"Let's strap you in tight so you don't break a rib," a handler muttered as he secured me in the racing seat. And with that my hands went numb and cold.
Subaru was hosting a press junket for the Rim of the World Rally in Palmdale, California, that was to serve as Super Street's introduction to the world of SCCA ProRally. Palmdale was the last place I had imagined a heathen could regain his religion, but as the final harness locked my belly into place, I racked my brain for some sort of spirituality. But all I could come up with, in this desperate moment of panic, was the baptism scene from The Godfather.
Things started innocently enough, in a sun-drenched Holiday Inn parking lot nestled in the heart of the Palmdale desert, where I met SCCA personnel and got a map indicating the location of the special press stage. Minutes later, our caravan trek terminated at a dirt fire trail where an RV was dispensing doughnuts and Minute Maid.
I was standing next to the Subaru press event organizer, working my blatant suck-up for a WRX wagon. Before I could finish complimenting him on the breakfast assortment, I got elected for the first ride. The ride was a Group N-spec '02 WRX ProRally car. My pilot was Karl Scheible, team driver for the Subaru Prodrive effort.
After squeezing my lard arse into the car, we staged, a flag was waved, and the car lurched forward like an electrocuted mule. Scheible aimed the car toward the first bend at a pace that had me gagging on my tongue as I made pathetic attempts to keep breathing. Suddenly, the desert countryside became a twisting blur bending around the A-pillars.
The car flung over bumps into the air like a stone skipping over a lake. The physical gifts and concentration necessary to control a vehicle on such unforgiving terrain inspired in me a glowing awe and respect for ProRally drivers and their cars. The Ohlins suspension on this WRX could probably handle anything short of a land mine.
All too quickly, the ride was over. I exited the car a sweaty, disoriented, drool-stained mess and left with the conviction that we would've both left that hillside in a meat wagon had I been behind the wheel. But this visceral rally press sampler was merely a pre-game tailgate kegger for the main event-the Rim of the World Rally.
Spectator participation and communing with nature are unique to the rally motorsport. Getting around on rally stages involves parking about a mile away from what you had envisioned as really lousy parking. Walking (and lots of it) is a necessity if you want to catch all the action, so pity the fool who wears uncomfortable shoes as the resulting corns and blisters are crippling.
Rally offers other obstacles as well. I managed to busy myself snapping pictures, which meant I could ignore the biting and burning sensation working up my leg. Only later did I discover that the irritations were caused by a small caravan of fire ants and not the usual jock itch. If that weren't enough, buzzards were circling in the sky above and rained down cat turd-sized droppings. For the contact lens dependent, the end-of-day lens removal ritual felt like I was peeling dust-dried postage stamps from my eyes.
Such environmental obstacles can't hold a candle to what the drivers are going through, and there lies the camaraderie between rally driver and spectator. In a sense, they're in it together. Actually, it's a struggle that I'd prefer took place at a wet bar somewhere in Acapulco, but such was not the case. A feeling of defiance of the elements on the part of the spectators (and maybe a sense of accomplishment) is what makes the rally scene so worthwhile. Pound for pound, this may be the most rewarding show in motorsports.