At Indy 500, Honda's simulator puts editor through the paces

INDIANAPOLIS — It was the chance of a lifetime, squandered on the wrong guy.

The Friday before the famous 500-mile race at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway is Carb Day — that stands for carburetion, not the carbohydrates in 12-ounce cylinders that racing fans wheel to the bleachers in coolers.

As things were winding down, Honda held a little drawing for the journalists present: One of us would get to experience the company racing program's Driver-in-the-Loop simulator at the Indianapolis arm of Honda Performance Development. Like a flight simulator, it's used to train drivers on a specific course or to virtually test new equipment or other strategic adjustments, such as how much downforce to apply under various conditions. It's basically the ultimate driving video game — designed and managed by a company still inspired by racing roots that go back to its founder.

It's what Formula One veteran — and "Formula 1: Drive to Survive" darling — Romain Grosjean used to learn unfamiliar tracks when he joined IndyCar last year.

The irony of the drawing was that the other writers were actual racing enthusiasts; I am a business journalist. In the words of a Reuters reporter I met in my baby days: "I don't write about cars, I write about car companies."

But there I was, the lucky winner.

I had actually been to the Indy 500 before, when I was 8 years old. James Garner, who was so cool in his Firebird on "The Rockford Files," drove the pace car. (It was an Oldsmobile Delta 88, according Wikipedia, which is worthy of your donations.) A.J. Foyt became the first driver to win the greatest spectacle in racing for a fourth time. Janet Guthrie was the first woman ever on the grid, requiring a special preamble to the traditional command of, "Gentlemen, start your engines." (Now, Roger Penske issues the gender-neutral — and more precise — order to "drivers.") It was a loud, long and hot afternoon. I didn't understand much and saw nothing but blurs of color on the track.

The next year, I had the chance to go again, but I didn't want to miss the baseball league's all-star game. So I stayed with my buddy and his family for the holiday weekend. Other than a bunch of tchotchkes from the museum gift shop and a poster in my room, that was pretty much the end of my racing fandom.

And yet, I was going to be the one in the tub.

The other guys were good sports about it, sharing advice when I asked — and joking that they would be judging me harshly.

I had to change into special shoes that were skinny enough to fit in the pedals and put on racing gloves. Davide Tarsitano, the vehicle performance principal engineer, showed me the array of buttons, including push-to-talk, the fan and something called a weight jacker. He saw the thinly veiled terror in my eyes and knew I wasn't going to be experimenting with something like that, no matter how cool the name sounded. Not today.

Oh, yeah, those other guys would've gotten more out of this than me.

The hardest part, Davide warned me, would be getting the car rolling in first gear. He told me I could give it plenty of gas — there was no way to hurt the simulator — but I didn't give it enough, and I killed the engine.

Then I killed it again.

"You can give it way more gas," he told me through the headset.

I pushed the accelerator to an uncomfortable level and let out the clutch paddle with the little fingers of my right hand. The car started rolling.

I kept my foot on the gas, and as I entered the track ... I promptly spun out and killed the engine again.

"Just like Colton!" one of the guys joked, as I heard later on video. Colton Herta had flipped his car at Carb Day. He walked away and would be ready to race on Sunday.

For me, it was reminiscent of General Motors President Mark Reuss' famous crash driving the Corvette ZR1 pace car at the Detroit Grand Prix in 2018, which I did happen to watch live on TV. On one hand, I thought, if Mark Reuss can struggle, I have nothing to be ashamed of. But also: If it's hard for someone like him, can I even really do this?

"You can keep trying, Jamie," Davide told me. I cranked on the wheel, gave it gas and let out the clutch. The car started rolling. And much to my relief, it was going in the right direction!

"There we go," he said.

From there, it was pretty smooth sailing. A couple of times, I cut the corner a little thin. One time, I tried to look at my speed, and in the split second I took my eye off the track, the car got very wobbly and I just about lost it.

The races I am more familiar with are of the distance-running variety. For me, sometimes it's best to just run and let the clock — or the speedometer — take care of itself.

I didn't know how obvious my 200-plus-mph near oopsy was to the crew in the observation room. But I wanted to make sure Davide knew what was going on with me.

I stabbed my left thumb where I thought the push-to-talk button was to explain what had happened. I must have stumbled upon it because they did hear me and laugh. They definitely had thought for a moment that I was going to wipe out.

On Carb Day, we got to meet the race's youngest driver, 20-year-old David Malukas, who had crashed on that last day of practice after he got bumped by another driver.

When asked whether he steers primarily by pushing or by pulling on one side of the wheel, he said he pulls. I think that's what I do, too, in normal life. But sitting in that simulator, turning those big, virtual tires left over and over again, I definitely found myself pushing from my right shoulder up through the wheel.

It turns out, that heavy wheel was set to only about half of the actual steering force needed for an IndyCar. So clearly, drivers must be strong.

They also must have stamina. I got to run about 20 laps, 50 miles, and my shirt was getting pretty damp. (I couldn't remember where that dang fan button was hiding, but I wasn't about to go hunting for it.) If I had to go another 450 miles, that would be a lot of work.

And then on Sunday, I got to walk the grid, where the cars are lined up on the track during the pre-race rituals: the introductions of the drivers, the Purdue University marching band, the singing of "Back Home in Indiana," the Thunderbirds' flyover.

The track is hot. The drivers wear not only the heavy gloves, but also a fireproof suit, boots, balaclava and crash helmet. Some have special cooling equipment, but when every pound matters ... there's a lot of sweating going on.

Watching the race on replay at home on Memorial Day, I couldn't help but marvel that the steering wheel I saw on TV was exactly like the one I had used in the simulator. (Yes, I know that's the point of the simulator, but still — there it was!) Davide had showed me that the tachometer was effectively displayed by lights across the top of the wheel. When the blue ones flash all across the right side, it's time to upshift. The pros, through anticipation or reflex, clicked it up at the instant the lights clicked on.

That wasn't how I recalled my performance.

But I worked it along, shifting down to fourth gear on turns 1 and 3, then back up to fifth on the straights.

"Hey, Jamie, about two laps to go," Davide said. "If you want to, give it a shot at full throttle and just drive."

Well, OK. What's the worst that could happen?

Even if I wrecked and flipped the car, all the simulator would do is sink to the entry platform. It is an amazing simulator, but that's what it is. There's no replicating the actual danger faced by drivers at high speeds. Even with amazing safety advancements, the sport has risks on a different level than say, tennis or basketball.

So I left it in fifth gear and tried to stay on the track as I kept my foot floored.

Well, I tried to keep my foot floored. Chuck Schifsky, spokesman for Honda and Acura racing, commented later that the monitors revealed a "confidence lift" — taking my foot up a little out of fear.

It wasn't lack of confidence, I told him; it was fatigue and discomfort. I had to adjust my foot after jamming my leg down for so long — which, again, was only about a tenth of Sunday's race, little more than half the distance a driver typically goes on a tank of fuel between pit stops.

With no other cars on the virtual track, I didn't have to worry about someone creating funky air disturbances that could throw me off. But there was also no one for me to draft off of. (And how hard is that to actually do at full speed?)

The Honda Performance Development staff said the theoretical best lap under my simulated conditions would be 221 mph.

My last lap was 218.03.

And now I want to try to chase down those last 3 mph. ...

Maybe in my next lifetime.