Inside the fiberglass-clad car, it's an upright, confining, constricted view through a wire mesh "dirtshield." While wind gets through the shield, big chunks of clay get broken into smaller ones that also make their way to your body, hence fire-resistant coveralls. The car's giant removable steering wheel sits in the driver's lap at an angle approximating that of a transit bus while the brake pedal moves fore/aft and the caged accelerator goes up and down. The only other controls are ignition switch (to light the fuel), fuel valve (to shut the car off), and driveline engagement lever.
Out on the hard-packed high-bank clay oval at the Ventura Fairgrounds, a fast Sprint Car driver will average 12 seconds per lap at around 60 mph, while reaching up to 75 mph on the so-called straights. While they're called straights, the car goes straight for only about two car lengths before it's pitched sideways again for the turns. That's when the fun starts.
There's no such thing as sort of driving a Sprint Car. You either do it or you don't. Sure, you could idle around the track keeping the wheels pointed in generally the same direction, but that's not how it's done. The idea goes something like this: Get the car up to about 60 mph on the straight (taking just 3 seconds), hit the brake pedal, which breaks the rear tires loose while turning the nose left, then steer to the right while you gently get on the throttle all the way around the banked left corner. Near the end of the corner, the track flattens out and you head for the outside wall, still sliding. At the midpoint on the straight, the front wheels are as straight as they'll ever get, but just for a moment before you stab the brakes and the car goes sideways again. Watching my performance on the video the school provides, I discovered my best lap was around 14 seconds, but I'm sure that one was a fluke while 15-16 seconds was my average.
Sound like fun? You bet it is, but it's also exhausting. This type of tip-toeing-disaster driving requires so much concentration, continually manipulating the throttle, steering wheel, and brakes that at the end of the three-to-four-hour class, every student looked dazed and wrung out. All of us commented on how unimaginable it would be to get out there with 20 other open-wheeled cars, all jockeying for the win. I guess the champion Kruseman has the right idea: Get out front, and it's a whole lot easier than being in a pack.
For those brave enough to pursue this type of racing insanity, there are many schools like Kruseman's that'll teach you how to race a Sprint car or smaller Midget racers. After you gain some expertise, many teams allow a licensed racer to rent a car per race, or when you get good enough, they'll find you.