Formula for Speed

To put it bluntly, most of the planet thinks U.S. racing fans are idiots because the style of racing they enjoy is so simplistic. Americans prefer the wide-open ovals of NASCAR and IndyCar, where drivers go round in circles at ridiculous speeds while making only left turns.

Around the globe, the true measure of driving skill is thought to be dexterity: a combination of gear shifts, rapid acceleration and hard braking, sharp left- and right-hand turns and high speed — all of which are thrown at the Formula One (F1) driver on every lap. But for some reason, F1 racing, the most popular and technologically advanced motorsport series in the world, has never caught on in the U.S.

Having driven on ovals in both stock and Indy cars, I decided to weigh in from an F1 driver's perspective, albeit an amateur one. Fortunately, we live in an age that allows anybody to do anything for the right price. LRS Formula USA is a racing school that puts novices behind the wheel of authentic single-seat, open-wheel super-machines built to the specifications of F1 governing body Fédération Internationale de L'Automobile (FIA).

In 2003, Laurent Rédon, a former F1 test driver, founded LRS Formula Europe at tracks including Monza, Italy; Circuit de Catalunya, Spain; Nürburgring, Germany; and Circuit de Nevers Magny-Cours, France. Based on its success, French-born entrepreneur Pierre-Louis Moroni partnered with Rédon and launched a similar operation in the U.S. last year. Las Vegas Motor Speedway was chosen for its good weather and proximity to adventure-seeking clientele. Being an adventure-seeker myself, I chose it as the location for my F1 experience.

Moroni bought two retired F1 machines — a 2001 ex-Prost team car and a 1997 ex-Arrows car once driven by world champion Damon Hill — then retrofitted them with smaller 3.5-liter engines. Less powerful than what was raced on the F1 circuit, the Cosworth and Peugeot engines still deliver 700 horsepower. And because they weigh just 1,500 pounds, the carbon fiber cars have a stunning power-to-weight ratio of one horsepower per two pounds (the typical passenger car is more like 1:20), which allows them to accelerate from 0-100 mph in less than five seconds.

At 9:30 a.m., we gather for a quick briefing at Las Vegas Motor Speedway's south road course, 1.8 miles of twists and turns that test cornering and braking abilities while being tight enough to keep us from going too fast. In addition to the car, LRS also provides a fireproof driver's suit, helmet, gloves and shoes. All you have to bring is your checkbook and some intestinal fortitude.

It is a diverse group. Among the students are tween pop singer Jesse McCartney and money manager Harindra de Silva. De Silva, who races Lotus and Lola vintage cars, runs the $1.2-billion Old Mutual Analytic Defensive Equity Fund in Los Angeles.

After an hour in the classroom, where we find out things like fewer than 4,000 people (counting professional drivers) have driven F1 cars, we take to the track in a van with Moroni, who points out braking and turn-in points at the corners.

Next, it's practice laps in smaller F-2000s, older tube-frame machines that look like F1 cars, but only have a fifth of the horsepower. It's better to make mistakes in these than in the more expensive F1s. (Also, the finicky F1 engines can only take about 1,500 miles of use before requiring a $25,000 overhaul.) After each session, we get feedback from instructors. Since I've taken Skip Barber Racing courses, I'm no stranger to the F-2000, but some of the students have trouble and welcome the critiques.

Then it's time for lunch. Over sandwiches and potato salad, Moroni, who doesn't advertise, confides, "This is not really a school, it's an experience. I don't teach them how to drive, just let them drive the car."

When we return to the course, the F1 cars are already warmed up. I am motioned toward the deep blue ex-Prost car. Once in the cockpit, my backside is separated from the asphalt by just two inches of air and a thin piece of carbon fiber. Moroni tightens my belts, then puts a foam collar around my neck to steady my helmet. All I can move above the waist are my arms and eyes.

From the cramped confines, I can see track in front of me, but much of my vision is obscured by two Bridgestone Potenza racing slicks and the annoying fog that my heavy breathing has created on my helmet visor. When I gun the throttle, LED lights representing throttle level illuminate on the suede-covered steering wheel. It's like being in a space capsule. The pit crew pushes the car forward as I gingerly release the clutch for a rolling start. The car snorts and staggers, like a high-tech version of "Chitty Chitty, Bang Bang," until it catches — then I'm off in a frightening lurch.

The gear shifter takes the form of paddles on the steering wheel. Pull the right paddle to upshift, the left to downshift. Once out of low gear, no clutch is needed, and traction control helps diminish rear-wheel spin. I quickly move up through the gears. Piece of cake, right?

The track is smooth, yet you feel every bump through the unforgiving suspension and twitchy steering. The car has shocks, of course, but they are stiff, designed to operate at much higher speeds so it feels as if there's a direct link between the track and my torso. The noise is unreal. A real F1 engine tops out at more than 19,000 rpms (Moroni's only hit 12,500) and it bombards the driver with a sinister, high-pitched dentist-drill whine.

On my second lap on the longest straight, I decide to push it. After accelerating quickly into fifth gear, I hit the carbon brakes hard at the last instant before the hairpin corner, dropping from about 140 mph to 40 mph in around 200 feet. The reverse G force is intense, but not quite intense enough, I soon discover. The nose of the car dances and sways wildly, and suddenly I'm spinning. I should have braked harder, and sooner. Worse, the engine quits when I come to a stop. I sit there on the track, motionless, helpless and embarrassed, as Moroni and crew take what seem like hours to get to me.

When they do arrive, Moroni is serious. "Respect the equipment, and the equipment will respect you," he says. Luckily I hadn't hit anything, so the crew just restarts the car and around I go again, sheepish and more careful.

Sometimes I forget what gear I'm in, or downshift when I mean to upshift. (In all the excitement, it's easy to mistake your left for your right.) When that happens, the car bucks, slowing from the sudden increase in engine revs.

By the fourth lap, when Moroni waves the checkered flag signaling the end of my run, I am relieved. I pull in, shut off the engine (on purpose this time) and remove my sweaty helmet. Moroni congratulates me with a pat on the back and a vigorous handshake. If he's relieved that I'm off the track, he doesn't show it.

I hadn't gone that fast — the pros at the big tracks top 200 mph for a second or two — but that wasn't the point. The point was to experience the power and finesse of a real F1 car on a tight track. And believe me, I did.

At 6 p.m., our group is ready to "graduate." Moroni presents us with certificates. My verdict? The stab-and-steer driving of such a fine-tuned machine is certainly more exciting than going round in circles in a lumbering stock car, but less thrilling than the constant 200-mph hypnosis of an Indy car, which I've also experienced. In all fairness, though, had I been able to open up the F1 car on a bigger track, I may have had a different opinion.

But then again, I'm an American. What do I know?

Essentials

Prices: Modified Warm-Up, 4 laps, $3,395.00; 6 laps, $4,760.00. But be careful with your wallet: Moroni sells extra laps for $600 each. A Japanese student recently requested some and promptly wrote a check for $20,000.

U.S. Tracks: Las Vegas Motor Speedway, Las Vegas, Nev.; Road America, Elkhart Lake, Wisc.; Autobahn Country Club track, Joliet, Ill.

Contact: 800-818-5564; www.lrsformula-usa.com.

Jim Clash writes The Adventurer column for Forbes magazine and hosts a weekly video show on Forbes.com.