SundayDriver

You know you’re a racer if:

You think the primary purpose of wings is to PREVENT flight.
You take your helmet along when you go to buy eyeglasses or checkout seats (cars).
You feel compelled on a road trip to beat your previous best time.
You are happy when your street car’s tires are worn to “racing depth”.
You wonder how much weight you just saved when a piece falls off your car.
When you here “overcooked it” you think “off track” instead of food.
You change oil every other week.
You sometimes here funny noises from your passengers when you get on the throttle right after turning in.
You thoroughly enjoy showing the tail-gaiter behind you how to drive around a highway off-ramp.
Your racing budget is one of the big three; mortgage, car, daily expenses.
Your email address refers to your race car rather than to you.
You walk the “proper lines” at the grocery store.
You buy new parts because you don’t know where you put the spares.
You’ve paid $4.00 a gallon for gas without complaining.
You bought a race car before buying a house.
You bought a race car before buying new furniture for the house.
You’re looking for a tow vehicle and still haven’t bought the furniture.
You need a new house because you’ve out grown your garage.
Your requirements for choosing a new house are (in order of importance):
[A] An 8-car, climate controlled garage with attached machine shop.
[B] Outside parking for 6 cars, a motorhome, a crew cab dualie,
a 28’ enclosed trailer and a 34’ 5th wheel.
[C] 3 phase 220V outlets in your gargage for the welder & compressor.
[D] A grease pit.
[E] Deaf neighbors.
[F] Across the street from a paint & body shop.
[G] Conveniently near a hazardous waste disposal site.
You measure all family acquisitions in terms of the number of race tires that could have been purchased.
You know well that orthodontic work is the equivalent of five sets of race tires.
You sit in your race car and make car noises, shift and practice your heel and toe, while waiting for your motor to get back from the machine shop.
You look at the purchase of tools as a long term investment.
Your garage holds more cars than your house has bedrooms.
You have enough spare parts to build another car.
More than one racer supply house recognizes your voice and greets you by name when you call.
You have car parts in your cubicle at work.
You think the last line of the Star Spangled Banner is: “Racers, start your engines!”
If you can’t remember the last time you worked on the weekdays and rested on the weekend.
You registered for wedding gifts at Racer Wholesale and Pegasus.
Your Christmas list begins with “another set of Hoosiers” and ‘coil overs’ (and your significant other knows what these are).
After your answer to “What did you do this weekend?” the next question is “And you do this for fun? Right?
You have a separate drawer for ‘garage clothes’.
The reading material in your bathroom consists of auot parts and racing supply catalogs, several books by famous drivers, every book that Carroll Smith has written and 400 car magazines, none of which have centerfolds.
People know you by your class letter, car number and car color.
People know you by your “off’s”. “Oh, you’re the one that put it in the kitty litter at turn seven last weekend.”
Your friends don’t recognize you without your driver’s suit and helmet.
Your family remembers your hair color as “grease”.
You plan your vacations around the race schedule.
You astound the clerks at Sears by bringing in a snapped breaker bar every other week.
You remember the dates and details of every race you’ve ever been in, but can’t remember your phone number.
Your family brings a couch to the garage so they can spend more time with you.
You get irritated when the cars in front of you on the exit ramp don’t stay on the line, causing your exit speed to drop.
When your neighbor asks if you have any oil, you query, ”Synthetic or organic?” and they reply, “Vegetable or olive.”
You give out Automotive Engineering’s number when asked for the best hardware store.
You refer to the corner down the street from your house as “Turn One.”
You look at the fire hydrant at that corner and see an apex marker.
You enjoy driving in the rain on the way to work.
You always late apex the intersection and try to pass a few cars on the exit.
Everywhere you go, you try to find the fastest line through the turn.
You always do a heel and toe down shift while your passenger gives you a funny look.
You can’t stand understeer.
You always want to change something in your street car to make it handle better.
You will gladly pay $8.00 for a quart of oil.
You think traction control and ABS are for those who can’t drive.
You’ve tried to convince your wife that you need a flow bench to fix the air filter on her van.
You save broken car parts as “momentos”.
Your freeway forays include just brushing the curbs as you apex the on ramp perfectly.
You’ve found your lawn mower runs pretty good on 108 octane gas.
The local tire shop won’t honor the tread life warranty on any car you’ve been within50 yards of.
The shop manager at the local car dealer mutters “dear Lord” under his breath after seeing the size of you exhaust system.
Instead of pictures in your wallet, you carry qualifying times.
You would choose a roll bar over air conditioning if it were an option.
You enjoy driving through wet, empty parking lots and using the emergency brake to kick the back end out.
White smoke coming out from under your tires is a common sight.
You consider the redline a “conservative suggestion” and the rev limiter a “fun limiter”.
You spend more on insurance premiums than food.
Your idea of a good time is sitting around figuring out gear ratios and the ideal final drive ratio for given situations.
When some refers to “The Good Book” you think of “Prepared to Win”.
When some asks you what school you went to, you reply “Skip Barber.”
You have race shops programmed into your speed dialer.
You own five cars and only one is street legal.
You know the ¼ mile times and skid pad numbers of your riding mower and want to improve them.
You know the racing line of every turn on your daily commute.
You quote tire wear life in weeks rather than miles.
You regularly test the rev limiter on that straight that’s a little too long for second but not worth going into third for.
You’ve started looking for sponsors for your daily commute.
After you tell your wife where you’d like to go on vacation she answers:
“Why… is there a race there?”

DJ

Guilty, on 43 counts.

Anir

Man, does that hit home! Thanks for the laughs!

B-Line home

don't forget:
Emergency lanes start to look more and more like rumble strips (or alligator teeth as we call em here in FL.)
when people ask you what you do, you answer "I'm a weight distribution engineer."
You have a I/O port camera mount set up in your street car.
You start to mistake police cars for pace cars.
You have passengers who are delegated to make incident reports by your family.
Your last insurance statement had a new clause regarding 13/13 rules.
You start shopping for a two wheel vehicle that can get you from point A to the bathroom (point B) in the paddock.
You repeatedly have to tell your friends, "rubbing is not racing" and "the tires were not matched special and staggered perfect"
You have t-shirts with your blood type embroidered on em.
When someone is in the passenger seat giving you directions and they say, "Turn in" you ask them where to track out.
Your biggest current problem is, where to put the trailer.
You buy a playstation 2 and Grantourismo so you can practice your laguna seca lines.


more to come..If I can think of any