Playing monkey on a racing sidecar

Rick Murray at the controls and me in the passenger spot

"Grab this grip with your left hand and never let go."

I figured that first bit of instruction was the most important of it all. Especially when ignoring it could result in my hitting the pavement at speeds in excess of 100 miles per hour.

I was going for a ride on a racing sidecar.

   We round the turn into the home straightaway

If you watch sidecar racers scream around the curves, often with the passenger hanging much of their body out of the car and inches from the ground, your first impulse is to say "Those guys are crazy." Well, crazy or not, I wanted a piece of it and I was going to get it.

I went to the Bonneville Vintage GP and Concours last week with antique motorcycles on my mind but was quickly caught up in the excitement surrounding the sidecars that were also there racing, both vintage and Formula 1 and Formula 2. And as luck would have it, the sidecar guys love to take other folks on what they call "taxi rides" for a couple laps of the track. Where do I sign up?

So Rick Murray, with Team RGM, who would be taking me for a ride in his rig, was explaining to me what I should, and most importantly, should not do. As you move around from left to right to center, the right hand moves from grip to grip. But the left hand never moves from its grip. A lot of the rest I was told was forgotten as soon as we got out on the track but I did remember this.

Then Christine Blunck, with Subculture Racing, walked me through the entire track, showing me how to roll on my legs from left to center, where to brace my feet as I moved right, and what move to make on each turn in the track. She noted that sidecar passengers at times wish they were monkeys so they would have that tail, that fifth hand, to grab on with.

Wearing my own helmet and gloves and a borrowed leather suit, I was mounted and we were ready to roll out on the track. There would be one other taxi rider on the sidecar ahead of us. Let's go.

Around the track we looped, through turns with evocative names such as "Gotcha," "Mabey Y'll Makit," "Agony," and "Ecstasy." If I remembered anything Christine had told me about each turn it became moot as I quickly lost track of where we even were on the course. Initial thoughts of shifting left to right and back to left were dashed at the realization that, oh yeah, sometimes you have two lefts in a row, or two rights in a row. Guess I'd better pay attention to the track.

But even then it got confusing. I'd be figuring that I needed to be going right and I'd look ahead and the guy in the car in front of us was going left. Who was correct and who was confused? I know I was confused even if I was correct.

Of course, in all honesty, it didn't matter if I screwed up. We were not going at full race speeds and Rick told me he could run the whole course at that speed with no problem regardless of what I did. And afterward I asked him if I screwed up and he just said, sort of noncommitally, that "You did fine."

So we did the first lap and were well into the second when I heard the engine rev and felt us picking up speed. I knew Rick was opening it up to give me a taste of real race speeds and I hung on tight to enjoy the sensation. I have no doubt that my own personal land speed record was set at that moment.

Then we swept again through the clubhouse turn and into the pit lane and off the track to a stop. I stood up and realized I was breathing hard, not to mention feeling like I'd just had a work out. And I'm sure I was smiling. Here's your leathers back, and thank you for the pin that reads, "I rode a racing sidecar." Thank you, thank you, thank you. When can I do this again?

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