The race that clinched it

A few years ago, I was invited to a charity karting event at a well know track in St-Hilaire, QC called SH Karting. A mix of over 150 pros, semi-pros and amateurs had entered.

The day began with elimination rounds: the two fastest cars of 12 or so from each heat would advance. Among my competitors were F1 World Champ, Jacques Villeneuve, his Uncle Jacques (a legend in his own right) and the Du Moulin brothers.

I fully expected to eat their dust as breakfast.

Happily though, as the day progressed and the second to last round was set to go, I had managed to work my way up through the field to a respectable 5th overall. All I needed to do was make it cleanly through this next race to earn a spot be in the Grand–Finale!

Thanks to a great start and sheer will, I lead throughout much of the race and advanced on to the final. There was a short break as they technicians prepared the karts, topping up fluids and such. I was so nervous... I nearly psyched myself out.

Once it was time to go, we finalists went for an outlap and back to the startiing grid. The Du Moulin brothers (one of whom had been my instructor a few years earlier at the Jim Russel racing school) were placed first and second on the grid, JV and I were placed third and fourth, Uncle JV was fifth, with an up and coming F-Atlantic driver beside him. Other notables included Patrice Brisebois (Ferrari Challenge + Canadian Tire Nascar).

We got the green and tore off. I quickly moved into 3^rd and held my position for several laps. The DuMouiln brothers touched wheels - and I squeaked into second. I held that for some time until my turn came to be bumped into the dirt, putting me back to 3rd. With only a couple of laps left, both JV's closed in...

We got the white flag for last lap and spent most of it side by side - in some instances going into corners three wide - and that's how we came out of the very last corner before the finish line!
With a wave of the checkered flag it ended with DuMoulin brothers 1st and 2nd, JV in 3^rd, me in 4^th and Uncle JV 5^th.

My heart absolutely pounding as other drivers swarmed onto the track to congratulate us for putting on such an exciting spectacle. As I stood there looking around at the flushed, smiling faces around me, I felt comfortable and at home. I knew without a doubt that racing was something I had to pursue.

Dude, girls trashed my car

Several years ago, when I still worked in the music industry, I had what was perhaps one of the worst experiences a driver could have in their car.

After a hectic and very long day spent ushering The Backstreet Boys from one Canadian gig to another, I deposited them at their hotel for the evening and headed home to Montreal. The Boys were set to perform there the next night and I had much to prepare in the meantime. About 3am, I finally arrived home and dropped into bed, fully clothed.

As per usual when bands were in town, the onslaught of back-to-back emails and phones ringing began at 6am - waking me after just three hours sleep. After dousing numerous fires and appeasing a string of demanding reporters, I headed out to meet the band and their entourage at the hotel.

Our schedule of course was jam-packed with various interviews and fan events that kept us moving straight through to dinner time. With bellies rumbling, it was decided we’d head over to a fancy restaurant on St Laurent.

This involved a bit of strategy however.

10,000 screaming girls were stationed at the side and rear entrances of the hotel, as it was customary for The Boys to flee hotels and venues this way. Seeing as the front entrance only had a few dozen fans milling around, I called for my car to be brought around and instructed a colleague who was helping out to do the same. When our cars arrived, we scooted out the front door, heads down, and into the vehicles. No sooner had we set foot outside the doors of the hotel when the small gaggle of stray teenage girls began to yelp. One of The Boys haplessly made eye-contact and decided to take pity and pause for an autograph. As if by mass telepathy, the 10,000 fans posted toward the sides and back of the building descended in a mad frenzy toward our parked vehicles.

We all safely made it inside the cars - but the swarm pounded, bashed, scratched, pulled and shook the cars so much I thought for sure we were done for. The noise was as unsettling as it was deafening. Thankfully, with the help of hotel staff and police, we managed to make our getaway.

I've seen many a wrecked race car that sustained less damage than mine did that day.... Conclusion: teenage girls are more dangerous than race car driving.

I just love a good race

When I was 16, I lived in a neighbourhood that was basically one block of houses surrounded by a wooded area, with a relatively steep hill on the streets that ran North/South.

Throughout the summer, kids from the neighbourhood would race around the block on their bikes. As summer progressed, our runs got faster and faster: down one hill, around the corner, up the next hill and back down to the foot of the hill again - all told about 750 yards.

One early-September afternoon, I was out with a friend who'd just cycled a pretty quick lap. Not to be outdone, I headed out for my turn, feet well clipped into the pedals. Like so many times before (but perhaps with a bit more ferocity), I sped down the hill, turned right, powered my way back up the next street, another right and began my final stretch down to the finish - when a friend of my brother's decided to run out into the street in front of me with arms flailing.

You can probably guess what happened next: a slow-motion crash that broke my collar bone, sprained my wrists and elbows, and left my body looking like I'd just had a cheese grater makeover on at least a third of it.

But even with me sliding the last few yards on my face - it was my fastest time yet. Until the following spring, anyway.

The passing of a childhood hero

I was watching the 1982 Belgian Grand Prix at my friend George's house the day my hero died. As we watched, Gilles Villeneuve was involved in a devastating crash with Jochen Mass. I was stunned, but stubbornly hoped that somehow he'd survive. Later that afternoon, the official announcement was made that Gilles had passed. Though my parents tried, I could not be consoled and spent most of the night crying.

On Monday morning, I overheard a few of the older kids on the school bus making insensitive and callous remarks about what had happened. I stewed on their words...and became consistently angrier as the day went on. When the bell rang at 3:30, I made my way onto the bus and I confronted one of the kids from that morning to tell him what I thought. He called me something to the effect of a "cry-baby" and pushed me so I hard I fell; landing on my back.

Up to this point in my life I'd been somewhat shy and tended to keep to myself and out of trouble's way...but this set something off in me I'd never felt before. I bounded up off the floor and tackled him. In between bus seats, I proceeded to reduce him to a sobbing, slobbery mess.

Gilles Villeneuve's life as a race car driver definitely influenced mine - and his death marked a significant change in me as well. His tragic passing made me realize the importance of loyalty and courage. Defending my hero was the first time I stood up to a bully - and ever since, I face my fears head on.

Racing the bus

When I was in Grade Four, the school bus picked me and my neighbour, Emilia, up at the end of my street. We'd wait near a large wooded area that was rectangular and about the size of three city blocks. In the springtime, before the leaves filled out, you could almost see all the way across to the opposite end. 

The bus would collect us at the South West corner of the woods, then make a second stop over at the North East corner. It occurred to me one day that I could make things more interesting for myself, Emilia (and the kids on the bus) if instead of boarding at my usual stop, I could race the bus by tearing diagonally across the woods and wait for it at the opposite, furthest corner. 

Emilia looked doubtful when the bus pulled up and I hid behind a tree rather than get on. I told her not to worry - I'd be waiting for her at the next stop. She protested and told me that I shouldn't. I’d miss the bus and be late for school! She shook her head as the school bus doors closed behind her. Off I went, full tilt,  keeping my eye on the bus and at the same time, avoiding overhanging branches and the many roots underfoot.

When the bus rolled up and I stepped on, Emilia looked shocked (and the driver confused). I'll never forget how this small victory made me feel. From that day onward, I continued to race the bus when i could - and strive to challenge myself in similar ways to this day.