That is no excuse at all, your still racing on streets even if it is just to better yourself. I know a guy who ran a woman over speeding along a supposedly safe street, it was out in the country, and it was highly unlikely that someone should be out there, but he didn't see her, and wham. Killed her unborn baby in the process. You can argue about how your so different to a street racer, but at the end of the day your still using public roads as your playground, and when the unexpected happens, which can happen at any time, you could well end up ruining someone elses life. And to argue against the unexpected happening would be both stupid and selfish.
Well, I already stated that canyon driving was my past, not my current. When I go up now, I just go to enjoy a drive in the mountains, in places like Angeles Crest Highway, where the 55mph limit means that I can enjoy myself without breaking any laws. (55 is a decent clip, not "fast" by any means, but still fun, for the MR2. The limit is so high because the area's heavily patronized by the sportbike community, and I suppose the state wanted to make a small concession to them, giving them a place where they could ride at a fun speed and remain within the law.)
I've been thinking about this a bit, however, and I think I'll have to give a bit of a history breakdown of how things work up in our canyon.
I frequent a well-known mountain in SoCal. It's been the subject of quite a few magazine articles and TV segments. If you're active in the drift or canyon community, chances are you've heard of it. Three roads diverge from a central hub and meeting spot, each with very different characteristics. One was short, moderate speed, and had the benefit of being very well-maintained and being the most isolated, as well as being the most defenitely uphill-downhill. It's the main road for runs, most being uphill, due to the fact that downhill traffic is controlled, as it can only come from the central hub. The second is the longest, with a more high-speed flavor, and less uphill-downhill, with the start and finish being at about the same elevation. The final road decended to the nearest town, and was notable for having a section comprized of sharp hairpin corners, connected by fast sweepers. This final road is currently closed, due to a landslide two winters ago, but is due to be reopened soon. What is especially notable about these three roads, however, is that they're isolated, rarely travelled, have excellent visibility to the corners ahead, and, most importantly, have no official speed limits. Driving began there decades ago, but the current situation started about ten years ago...
The longest-term of our drivers started running our complex of roads in the early 1990s. Most prominent was "Jetta", known for his succession of VWs. At one point, he was known as the most skilled of the drivers in the area. He's no longer part of our group, as he's now a professional rally driver, campaigning an '02 WRX in USRC and CRS. One of his early contemporaries was "bearslayer", an Siroccio driver who specialized in one of the roads in the complex, the longer, more varied course. Eventually, he switched to an E36 M3, and gained his nickname when he had an "encounter" with a bear at about 60MPH. He's repaired the BMW since then, and is still active in the community. He's probably the de-facto "leader" of the old-school group.
There are many other notable drivers from those days, but some are far more active than others. Work and family have pulled many away. Quite a few have become professional drivers, as well, with a decent roster of mid-high level Formula Drift competitors and at least one Honda Cup champion (rumored to have done the fastest uphill run of all time!).
It was four years ago that I entered the scene. A young driver with a mostly stock 240SX and little skill, the only thing that characterized me was determination and the willingness to give all I had to become better. It was at this time that I started to get to know many of the original group of drivers. At that time, the community was quite small, rumors (purposely generated by the core group, I might add) of police and road damage having recently driven away an influx of ricers. What seperated me, I suppose, from those drivers, was the fact that I was serious about driving technique, and that I quickly adopted the philosophy of the leading drivers, which leads to the next section...
The old school philosophy. This is why I'm retelling this story, in part. We had many rules, written and unwritten, that made us unique. Most prominent was simply our attitude. We always made it known that we were there to have fun, to trade knowledge and connections, and just to hang out between drives. We frowned on serious racing at that time, refused to associate with anyone who would try to race for money or property. We also steadfastly opposed use of drugs and alcohol on our mountain, except in cases where they were obviously only being consumed by those who were not driving for a long period of time. (I.E. spectators) Safety was priority one. We wouldn't go on runs with reckless drivers or those with cars that could pose a hazard to the rest of the group.
We always stressed that pushing beyond one's limits was taboo, and that, if it posed a risk to the general population, it was not to be performed on our roads. We kept track of what drivers were where, and nobody would go on a road until a driver had returned, unless they'd stated they were going home, or it had been long enough that we had to check for a possible crash. In many ways, we ran things like a trackday, with our stress on safety and order. We're still proud, to this day, that in the many years of driving up there, the only injury on record was a drunk driver who wasn't associated with us.
In those days, our cars helped keep us out of trouble, too. We were mostly composed of 240SXs, AE86s, and other older, slower, cars, like classic VWs and EG Civics. A WRX or S2000 appearing was like seeing a Ferrari to us.
However, things took a rapid change, about two years ago. Nobody is really sure why. We had a sudden influx of new drivers, from varying backgrounds and locations, but with a few common points. First, they were all young, few above 20. Secondly, they all drove "fast" cars. S2000, Evo, STi, 350Z, Porsche, they all become common. Third, they became known for their use of R-compound tyres. Finally, they were competitive, with a street racing mentality and a willingness to race at 100% on those public roads. Quickly, the old, grassroots, group, lost dominance, due to their more conservative, mature, attitude, and their lack of willingness to risk as much as the newer drivers.
It was at this time that the modern climate truly began. The influx of new drivers, with new attitudes, changed the face of our world. These drivers began to splinter into many factions. One of these factions quickly became the lords of the mountain...
It was a group with no "official" name, but informally called "red team", as most of the leading cars were painted in that color. They were composed of two groups of cars. First were the "Japanese supercars", with the Evolution being the most prominent, as many as six being in the lead positions of the group at one given time. Also prominent in this group were the S2K and the Porsche 911 and Boxter. The second half of this team, no less dominant, but with a different style, were the "race cars". The Civic and the Miata were prime in this group. They were notable for their use of racing tires, rollcages, suspensions in the tens of thousands of dollars, and use of functional aerodynamics. Most were fitted with turbo kits of one form or another, although there was at least one extremely fast N/A Civic with a Spoon-built motor.
Other groups appeared, as well. Teams composed of one-make cars were common. Prime among these were Evolution, Impreza, and 240SX groups. Another prominent group was the "Drifters", a team composed mostly of 240s, but all with a backround in track and street drifting. Most of these teams, however, were lead by drivers in the top-class, but their junior members were mostly beginners. Therefore, they never achieved the dominance of "red team".
When these drivers first entered the scene, they were sociable, and seemed like a good part of the community. However, as their dominance grew, they became insular and arrogant. The camradarie we had once taken for granted was shatterred. The roads quickly became a battleground. The prime method of warfare? The Time Attack.
It was about this time that my story, as well, truly began. In June of 2005, I bought my WRX. Suddenly, I had a machine that could compete. It was powerful, fast, and agile, yet stable and controllable. By the end of summer, I'd reached the top ten percent of the T/A rankings. Several teams attempted to recruit me, but I felt that I wanted nothing to do with their level of arrogance, and decided to remain a lone, although not unsociable, driver. Through the winter off-season, I practiced, and upgraded my car. When the spring of 2006 came, I found myself in the top ten overall drivers, and the only driver on such a level who still ran street tires. Dedication and experience paid off well.
The next chapter introduced what we jokingly called "Team NinjaZ". The name was a complete joke, a spoof of the well known "Touge Pirates". The "NinjaZ" were actually a varied group of cars and drivers, united toward one common goal. They didn't at all seek to be the best or the fastest, but instead to revitalize the old ways and old spirit, in a generation of newer drivers. The team actually came out of a conversation we all had late one night, and suddenly the team came to exist, with myself rapidly ending up in the leader's position. (Which I never asked for, but was happy to take!). Our small group of about ten cars rapidly started growing. Our sociable attitude, our friendly spirit, and our welcoming of less experienced drivers, quickly became a major draw.
The team worked all too well, in fact. You see, around this time, the leading groups had gotten to the point where about three of them were holding the other nine spots of the top ten. Team Red dominated, with the "Evo Club" and the "Drifters" taking a few spots. These groups, however, had begun to fracture internally, as top-ranking drivers became disillusioned with the idea of playing second fiddle to the leaders, and soon all ten of the top drivers on the mountain led their own teams.
The "NinjaZ" came in when these teams started breaking up. It seemed a lot of the younger drivers, and some of the more experienced ones, had decided that they wanted no part of the arrogant attitudes of their former teams, and came under our banner. Many of the old-school drivers, who had entered a stage of semi-retirement, allied themselves with us, as well. Those drivers, however, were a bit more difficult to convince. In many cases, it wasn't until I had other drivers ride with me, or drive in a group with me, than they were convinced that our team was skilled enough to be associated with.
Eventually, however, even our group reached its end. Unlike the other groups, though, we had a happy ending. Simply, our "team" composed such a large portion of the driving population that there was no sense in keeping it as a team, but rather letting it become the mass of the driver group itself. The summer of this year was the climax of my mountain career.
With the mountain filled to the bursting point with drivers and competing teams, it was ready to explode. And it finally did as the season really gained speed. As if out of nowhere, a reformed group of the original drivers returned, many in new machines, and suddenly the scene had had enough. Full-scale warfare erupted on nearly every night, and the sides of the road were filled with spectators and supporters. The mountain had become a true championship. Suddenly, the old drivers embraced racing, albeit with very strict rules forbidding passing and other dangerous moves. Race after Race, night after night, the air in the once-quiet canyon was shatterred by the backfires of racing exhausts, the scream of slipping tires, and the high pitched wails of turbochargers and VTEC.
The old masters quickly showed their skill. They climbed to the top of the rankings, and suddenly, the old supporters of the formerly-dominant teams became fans of the original kings. Slowly but surely, the face of the mountain began to change. The old philosophies began to return, the old spirit and face of the mountain had started to show itself again.
Even I was drawn into the racing, determined to show my skill, and keep the respect of my comrades. Fortunately, I managed to do that decently well, and a new title started to be whispered through the masses... "Thunderbolt". I was told it came from the fact that I had a fast, but hard-hitting style, with a heavy, large, car, much like the WWII P-47 Fighter and modern A-10 attack aircraft of the same name. Somehow, whoever started the name spread it around, and I still get addressed as "Thunderbolt" when I'm at car-related events or in the canyons.
This world was simply not fit for the "teams" who had so recently dominated. Some of them embraced the old ideals. Others left, off to run other mountains, or just dissappeared from the scene altogether. Once again, the mountain had become what it should be.
The last chapter begins there. It was when this year and a half whirlwhind died down that the new face of the mountain began to show itself. We still had many young drivers, but they were in tune with the original spirit. The old-school drivers, too, still hung around, once again running on "their" mountain. Even some of the oldest faces showed occasionally, including those who had moved to pro racing.
Somewhere in there, I started to really get to know my predecessors. The real shock finally came one night, when hardly anyone but those who had started before the "war" were on the mountain. Hints had been given, but this was confirmation. I was finally told that I was part of the old-school group. I was given access to the private message board we use to communicate, started recieving calls about run nights and parties, and more. With that, I also recieved responsibilties...
I was, by far, the youngest driver in their group. It was made known to me that I was now responsible for the young, beginning drivers. To discourage them from inappropriate activity, to give them help in proper tuning technique, and to continue to spread the ideals of our mountain. I had proved myself in the time of conflict, and was chosen as a sort of emmisary to the newer drivers. I think the idea is that, due to their age and infamy, the newer drivers felt too intimidated by the older drivers who composed the core group, and I was drafted in because I had a rapport and a relationship with them, and had proven that I could be trusted, both to represent the core group and to take care of the younger drivers, and because I'd become well-known enough that I had the necessary reputation to make the newer drivers take notice.
And, so now, I've stepped back from the running, for the most part, as my superiors did. Now, I go up to give advice to new drivers, to ride with them and offer tuning and driving techniques, and to take them for rides to show them my style and lines. I've become somewhat of a driving instructor, with several main students whom I'm grooming to become the newest of the top class, much as I now realize my superiors did when I was a beginner.
My career as a competitive driver is over, but my time on the mountain is not. My four years have been the most amazing time of my life, with the greatest triumphs and tragedies I've ever faced, and has created an incredible story.
I've told you all this so that you understand what our world is like, and why I participate in it. I still stay there because the story still continues for the many competitiors on the mountain, and because I want to see where the coming chapters will take us all.
....
