Being Richard Petty

Thus, one Thursday afternoon, this particular schmo found himself clad in slightly-too-tight blue and tan coveralls, standing in the world's most famous pit area waiting his turn to drive really, really fast.

Of course, we wouldn't be driving at speeds up to 200 mph, shoulder-to-shoulder and bumper-to-bumper with each other. The other 23 guys and I - and one woman - perspiring in our polyester racing suits would max out at less than 150 mph. And we'd be out there three at a time, spaced fairly evenly around the 2.5-mile oval.

First, we had to learn a few things about driving a racecar. Our training began in the media room, where we watched a video starring Richard and Kyle Petty, and Nicholas Cage, for some reason. The video seemed mainly designed to encourage us to pay attention to our instructors, each of whom had a NASCAR-appropriate name like Rusty or A. J.

Once out in the pits, instructor T. J. Lyons pointed out the difficulty involved in getting into a car that doesn't have doors, then explained the various harnesses and other safety equipment.

"The first thing you'll notice when you get in the car is there's no steering wheel," Lyons said. "You're going to need one of those."

A steering wheel is a liability when one's sole means of ingress and egress is by way of the car's window opening, he explained. He showed us how the steering wheel pops on and off using a little spring-loaded collar, so if we needed to get out of the car - if it caught on fire, for example - we could remove it.

Lyons then explained how to get out of the complicated-looking restraining devices, including a seatbelt, shoulder harnesses, and Hans device, a restraint that keeps ones helmet - and thus head and neck - from leaving the car during a crash.

I wondered if I'd remember any of this stuff if my car caught fire. I decided to focus on learning the location of the fire extinguisher.

Once on the track, Lyons added, our instructors and crew could only communicate with us via flag and hand signals. For instance, a rolled-up green flag waving in a circle means "go faster." I would see that one later.

We returned to our makeshift waiting area, a bank of folding chairs beneath a tent. The pit coordinator called out, "Gentlemen, start your engines," and the equivalent of several thousand horses rumbled to life. "The Race is On" blared from the speakers as our instructors sped out for a few test laps around the track.

I relaxed for a while, watching people drive really fast in circles and struck up a conversation with the one woman, Melissa Burnette from New Jersey, who was there to realize a lifelong dream.

"I'm no newcomer to NASCAR," she said. "But this is my first time driving. I can't wait."

Merrit Island resident Steve Charpentier was among the first few groups of drivers. He had done similar programs elsewhere, he said. He felt this operation was more thorough about safety than others, but still gave a great ride.

Charpentier had paid extra to go for a "ride-along," sitting alongside an instructor for a few laps around the track before going it alone.

"I think that makes it easier," he said. "He takes it into the curves at about 6,000 RPM, which is around 165 mph."

"That does a lot for your confidence," he added. "You're only going about 4,000 RPM, which is probably about 145. If the car will hold the turn at 165, you know you'll be okay going a little slower."

I noticed love bugs floating above the track. I wondered what a 145-mph impact did to a love bug.

The crew offered me a chance to go on a ride-along, too, and I took them up on the offer. It had the opposite effect on me - about the time we hit the first banked turn, I had a critical "What the heck was I thinking?" moment.

That feeling didn't subside until I watched Burnette happily climb into a racecar and rumble away. If she could do it, I could, I thought. Besides, I drive to work every morning. Even at less than half the speed, it's probably more dangerous on US 92, surrounded by yahoos yakking on cell phones, putting on makeup, and eating Egg McMuffins. Soon, I was strapped into a racecar with my hands on the wheel and foot on the clutch.

There's a strange phenomenon that occurs in times of total commitment to a task, when all mental activity stops except that which is absolutely essential. It happened as I eased off the clutch and followed my instructor, A. J. Supan, onto the track.

About 1 ½ laps later, G-forces pushed me into my seat as I steered into a banked curve, and the mental dialogue finally returned. I noticed I was having fun - a lot of it.

I kept having fun for the remainder of my eight laps - speeding through the curves, trying to hug the high side on the straightaway, enjoying the rush of speed and the feel of the magnificent machinery I guided around the tri-oval.

All too soon, the checkered flag waved and I followed my instructor back into the pit area, where Burnette had just wriggled out of her jump suit. Was it as good for you as it was for me? I asked.

"Absolutely," she answered. "Let's do that again."

I was willing, but it was time to return to the media center, where we collected our lap times and our official certificates of completion. My top speed was 139. I felt pretty smug.

Burnette sat in the row in front of me.

"I was faster than I thought," she said. I looked over her shoulder. Her top speed was 145.

The Richard Petty Driving Experience has ride-along and driving programs at the Daytona International Speedway and at the Walt Disney World Speedway in Orlando. For more information, phone 1-800-BE-PETTY or visit their Web site at 1800bepetty.com.