When I arrived at the Augusta Government Center in Verona, I was immediately greeted by a line of Porsches waiting for their turn to race the circuit. I was supposed to be meeting Sherry Westfall and husband James Condon, social chair and webmaster of the Shenandoah Regional Porsche Club of America, respectively. This was the final autocross event of the season.
I settled on the sidelines and watched. I was disappointed, I have to admit, as the speed didn’t seem to be overwhelming. But then I saw something that surprised me: Westfall was seated behind the wheel of a burgundy 996 Porsche. I knew she was a Porsche enthusiast, but never thought she’d be one of the drivers.
Screeching tires, and she is off, and her time is pretty darn good.
Was she bothered by being the only woman on the track, I asked when she was done. “No, sometimes there are others, but I’m used to it,” she says. Westfall began racing as a student at Virginia Tech. She picked it up again about five years ago.
She showed me around the track, explained the rules of the competition and then, another surprise: She suggested I take a ride in one. She wouldn’t take “No” for an answer, so I suited up, put a helmet on and met Howie Dunbrack, one of two drivers present who had trained to be a race instructor. Howie’s white Porsche Turbo was waiting for me. I settle in, fastened my seat belt and prepared to hold on to dear life. Once in line, waiting for our turn, Howie went over some safety rules. “Hold here and here, and have fun,” he said. Once the light turned green, the tires made dark marks on the concrete. The initial acceleration pushed my body into the seat. I could barely breathe. By the time I realized where I was and what I was doing, Howie was swerving the car at 70 miles per hour in all directions. I remember looking at Howie when turns were about to come up and the car was still going at top speed. Is he going to turn at this speed? Yes. I held on to the door handle and closed my eyes.
Our time was 63.1 seconds to complete 5/8 of a mile, not the fastest of the day, but certainly good enough to place us in the top five. Sixty-three seconds of pure panic. I thought I was going to die at every turn. When I got out of the car, I shook for at least 20 minutes. After all, that was, by far, the most exhilarating experience of my life. Call it a coincidence or just pure luck, but I found out that Howie’s car, the one I rode in, had been prepped for racing by none other than Charlottesville race car master Kenny Shreves. Figures.
