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Top Speed Testing

Speed blind at 200 mph

I used to believe top-speed testing would be automotive nirvana. But that was before I started driving for a major car magazine. Instead, pushing a car to its terminal velocity is like kissing a Rottweiler—dangerous but not all that rewarding. Turning a fast lap on a road-racing course or making a pass on an oval track is much more fulfilling. When things go right during top-speed testing little driving skill is needed. However, if things go wrong at 200 mph even the skill of a top NASCAR or Indy car driver might not help.

No Crash Zone

There is no safe place to crash a car going anywhere close to 200 mph. The 5.0-mile high-banked oval that we often employed certainly wasn't. At the top of the banking was a single row of steel guardrail that started more than two feet off the pavement. If a tire failed at top speed the barrier would just shear off its roof—and the driver's head—as the car passed underneath. There were other hazards, too. During one test, a coyote wandered onto to the track. The only thing I could safely do was to slowly release pressure on the accelerator while urging the prairie wolf to hurry across. Animals that lived near this automakers' proving grounds weren't used to vehicles moving that fast.

Wind causes problems at top speed. On another proving grounds track—this one 7.5-miles long but totally flat—I experienced what NASCAR drivers call the "dreaded aero push." The Dodge Viper GTS was running about 180 in a turn when a crosswind washed away its front downforce. The front tires lost grip and the car began to head toward the outside of the track. It's a sickening feeling. At that speed—90 yards per second—by the time the driver corrects for a problem, the situation has probably changed. Had I jumped off the gas or cranked in more steering, the car may have spun out because the crosswind was quickly blocked by earthen banks and front grip had returned. Doing almost nothing—I lifted to 7/8 throttle, but put in no more steering—was the correct action.

During a top-speed test with another Viper GTS, the sweet smell of antifreeze filled the cockpit. Coolant temperature was fine, so I finished the run, recording 193 mph. As I pulled to a stop the water pump gasket—which had been leaking—failed completely. The car was immediately enveloped in a cloud of green steam. When the hood was lifted, a stream of boiling coolant shot eight feet in the air. If the gasket had ruptured at speed and the slippery coolant made it onto the tires, the resulting crash would have sickened an emergency room doctor.

Speed is Relative

I once heard an F-117 pilot asked if the Nighthawk was a fun airplane to fly. The Stealth driver responded: "The 117 is work-load intensive in the target area." Translation: He's not in the cockpit for entertainment and doesn't have time to be scared. Fun or fear did not enter my mind when I was on track during a top-speed test. Trepidation happened before and exhilaration occurred afterward. The time for fun began when I was sitting on pit wall with all the numbers recorded.

Speed is relative. Six hundred mph in a Boeing 767 is boring. But it'll hurt if you walk into an unseen pole. On the high-banked proving grounds track I could take my hands off the wheel—and put them on my thighs—at 150 mph: That's the "neutral speed." No steering is required—for its turns.

We often did top-speed testing on an abandoned dead-end road. It ran perfectly straight through a dry lake for a bit more than three miles, but the 40-year-old road had deteriorated to the point that it was closer to packed gravel than asphalt. The cars ripped rocks from the road and threw them out in a 20-foot tall roostertail. Once, the combination of the poor surface and a modified Corvette created wheelspin at top speed. The digital speedo flashed up one mph, then down one, then up two, then down one: 174-175-174-176-175-176. It was a lot like driving fast on snow. The car was about to spin out as it went through the traps. I told the owner that while he was welcome to run it again, I wasn't going to. He declined.

This high-speed cul-de-sac had another challenge: A bit more than a quarter mile past the timing marks a chain strung between two stout-looking posts signaled its end. In the middle of that braking area was a kink that had to be negotiated at more than 100 mph. It was attention-getting.

The highest speed I've reached in a road-going (as opposed to a race) car was not during actual testing, but afterward while giving a thrill ride.

"How fast are we going?" asked my passenger. "Two hundred," I replied. "No, how fast really?" he said. I pointed to the Ferrari's speedometer and said, "Look for yourself." It was showing a little more than 205 miles per hour.

Earlier, the 550 Maranello ran 195 through the speed traps. Its speedo needle was pointing right at 200. Then the wind picked up. The tailwind was enough to push it past that magic mark. Only there was no magic.