But I digress. The point of me telling this tale isn't to confess my undying admiration for Damon Hill. In fact, that part of the story only makes my time behind the wheel of the F1 car so much sweeter. The point of this whole account is to convey the feeling of what it's like to pilot one of the best cars in the world around a legitimate F1 track. But, much like I had to at the Michelin Driving Experience, you'll have to wait.
The event I attended was an abridged version of the Experience. Most Experience attendees have to suffer a complete day of driving other high-performance cars in order to familiarize themselves with the course. Sometimes those cars can consist of BMW M3s, Renault Clio V6s, and Audi TTs. Because I'm such a pro at driving, having nearly unlocked every car on Gran Tourismo, Michelin let me familiarize myself with the course in an E46 M3 before I jumped in the two race cars I would get to drive before setting foot in the F1 car. Those two were an F3 car and a Porsche GT3 Cup car. Amazingly, the Porsche GT3 Cup was far more impressive than the F3. While the latter looked like an F1 car, and sported a trick sequential gearbox activated via a lever on the right side of the cockpit, the sensation of speed wasn't quite as vivid as in the GT3. The Porsche was also very cool because on the front straight the car would quickly power through Fourth and Fifth gears, and you'd still have enough straightaway to make a significant dent into Sixth. The transmission shifted fluidly, almost dreamlike. The transition from Fourth to Fifth wasn't like any car I'd driven--the shift felt more like a Second to Third transition, making rowing through all six gears more of a pleasure than I'd ever imagined. The only tricky part of the GT3 was actually getting the car moving. With the car idling, the Michelin staff strapped me firmly into the Porsche race car, and told me to rev the car to 4,000 rpm and slowly release the clutch to get the car moving. And with that, they slammed the door shut and waited for me to stall the engine--which I nearly did. With a little fancy footwork while the revs were rapidly decelerating toward zero, I successfully launched the GT3 with little more than a stumble and proceeded to make a few laps around the famed Barcelona road course.
Stepping into the F1 car was just like getting in the GT3 Cup car after the F3, only completely different in every conceivable way. Once I was strapped into the F1 car so tightly I could barely breathe, I noticed the carbon-fiber seat was actually molded to the contours of my legs. The F1's seat didn't really resemble a seat from the outside, and once I was bolted in it felt more like I was lying down rather than preparing to drive a freaking fast open-wheel car.
With my head stuffed into the contoured Michelin helmet, I discovered that what minimal view I had out of the helmet portal was now even more obstructed by the antennas and wind deflector that are mounted perfectly at eye level in front of the seat. Then the Michelin mechanics fired up the motor. It was at this point I realized I could barely see the track, I was having trouble breathing because the belts were so tight and I was doubting my ability to depress the clutch enough to even get the car into gear. One lap in this car was beginning to seem like it was going to be tougher than I expected.
Then the Michelin pit chief stood in front of my F1 car and raised his hand, which was my cue to raise the revs. With that accomplished, he indicated that I could click the car into gear with the use of the right steering-wheel-mounted paddle shifter and begin my lap. Oh crap. It's time.
With the clutch questionably pressed all the way in, I clicked the car into First gear and slowly let out the clutch. Believe it or not, the F1 car actually started moving forward. Slowly, but forward nonetheless. With the clutch nearly completely released, it grabbed, the car lurched forward, and I found myself in gear and heading toward either the greatest lap of my life, or the most expensive one.
Either way, I knew I wanted to remember it forever. Before I'd been allowed to even set foot near the F1 car, I was given very specific instructions not to simply floor the gas pedal; I needed to ease into the throttle. I'd also been told not to downshift while braking, not to brake while entering a turn, and most definitely not to accelerate if the car wasn't pointing in a straight line. I already planned to toss half that information out the window (if the car had one), but the "not flooring the gas pedal" part seemed like wise words, as the 3.0L V-8 motor puts out a claimed 650 horses, and the F1 car supposedly weighs in the 1,200-pound range. With a power-to-weight ratio south of 2.0:1 and no traction control or ABS, I thought I'd at least heed one of the four warnings. As soon as I'd traveled 50 feet, I got off the gas and clicked the tranny into Second, and with that, I eased on the gas firmly. The power was amazing. It was the fastest thing I'd ever been in. The car was absolutely breathtaking. And I hadn't even pressed the throttle pedal halfway yet.
Deciding against a full-throttle loop into the wall in Second gear right in front of the kind Michelin folks, I got off the gas once more and clicked the car into Third, where I eased on the gas twice as fast as I had in Second, but before I knew it I was nearing Turn One. Easing off the throttle, I applied the brakes and slowed well before the 100-meter mark. I guess those ceramic brakes work well even when they're cold.
Accelerating again, I entered Turn One and proceeded around the remainder of the track, slowly building confidence with every turn. On the back straight I managed to top the car out in Third, brake, top the car out, brake, and top the car out once more. Then I clicked the transmission into Fourth and eased on the throttle again, still having plenty of time to brake for the turn--now that's power. Even though I have no clue how fast I was going, I do know I was exceeding 130 mph once the car got into Fourth gear. The amazing part was that there was no wind buffeting on the helmet, something the F3 car suffered from severely. The F1 car was like driving a Buick, albeit a Buick that can top out at well over 200 mph and corner at more than twice the force of gravity. The car was absolutely refined. I guess it was as refined as a $1 million sports car should be.
As soon as it started, it was over. I completed my lap successfully and have since entered the record books as the fastest lap at the Circuit De Catalunya in an F1 car driven by a British-born, Los Angeles-based automotive journalist named Phil in Damon Hill's old car. Yes, quite a coveted title, I know, but I'm sure there'll soon be Web pages about me and my many exploits.
Boring, you say? Because you can't drive an F1 car, all the sudden you're not interested, is that it? Truth be known, if you head to www.michelinman.com right now you can enter to win an all-expenses paid trip to Europe to drive the same F1 car that I drove. Yes, you'll be able to tell your friends about how you grew up reading about the adventures of that Phil guy from eurotuner and then, thanks to an article he wrote, you won a trip to drive an F1 car that he once excellently navigated around a famed F1 course in Spain.