I’d be honored to be in a fiery racecar crash at the Daytona 500. I can just see it; my vehicle careening out of control, hitting the wall at 170 mph, tires flying off in all directions with the announcer screaming, “Oh my god, it’s a fiery crash!”

But for now, I’ll have to settle for learning the fundamentals of professional racecar-manship at Infineon Raceway (formerly Sears Point). For a mere $495 you can live out your racecar fantasy by taking the Russell Test Drive, and in one day, transform into Nigel Mansell, Al Unser (both senior and junior) or Mario Andretti on a good hair day.

For some reason, the editors of this magazine asked me to attend this school and write about my one day experience. So fasten your seatbelts! Start your engines! Shift into first! Burn some rubber (and any other clichés involving auto racing). Let’s hit the track!

(NOTE: Throughout this story, I’m going to pointlessly sprinkle in various racecar quotes from songs for dramatic “cool” effect. Most of the songs will be from the band Cake, being they sing a lot about racecars.)

My racing soiree takes place at Infineon Raceway – the Bay Area’s premier motorsports complex known to local race fans as Sears Point. I’m taking the Russell Test Drive, a morning course in racing methods which has drivers lapping the track at (sort of) high speeds.

My half-day course starts at 8am. I arrive at 8:40am. All I’ve really missed is the classroom portion, but that’s for studious bookworm types with glasses. I don’t need it; I have natural racecar instincts. I proved this earlier when I drove from the Mission district in SF to Sonoma in a half hour. Do the math. I was born to race.

The Infineon track looks right out of the Tom Cruise epic, Days of Thunder – if I happened to have seen that movie. A huge, empty grandstand will bear witness to my automotive prowess. In my Russell Test Drive class, there’s about 30 of us who will take turns driving the 18 Formula Four racecars, the biggest racecar in the world with a four cylinder Ford engine and 95 horsepower shoehorned into a fine fiberglass body.

We all stand around the vehicles suited up in identical racecar costumes (helmet and jumpsuit). This is already fun! We look like some elite crime fighting team with special racecar superpowers. There’s also special “racecar shoes” involved. They look like surf shoes. Special footwear is always an added surprise to any event or gathering.

My car is #44. I’d describe it as “pretty.” It’s very small and close to the ground, with huge Yokohama tires and just enough room to fit one racecar driver — and that racecar driver is me! I grab the rollbar, flipping my left leg over. Then, I stand on the seat and ease myself in like I was putting on a tight pair of pants.

I’m partnered with an English guy whose daughter signed him up for the class as a birthday present. We’re going to alternate turns behind the wheel. I didn’t know I was going to be sharing my race car.

Our instructor explains the thrills of racing. ”It’s a buzz. It’s addictive. But unlike drugs, it’s legal!”

So racecar driving is much like ecstasy in the early ‘80s. Check. We’re briefed on racecar operation. Starting the machine involves pushing two buttons forward, then hitting the start button. Check! The racing gearbox has four gears in an “H” position. The shift is made with the wrist. Check-check! When shifting, you’re supposed to put your foot on the break first, and then change gears. Further Check! The seatbelt and shoulder harnesses strap me in. Tightly, I might add. While waiting to “start my engine,” I practice shifting and make racecar noises.

I’m ready to roll. For a racecar that is not racing is not a racecar; but merely a car.

“Bring it back in one piece,” says the British guy I’m supposed to share MY car with. Racecar humor.

My hands grip the steering wheel at a 9 & 3 o’clock position, with thumbs hooked underneath. There’s a slight bend in my elbows. We start our engines. I’m in neutral before pulling the ignition switch. Besides the normal clutch, brake and gas pedal, there’s also a rest pedal, which serves the purpose of holding yourself in the car when making hairpin turns.

I slip the clutch, let it roll and go into gear. Our first exercise involves running straightaways, then downshifting at the appropriate marked cones and making the turn. Immediately, I see how fast one of these puppies can go, shifting sharply up to fourth gear. Unfortunately, the rev-limiter is set at 3,000 RPMs as opposed to the normal 6,000 RPMs, which means I can only go about 80 mph max.

After a few laps, the instructor signals me over for Race Tip #1.

“When you start out in first gear, don’t give it so much gas. It will burn out the clutch!”

“Don’t burn out the clutch. Check!” I answer.

After the first exercise, my class jumps into two jeeps, at which point the instructors floor it around the full, curvy 2.5 mile Infineon track. This is the scariest part of the day, as we’re crammed together, learning how to “hit the line.” The jeep screeches around the “Budweiser Bottleneck” sharp turn at top speeds as I cling on for dear life.

We’re ready for the next event, called “ducks in a row.” Because of the early morning start, I nearly fall asleep in my racecar waiting. Making a row of racecars, we follow the jeep around the track, making sure to hit the line. This involves staying close to the edge and making the curves with the least amount of turning of the wheel.

At these types of things, I always think I’m going to be “discovered.” Somehow I’m going to be spotted by the professional instructors as a “natural” and asked to join their professional race team. I don’t think this is uncommon. Sadly, it doesn’t happen.

Hitting the turns is a blast. I crank gears from fourth to second with a slight screech of the tires trying to hit the line of the turn, brushing the curb slightly. It no longer feels like I’m moving fast, since the racecar is so low to the ground and stable. Finding second gear is now replaced by utilizing third.

After running the order, it’s time for the “lapping session.” Our cars are spaced out and we run the track ON OUR OWN! The deal is no passing, no spinning out and no running off the course. And, of course, no smashing into the wall in a fiery wreck. This goes without saying.

Since we’ve been good, extra RPMs are added to our rev limiter. With each lap, I start feeling the Zen-like rhythm of racing: I try and execute the same maneuvers at each turn, hitting my own line, then opening it back up to fourth gear with a mighty roar. I’ve gained new confidence with speed, pushing myself to new heights of acceleration. Bugs splat against the visor of my helmet.

I catch up to the racecar in front. Remembering the rule against passing, I highly wish my racecar were installed with a horn to speed their slow-racing ass up.

In the end, my racing classmates and I are grinning from ear-to-ear. There’s a brief graduation ceremony, with each of us receiving a diploma.

“If you’re going to hang this up at work and you called in sick, be sure to change the date,” stresses our instructor.

“Ha-ha-ha!” laughs everyone – racecar school humor.

The more daring are advised to take the Russell advanced three-day course. Driving home after racecar school is an interesting experience. Not surprisingly, I want to drive real fast. I shift gears into fourth, passing several vehicles on the 101, hitting the line all the way across the Golden Gate Bridge and onto the finish line.