adrenaline junkies. We all roll down to the roads that are wide open and completely empty at this time of night.

We’re primed. The ladies and gentlemen of the crew are now all lined up. Yes, it looks like those shitty movies. With amazingly beautiful ladies, some really young, some of the ladies sit in the drivers seats. It’s the most sexist non-sexist environment ever. Everybody is there to get their adrenaline bump. They are there to see the technology, to feel the speed or hear the sounds, to see the elated people and share in the moment. It’s intense, it’s driving, it is contagious.

The first two cars line up. A straight and two turns. There are no rules, just stay alive and lead. Simple

As they pull up the tech can be heard, air intakes and turbos, forced induction pushing power into ranges that V8s dream of. All in a measly 1.8-2 liter engine. Power to weight ratios that are usually only in 160k dollar cars, all sit in front of us with the creative work of really smart individuals. Often in the beautifully modified piece of art coming in around 20-40k. These drivers working 2, 3, or 4 jobs to make the money to create these masterpieces.

A young lady decides to step up to flag the start of the race. She throws down her hands as the count ends and steps forward to be sure to avoid the car paths. The cars lurch forward in a violent passion, screaming engines and turbos spooling hard. Machine, tech, power, lust, and brute force combine to throw the cars forward to 30mph, 60mph, and faster. Mere seconds pass, a quarter mile is broken and triple digit speeds are broken. The first turn can be seen and the curs stab forward as the breaks are applied. One car leads into the turn, kicking out ever so slightly. The driver has balls, or maybe I shouldn’t say that. Because she’s doing an amazing job of smoking the guy in the other car.

The tear thru the turns and come back around. Slowing with hesitation as they approach the crowd as dozens prance forward to congratulate them on a great run. The both egress from their cars to discuss the dynamics of it all. To throw a little bravado forward and enjoy everyone’s congratulations. Again, to enjoy the moment and hubris of it all.

The race is done. Adrenaline is had. The love of it all is beyond evident to all but the dead.

I know this, I’ve felt it, I’ve been there, raced there, loved it there. Now I do none of it. But the passion of the technology, the integration, the effort and drive is all there in me. This is why I love the startups, the small business, the effort to step above the fray and move forward. To make that little impact in the world and get the smile on your face that comes with it.

That’s why I work for startups. That’s why I’ll try until the last gasp I take.