The Son Also Races

Some days are better than others.

Last night we continued our LaFerrari vs. 918 Spyder test at Circleville Raceway Park. I gave John a kart with a functioning starter and a working clutch; he rewarded me by shaving six seconds off his best lap time in under 30 laps of practice. He got steadily faster all evening and only spun once, but as every auto journalist knows this is a business where you spend most of the time taking photos. So he put his suit back on and posed for half an hour in the eighty-eight-degree heat. I was very proud of him.

I took my first laps of CRP last night as well, behind the wheel of the 918. John coached me around. I was surprised at just how complicated the track is. We had a good time. I hope he remembers these times when he's older. Most of my memories from when I was seven are unhappy ones. I don't blame my parents for that; it's just a side effect of being a few years younger than my classmates and being continually bounced from school to school around the East Coast. I think the best image I can summon from that era was when my neighbor across the street, an African-American postal worker who drove a slick silver-and-burgundy M-body LeBaron, gave me a high-power cylindrical "space magnet". It was half red and half polished. It disappeared in the next move. Those things happened whenever we loaded a North American truck and there didn't seem to be anything I could do to prevent it. I hope John feels more in control of his own life. At the very least, he knows how to get around a racetrack. But was he faster than the LaFerrari? Check your local airport newsstand in ninety days or so.