Just sold the Mazda RX-7 I raced for six seasons, and I did so with no regrets whatsoever. Indeed, when the guys at the Flatout Motorsports shop told me they were set to trailer the car to its new owner and asked if I wanted to drop by, snap a few pics, and maybe pat its haunch tearfully, I said hell no – haul that sucker away and bring me a check.
Let me add hastily that this was and is a damn good race car: fast and reliable, with all the important bits put together correctly and tuned to suit my driving style. I have no doubt its new owner will enjoy it as much as I did.
But that’s all the affection I can muster for the 05. Yup, the 05 – my number. If your interest in racing stops at Days of Thunder, you may think drivers give their cars feminine nicknames and mutter to them affectionately. Not so. Race cars exist to be used up, thrashed within an inch of their life, and then disposed of. In one of my books, protagonist Conway Sax (a former NASCAR driver and mechanic) says, “A street car’s a tool. A race car’s a weapon. Not much more to it than that.”
So I sold my old weapon, and you know what that means: time to build a new one. Which entails, of course, a future blog post.