Speed Secrets: The Rhythm of Tracks

Punk rock to classical, heavy metal to opera, jazz to mellow rock — the tune of a turn.

Tracks have a musical rhythm. Even though I can’t create music (other than the kind that comes out of an exhaust pipe), I can sense rhythm. I feel it. I love it. In fact, I live it. I know that because I hate it when music isnʻt playing in my world.

But, what defines music? There’s classic rock or classical music, and then there’s the unmistakable pplllllffffftt of a Porsche flat-six, the vibrate-my-ribcage grumble of a big block V8, or the high-pitched scream of a superbike. Are they not all forms of music?

I’ve often compared driving with dancing with the car, and for me, at least, it’s the music that makes that happen. And the connection with the car. Some people can dance without music (not me — in fact, I can’t dance at all, making Elaine Benes look like Anna Pavlova), but I suspect there’s something playing in their minds.

That reminds me: I was on a plane a while ago and looked around at my fellow squished passengers, noting how many were either using earphones or headsets. What I really noticed though was the subtle—really subtle, in fact—swaying and nodding that almost all of them were doing. Music makes us move.

Race tracks make us move. They have rhythm. They flow. Sometimes they rock, sometimes they roll. They twist, they turn, they twirl.

Corners with character can be driven more than one way. They also change; different conditions convince you to trail brake more, turn in later, bounce the car over the apex curb, and throttle-steer every inch of track onto the following straightaway… or not. If a corner is driven pretty much the same way, every lap of every session, in every condition, in every car—well, it lacks character. I’m not saying it’s bad and should be sent to bed without its dessert, but it’s not what magnetically draws us back to take on the challenge again and again.

Take Mosport… err, Canadian Tire Motorsport Park. Fast. No, that’s an understatement. It’s bloody fast! And then, for a very brief moment or two, it’s not, and that’s what makes it special. The rhythm changes. One’s driving rhythm has to change. During post-race interviews after a recent IMSA event, practically every driver made some comment about CTMP being their favourite track (and yes, I purposely used a “u” when spelling favourite, since Mosport is Canadian!). Why? Certainly, the bloody fast challenge is part of it, but it’s mostly because of the challenging rhythm changes.

Road Atlanta is similar, with its fast Turn 1, flowing 3, Esses, 5 and 6… and then patience grasshopper, slow down, easy, it’s Turn 7, and that means a very different pace. Square the corner off, get the car turned, and stand on the throttle to blast down that big long curvy back straight. And into the flip-flop of Turn 10A-10B left-right combo that’s all about a quick transition from one direction to another. Be sure to line the car up and on the right angle to pop over the crest of the hill and back into a diving on-the-edge-scary-fast Turn 12. It’s got most everything: fast, medium and slow corners; big elevation changes; curbs to pound and curbs to avoid; surface changes. It’s a rock opera.