Trading Lullabies for Lap Times: Back on Track After a Three-Year Baby Hiatus

Nearly three years ago, I wrote a blog post titled “Buttonwillow 5/18/23 deeper in the sub-2s”. But that post wasn’t just about chasing a faster lap time; it was also a quiet foreshadowing that it might be my last track day for the foreseeable future.

You see, in February 2023, we welcomed our baby, Madison, and I knew parenthood would put a halt to many of my extracurricular activities. I just didn’t know how long that hiatus would last.

The post was bittersweet because I went to Buttonwillow that May hoping to post a respectable lap time in the :56 to :57 range before stepping away. Unfortunately, hot temperatures, suspension settings that weren’t fully dialed (due to limited prep time), and having tweaked my neck the night before kept me from getting there. My best was a 1:58.79; respectable, but not the send-off I’d hoped for before my early “retirement” from the track.

If you’re curious about what that fateful day in May 2023 looked like, the challenges I faced, and how it all unfolded, click the link below to read the original post and get caught up.

Buttonwillow 5/18/23; Deeper in the SUB 2’s

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Fast forward to Sunday, November 30th, 2025.

I had, by some fluke, a Sunday off work. I wanted to give Angie a few hours without the chaos of a toddler, so I was looking for something to do with Madison that would get us out of the house. It turned out there was an LVSCCA event at the LVMS outside road course, a handful of friends were driving, and the weather was perfect. The decision was easy: load up the kid, drive north, and spend a few hours trackside until nap time hit around noon.

I told myself it was just spectating, low stakes, good daddy-daughter time, a chance to let her hear engines and get exposed to smells like brakes, tires, and raw unfiltered exhaust fumes from cars without cats… before most kids even know what a racecar is. I’m not trying to raise a racer. I just want her to grow up understanding that her dad’s version of a weekend doesn’t involve couches, fantasy football leagues, and domestic beer. I want her to know there’s a world where people actually drive the machines they build, hard, on purpose, with consequences.

Because the alternative, the culture that calls itself “car enthusiast” but never takes their car out for a spirited canyon spin or to a racetrack, is alien to me. Completely.

It’s not late-night parking-lot meets where everyone stands around comparing vinyl wraps, Amazon LED halos, and two-step competitions. It’s not trailering a spotless car to a show so it can sit under fluorescent lights for Instagram likes. It’s certainly not bolting on the cheapest knockoff Chinese parts possible to make it look cool, taking a few posed photos, and then babying the thing forever because let’s be honest, you can barely afford the car payment let alone decent quality aftermarket parts.

That isn’t enthusiasm. That’s LARPing.

Real modification has intent: to extract performance, to survive abuse, to reward skill. If you’re unwilling to risk paint, powertrain, or pride by driving your car hard, if the car is too precious to ever be used for what it was supposedly built for, then you’re not an enthusiast. You’re collecting expensive scale models that happen to be 1:1 and chasing clout.

At least Hot Wheels collectors are honest about it. They don’t pretend skill is involved. They aren’t trying to pass themselves off as some “car enthusiasts.” They don’t call themselves drivers. They just like collecting things, and they aren’t afraid to admit it.

I don’t hate that side of car culture for existing. Well, maybe a little… But I don’t recognize it as part of the same world I come from. And I’d rather my daughter grow up understanding that difference, even if she never turns a wheel in anger herself, than grow up believing that world represents what automotive enthusiasm, and the passion I have for it, truly is.

So knowing I hadn’t been to the track in nearly three years, I wasn’t worried even in the slightest about FOMO. We were just going to hang out and expose Madison to what my hobby is really about.

We pulled into the pits, hopped out, and immediately ran into my friends. Hugs, high-fives, handshakes, hellos, the usual “I haven’t seen you in a while” greetings. Madison and I found a spot along the K-rail, and as the sessions fired up, she went wide-eyed, completely awestruck by the roar and the blur of cars screaming past. She wasn’t scared, and don’t worry, she had some ear protection on as well; she was just on sensory overload. Her three-year-old brain had never seen anything like this. And that honestly made me a bit sad because, in my effort to be the best dad I could be, to not be selfish, I had quietly pushed this entire part of my life into the background. My time with her had been parks, bikes, singing, dancing, playgrounds. All the things a good dad does.

But what I hadn’t been doing… was showing her who I actually am.

Balancing fatherhood with personal passions is harder than people admit. Three years in and I’m still figuring it out. But in that moment, it hit me that my daughter had barely been exposed to something that had once been such a huge part of my life. Again, I’m not trying to force her hand when it comes to what hobbies I want her to develop. I just want her to grow up understanding that her dad isn’t like all the other dads and that when most people say they are car enthusiasts, it’s nowhere near the level that her dad is.

This was her first real taste of it: the wall of sound from straight pipes and the feeling of sound waves shaking your chest, the visual depiction of speed, the occasional cloud of dust when someone pushed too hard and went off into the dirt. I crouched down next to her and pointed: “See that? They went off because they were going a little too fast on purpose. Now they’ll pit, get checked out, and jump right back in. That’s how you get better, always pushing the limits.”

She probably heard none of the nuance. To her, it was just: loud machines, big uh-oh, then back out again. Good enough for now.

We stayed about four hours, long enough for her to soak it in before nap time called us home. In that window, every single friend asked some version of the same thing: “Don’t you miss it?”, “Why didn’t you sign up today?”, “When are you coming back out?”

My answer came easy: “Nah, I’m good.”

It had been almost three years since my last track day. I was 43 now, family, work, real life. Priorities shift. The idea of carving out even one or two events a year felt selfish and unnecessary. I told myself I’d changed, that the fire had cooled into acceptance.

But saying those words out loud, to people who knew the old me, triggered something sharp inside my chest. Because in that moment, it hit too close to permanent: I might honestly never drive on the track again. Words I never thought I’d say, let alone believe.

And yet… I told myself I was okay with it. Washed-up, has-been, spectator dad. Fine. I had my time, and that was the past; now I’m here to just be the best dad I can be and nothing else matters except for her.

And standing there with Madison on my hip while engines screamed past, I genuinely believed I was okay with that.

But as the hours ticked by, something started shifting.

Watching everyone out there, grinning under helmets, no egos, just pure seat-time joy, it took me straight back to the early-2000s when I first started tracking.

Back before social media.
Before lap times became a personality trait.
Before everything had to be posted, validated, compared.

Back when it was just seat time and enjoying the hobby.

Just me, the car, and the endless pursuit of smoother inputs, cleaner laps, all the while gaining invaluable experience that I would forever have.

It looked… fun again.

Simple.

By the time we packed up and headed home, a small spark had definitely reignited. I kept replaying the same question: Why didn’t I sign up? What was actually stopping me?

The honest answer stung: I’m still hung up on lap times. On proving something. On feeling like I have to back up every blog post about functional builds with chart-topping results in my FK8. Like if I’m not one of the quickest out there, my opinions on cars, Hondas, and real automotive enthusiasm, none of it carries weight.

But the 43-year-old me finally called bullshit on that.

It doesn’t matter. Not even a little.

Great coaches aren’t out there running sub-4.4 forties or shredding the three-cone drill. Bill Belichick sure as hell isn’t suiting up for the 20-yard shuttle. Yet no one questions his mastery; he knows exactly how to extract peak performance from others.

The same goes here. Functional knowledge, real understanding of setup and driving, stands on its own. It doesn’t need a trophy time to validate it.

And just like that, the excuse I’d been carrying for three years started feeling pretty flimsy.

After That Event:

A few days later, Marlon and I were installing a rear sway bar on his BRZ. Halfway through the job, I casually said something out loud that had been rattling around in my head. I told him that maybe I should sign up for the next LVSCCA event at the LVMS outside road course, which happened to be just a few weeks away on December 20th, 2025. He responded excitedly with “You should!” I mulled it over for a few more days, going back and forth about why I should or shouldn’t sign up. But ultimately, I made the choice to sign up.

As the weeks passed and the date crept closer, the anxiety started to build. I found myself worrying about all the usual things. What if everyone is faster than me? What if I don’t do the FK8 platform justice? I didn’t even have fresh tires on the car, and nothing about it had changed since my last track day years earlier. Then the doubts started creeping in deeper. Maybe the driver I remembered wasn’t really there anymore. Three years away from the track can leave a lot of rust to shake off.

Eventually, I forced myself to flip those thoughts around and focus on what actually mattered. I was going back out on track. I was going to spend a day doing something I genuinely love, behind the wheel of an incredible car. I absolutely love driving my FK8, but I rarely give myself the opportunity to do it. And that realization was a little depressing in its own way. The car is a 2021, and it still hasn’t even cracked 20,000 miles. Honestly, I’d say about 15,000 of those miles came during the first two years before Madison came along, too.

I went into the event only with the intention of just enjoying my day and spending it with my good friends, only focusing on fun and not putting any focus on trying to be fast or anything like that. I remembered the event Madison and I went to back on November 30th, and how everyone just seemed to be having fun. After all, this wasn’t Buttonwillow; this track had no pedigree as it’s just a small road course on the outside of the LVMS NASCAR facility. There really isn’t anything to prove here, because not many people know the difference between a quick lap and a slow one here anyways.

Prepping for the Event:

Prior to the event I did have a few things I needed to do on the FK8 before being fully confident in its ability on track.

1. I had to flush out the 4-year-old Castrol SRF brake fluid because, even though SRF is highly resistant to moisture, it still absorbs water over time through seals and hoses, significantly lowering its boiling point after four years, well beyond Castrol’s recommended 18-month replacement interval (or annually for track use). This moisture buildup can cause brake fade or vapor lock during hard track braking, leading to a spongy pedal, reduced stopping power, or even complete brake failure in extreme cases. Additionally, old fluid promotes internal corrosion and inconsistent performance, so a full flush with fresh high-performance fluid is essential for safety on the track.
2. Swap out the OEM brake pads (that I drive around town on). I had to order a fresh set of Carbotech XP12’s, and I had a slightly used set of Project MU Club Racers for the rear.
3. Change the oil. Not only was the car technically due, but I also only run Redline 5W30 when Im doing track days.
4. Swap out the OEM driver’s seat for the Sparco seat I had in the car prior. About two years ago, I put the OEM seat back in since I was only really driving the car on the street and getting in and out of a fixed bucket halo seat was not flattering for my 40-year-old self.
5. Empty out the catch cans.

I wasn’t going to do anything else to prep. I was even going to use three-year-old RE-71RS tires that had a full Buttonwillow track day on them already from three years ago.

I strategically worked on all that prep stuff throughout the weeks before the event. I did the oil and catch cans one day, installed the seat another, but unfortunately, the brake pads that I had ordered two weeks prior still hadn’t shown up. The Wednesday before the event, I reached out to the retailer I had ordered them through, asking for a shipping update since I hadn’t gotten one, and I had even asked if the order could be canceled since there was no way the pads would get here in enough time for me to install them before the event (in two days). I was just going to have to use some old, spare XP12s that I had lying around. I figured between the two used sets; I would have enough pad life to get me through the whole day. Luckily, the retailer responded quickly and said that they had sent out a tracking number the day after I placed the order almost a week ago. They stated that it might have gone to my spam (which it did), but they were able to provide me the tracking number. When I tracked the shipment on UPS, it showed it was due to arrive on Friday the 19th, which I was both happy and sad about.

I was happy because this meant brand-new, fresh pads for the event, something that would ease my mind and give me the confidence to actually push hard on track.

But I was sad because the delay forced the final flush and bleed until literally the day before. Quite honestly, UPS didn’t even show up until after 5 PM that Friday. I’d already knocked out most of the fluid flush days earlier, but I held off on the last bleed to pair it with the new pads for the best possible pedal feel. With everything arriving the evening before, basically 12 hours before I needed to be at the track, it turned into a frantic evening of wrenching, all while still tending to my dad duties. You know, bath time, story time, bed time.

As luck would have it, the pads arrived and they were actually “pre bed,” which is usually an option you pay extra for. I was particularly excited about this because it meant that after installing the pads and properly bleeding the brakes that evening, I didn’t have to go out and bed them in. It’s the small wins you gotta focus on. That Friday, before the pads had arrived, I had already packed everything I would need for the event, so really all I had to do was bleed the brakes, put the car on the ground, and torque the lugs, then I was ready.

That Friday night, despite a few hiccups in the brake bleeding process, Angie was able to help me rebleed the brakes and get them feeling right. I took the car out for a spin around the block just to make sure the pedal feel was how I liked it, and then, just a little after 9 PM, I got everything closed up and was headed off to bed.

Saturday, December 20, 2025; The Morning of the Event.

Angie, being the superstar she is, also planned on heading out there first thing in the morning with Madison to take part in the occasion. She was up by 4am, made sandwiches and snacks for all of us, and had drinks in a cooler. She had Madison up by 5:30am and had her dressed and ready so we could all head out the door together by 6:00am to be there by 6:30am. Talk about supermom! Her and Madison followed me there in her car because Madison would have to leave by noon to get home for nap time.

We arrived and began to unload my car and claim our little pit area. Marlon was already there, but we were still waiting on Pat and John to come as well, so we made sure to lock in two extra spots in our area as we waited for them to arrive.

Once all unloaded, I headed off to tech. It’s been a long while since I have gone through a tech as scrutinous as this one was. I do remember an SCCA-sanctioned event having a much more professional tech than the likes of SDC or Speed Ventures, where you just “self-tech” and let Jesus take the wheel. The guy who teched my car today was shaking all four of my wheels, shaking my driver’s seat, and inspecting my seatbelt because he thought, since it was red, it was aftermarket. No sir, it’s red because tight car. The only other time I have been more thoroughly inspected is when we did Porsche Club events at Spring Mountain Motorsports Ranch. Those guys would look at pad thickness, coolant level in the reservoir, and take a flashlight to every crevice in the engine bay. I’m pretty sure they just didn’t want those “stupid Hondas” wrecking any Porsches.

Tech passed, and drivers meeting up next. I had signed up for the advanced group because, well, why not. If I wasn’t as fast as they were, I knew that I at least understood the track etiquette, what each flag means, and how to point people by while staying off the racing line.

After the drivers’ meeting, I headed back to our pit area where the nerves began to creep in. After seeing the caliber of cars that were in the advanced group, I began to second-guess what I was doing in that group. No matter: they stage by lap times, and since most of the other guys in the group were participating in various SCCA class events, they all had times, so they were all heading out before me. Since I hadn’t done this track in more than three years, I just said 2:00 was my lap time, and to be honest, I had already told myself that all I wanted to do was just match my time from more than three years ago at this track. Unfortunately, the last time I was here, I did have fresh Azenis RT660s, so I felt that if I could at least match that time with my three-year-old RE-71RS’, I would be feeling pretty good about myself.

Session 1:

8:00 a.m. The time had come. We were being released onto the track, and with temperatures in the 50s, I was extra cautious not to spin during the first two laps, allowing the tires to properly come up to temperature before pushing. As we headed out, I still had some reservations because I couldn’t quite remember where I should be slowing down for certain turns. Quite honestly, since I hadn’t been on any track in three years, I was feeling a bit out of my comfort zone. Despite that, I managed what I would consider a successful first session, I stayed on track and was able to start pushing the limits a bit in the braking zones.

Chequered flag and the session ended. As we came back in, we had to meet for a debrief and go over how everything had gone out there. Because the advanced group was a bit large, they made an executive decision to move everyone who hadn’t sub-2’d into the intermediate/advanced group where there was more room. Thus, ultimately allowing the faster guys in the advanced group to get traffic-free sessions. I unfortunately managed to achieve a 2:00.78, which to be honest, I was extremely happy about considering it was my first session out in three years, I had old tires, and the hot pressures of them were in the 40 PSI range. I did set the cold pressure to 30 psi front and 32 psi rear, but clearly that wasn’t low enough.

Unfortunately, despite knowing I had a sub 2 in me, my 2:00.78 got me bumped up to the intermediate/advanced group. I was a bit bummed because I knew that I should have stayed in the advanced group; a sub 2 was easily achievable. Just having my tire pressures so high was going to slow me down by nearly a second. So, by that logic, with proper tire pressure, close to 34-35 front (HOT) and 36-37 rear (HOT), I knew I could be in the low :59’s.

However, moving down a group really wasn’t a big deal. By that point, I had already achieved what I set out to do in terms of lap times, and I wanted to keep the day focused on something more important, simply being on track and enjoying the experience without the pressure of chasing a specific number on the AIM.

There’s almost nothing worse than becoming so fixated on hitting a certain lap time that you forget to enjoy the moment. You lose sight of the reason you’re out there in the first place and it can even ruin your whole day. Driving on track is supposed to be the reward. Sitting in that seat, turning laps, feeling connected to the car, that should be the happy place, not the number you’re trying to extract from it.

So, I was perfectly fine stepping out of the advanced group. It meant one less thing to worry about, and it ensured I wouldn’t be in the way of someone who might actually be chasing points in a particular class. I wasn’t there for that. I was there to drive with friends and soak in the simple euphoria of being behind the wheel, turning laps in a car I bought specifically for moments like this.

Session 2

It was now time for session two, and as mentioned, I was no longer in the advanced group. However, there was some lack of communication regarding lap times between the advanced group officials and the intermediate/advanced ones. As I pulled into the hot pit for staging by time, they told me they didn’t have my car number on their roster, to which I explained it was because they moved me from Advanced to this intermediate/advanced group due to my lap time not being below a 2:00 minute lap. This caused some confusion, and they ended up staging towards the back where the slower cars were. I managed not to huff and puff about it because, after all, I was really trying to be in the mindset of only being there for fun. So as long as no one hit me and pointed me by within a reasonable amount of time, nothing else mattered.

As we headed out, I was feeling better than ever, tire pressures were dialed, and I was feeling a lot more at home behind the wheel. I began to work my way through the slower cars, and after two laps, I ended up getting stuck behind a Miata that just didn’t want to admit that I was faster than him, and he ended up holding me back for nearly 2/3 of the track. Now I admit, I did let the red mist descend a little because I was so frustrated that he wouldn’t just point me by and let me go on my way.

Finally, and I mean FINALLY! He pointed me by on the front straight and tried his best to attach himself to my rear bumper, but that only lasted about two turns before he knew he couldn’t hang. There was now clear track ahead of me, and I was feeling good; it was time to see if I had the skill set, I thought I did. Pushing hard, I clocked 2:00.58, but I still noticed that I was slowing down prematurely in a few turns throughout the track simply because I wasn’t braking as late as possible (assuming there was still rust that needed knocking off). On one sweeper, I was actually braking slightly going into it rather than WOT and only lifting slightly as I entered it, only then to reassume WOT to drive out of it.

That last lap was number 5, and now going into lap 6, I was really pushing. I wasn’t going to brake early, and I wasn’t going to brake slightly going into the sweeper. Clear track ahead, turn one, solid; turns two, three, four, and five were all spot on, and my AIM was showing I was quicker than my previous lap at this point. Heading out of turn 5 and onto the back straight, I was cooking! But I could see in the distance I was rapidly approaching another car. In my mind, I was hoping that I wouldn’t catch them until the last turn heading onto the front straight that was start/finish. But unfortunately, I caught up to them after just two turns. Going through the bus stop, I was hot on their tail, and they knew it too. They botched the bus stop, forcing them off course, which of course forced me to slow down because there was dust, dirt, and rocks everywhere, and I had to get off the racing line to avoid them, which set me up horribly for the right-hand hairpin we were quickly approaching. Despite all this, I maintained the pace that I could, passed him just before the hard right, and then went on to finish the lap with 1:58.09! Should have been a :57 for sure, but the little traffic issue cost me some tenths, no doubt.

I finished that session on cloud nine, I can’t even describe the feeling because it was just too much to take in and I had to let it fully digest. Unfortunately, the rest of that session I kept getting stuck in traffic so any chances to try and get a :57 were not going to happen. I was okay with that though, and honestly, I felt like I could just go home now and be content.

When that session ended, we again had to all meet up for a debrief, and that is also when officials were taking down lap times to ensure cars were being sent out in the correct order during the upcoming sessions. I told the official my lap time, and I remember saying, “should have been a 57, but there was some traffic.” He replied, “well, if it makes you feel any better, you have the fastest lap time in the whole group,” which it didn’t really make me feel any better, because deep down I knew I should have been in the advanced group all along; just because I was knocking the rust off on my first session out in three years and I couldn’t sub-2, I got bumped down to a slower group. Honestly, had I known they would have made a definite line for who would stay in advanced and who wouldn’t based on lap time, I would have probably tried a bit harder to sub-2.

A New Energy In the Air:

I headed back to my pit and began to rotate my tires around because I still had two sessions left and I wanted to make them count. As I was swapping everything around on my car, an official came over and let me know that they would be bumping me back into the advanced group for the last two sessions of the day. I was very impressed with this because it meant that the SCCA officials were truly trying to ensure drivers of equal skill sets were paired together. This really resonated with me as I could tell they were trying their best and they were admitting that maybe they shouldn’t have dropped me down a group. Kudos to them!

That day, I had decided to bring my camera, as I always do. But for some reason I just couldn’t find the motivation to take any pictures, at least not until I was on cloud nine, almost breaking into the :57s.

Honestly, during the first part of the morning, I was really doubting whether I’d even be able to get a sub-2. I kept thinking, why even document any of this? If I didn’t break the 2-minute barrier, then there really wouldn’t be anything worth writing about.

I was merely a man in his autumn, white-knuckling a ghost. My passion had become a relic, a casualty of the slow, relentless erosion of duty. Why bother recording a dying ember?

And truthfully, I didn’t really want to document it anyway. I was there trying to enjoy the moment with friends and family, to just be present. Taking pictures usually makes everything more stressful because I’m trying to balance prepping the car, analyzing data, tech inspection, the driver’s meeting, and spending time with my friends. Adding photography on top of that can start to feel like a job or a responsibility.

It was already challenging enough keeping Madison from dropping random treasures into my engine bay that definitely shouldn’t be there.

Although, I gotta admit, it was downright cute watching her “help” Daddy work on the car, tiny hands mimicking every tool I picked up like she was born in the pits.

Even though, afterwards, I almost always wish I had taken the pictures… because I love blogging about the journey.

So, after getting that :58, I thought, Maybe I should document this. It would be great to have this on record to reference for the rest of my life. I sprang into action and began to start documenting as much as I could, while still paying attention to my family, my friends, and enjoying the whole thing.

The picture below was taken right after the SCCA volunteer had come over to tell me they were moving me back up to the advanced group. I was mid tire rotation.

Just a simple front-to-back rotation that I always do to not only help ensure I’m wearing the tires evenly as possible but also ensure it gets the most amount of grip possible to the front of the car.

The tires weren’t in poor shape by track standards; in fact, they had plenty of tread remaining. However, they were far from their peak potential. The real issue was their age, they were three years old. Performance tires tend to ‘heat cycle’ and harden much faster in hot desert climates like Las Vegas than in milder coastal environments.

High heat, UV exposure, and oxidation accelerate the chemical aging of the rubber. While performance compounds rely on oils and plasticizers for flexibility and grip, sustained temperatures cause these elements to evaporate or migrate. Simultaneously, oxygen and UV light break down the rubber polymers and increase cross-linking, making the tire progressively stiffer. Whether through the stress of track sessions or simply sitting on sunbaked pavement, these repeated thermal cycles eventually ‘heat-cycle out’ the tire. The result is a compound that retains its tread depth but loses the elasticity required for maximum traction.

To be fair, UV exposure likely wasn’t the culprit, as the car is almost exclusively garage kept. The real factor was prolonged heat soak. From June through September, my garage stays consistently above 90°F. Even with added insulation, the door faces perfectly west, absorbing the full brunt of the afternoon summer sun from noon until dusk. For months at a time, the tires were essentially sitting in a low-heat oven, accelerating the chemical aging regardless of the tread depth.

These cars are also substantially heavier than the ‘golden-era’ Hondas of the past. Unlike those earlier double-wishbone setups, which are still found on dedicated sports cars today, these use a MacPherson strut front suspension. The primary drawback here is the lack of camber gain: a MacPherson strut doesn’t naturally move toward negative camber as the suspension compresses. In contrast, a double-wishbone design inherently gains negative camber under load, keeping the tire more upright relative to the road. This maximizes the contact patch during hard cornering, providing significantly more lateral grip.

Due to the limited camber gain inherent in a MacPherson strut setup, the outside front tire shoulders a disproportionate amount of the load. This isn’t unique to this chassis; most strut-equipped vehicles are notoriously hard on their outer tread unless a healthy amount of static negative camber is dialed in. Without that aggressive alignment, the car’s weight concentrates on the tire’s outer edge during cornering, leading to the premature shoulder wear common on heavier cars.

For reference, I’m currently running -3.2° of negative camber up front. I achieved this by pairing EVS offset ball joints with a simple factory modification: pulling the strut guide pins. By removing those pins, I was able to slide the struts inward to the limit of the chassis’ slotted mounting holes. This combination effectively ‘stacked’ my adjustments, allowing me to squeeze significantly more performance out of the front end than the factory alignment range would ever permit.

My “De-riced” exhaust:

What is “de-rice,” you ask? Simply put: no more tacky blue tint on the titanium. I documented the entire process of removing the blue discoloration and will be writing a full blog post explaining not only how I did it, but also why, along with my admittedly subjective reasoning. (look for this coming soon)

As you can see here, even after a full track day with plenty of hot exhaust flowing through the system, the titanium still didn’t turn back to that bright blue color. There is a slight gold tint showing up, but that’s actually normal. Titanium naturally changes color when heated because it forms a thin oxide layer on the surface, and the thickness of that layer determines the color you see. A light gold or straw color typically appears when titanium reaches roughly 300–450°F, while the more noticeable blue tint usually forms closer to 500–600°F or higher.

So, the small amount of gold you’re seeing simply indicates the metal has gotten warm, which is completely normal for a titanium exhaust. The fact that it hasn’t turned blue again suggests it isn’t reaching the higher temperatures required to produce that thicker oxide layer.

The brakes on these cars endure a massive amount of thermal stress, a byproduct of both the vehicle’s weight and the high-lateral grip generated by 275-width R-compound tires. Increased traction allows for much higher braking loads, which in turn pumps more heat into the system. While the factory Brembo’s are capable for an OEM setup, they are still designed to balance street-driven noise, durability, and cost. Stepping up to an AP Racing competition kit (or similar) would be a significant upgrade; a true motorsport setup offers stiffer forged calipers, increased pad volume, and superior thermal management, all of which are essential for maintaining consistency under repeated track abuse.

Despite the modifications I’ve already made, the brakes are only just holding on. As you can see, they’re taking a significant beating. On a heavy car with this much grip, the thermal load is relentless, pushing the current setup to its absolute limits.

My brake modifications include:

• Giro disc rotors
• SS brake lines
• Castrol SRF fluid
• Carbotech xp12’s up front and usually Project-Mu club racer rears.
• I have also retrofitted FL5 brake air guides. You can also read about how to do that by clicking the link below.

FL5 Air Guides On a FK8

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She’s a bute!

Nothing too special going on under here.

• Spoon valve cover/oil cap/rad cap
• Radium coolant tank
• PRL TI inlet pipe.
• PRL HVI.
• dual PCV/CCV Radium catch cans
• PTR flex fuel sensor.
• Cusco strut bar.
• Wunderladen 90a RMM.
• Koyo Rad.
• Acuity hoses.

As I mentioned, the Sparco seat was a temporary addition specifically for this event; I plan on swapping the OEM seat back in afterward. However, having a full bucket seat on track is an incredible upgrade. It secures you so effectively that you no longer have to brace your knees against the door panel or center console. Being held firmly in place allows you to focus entirely on your inputs rather than fighting to stay in the seat.

Wheels rotated and the car is back on the ground. I’m currently running a square 18×9.5 +45 setup wrapped in 275/35s. To be honest, I’m running more negative rear camber than I’d prefer just to clear the fenders. To compensate for that extra grip in the rear and keep the car rotating, I’ve set the rear sway bar to full stiff (RV6 rear sway bar). While I’d rather dial back the camber and soften the sway bar, I’m not willing to trim the rear quarter panels. For now, I’ll settle for -2.8° and the current balance.

It’s worth noting that this much negative rear camber is only necessary to clear the 275s; with a 265-width tire, I could run a much more conservative alignment. If I make it back to the track, I’d love to experiment with a stagger set up: 275s up front for maximum bite and 265s in the rear. This would allow me to dial back the rear camber and change the overall dynamic of the contact patch. As it stands now, the combination of a 275 rear and aggressive negative camber makes the back end too planted, making it a struggle to get the car to rotate.

Here is the DOT date code as proof; I’m not exaggerating. The ‘3122’ stamp confirms these were produced in the 31st week of 2022. While they may look fresh, the rubber is effectively entering its fourth year of heat cycles.

Refueling a capless system without a standard pump nozzle is notoriously difficult, as the internal seals are designed to reject anything but the correct diameter. I’ve found that a dual-funnel setup is the best workaround: a wider red funnel seats in the filler neck to catch overflow, while a longer, slender black funnel reaches deep enough to trigger both spring-loaded flaps. This creates a seamless path for the fuel while protecting the car’s paint from accidental spills. (Yes, the car comes with a specific funnel to combat this issue; however, it’s very small and you always end up spilling and dripping fuel everywhere.)

Here you can get a better idea of what I mean. I’m really quite proud of my ingenuity.

I’m currently running an E25 blend, which I mix using 91-octane pump gas and a 5-gallon jug of E85 brought to the track for top-offs. I always arrive with a brimmed tank mixed the night before to ensure the content is stabilized. Because these cars are prone to fuel starvation under high lateral loads, I top off the tank after every two sessions. This proactive fueling prevents the ECU from sensing a pressure drop and triggering limp mode, which would otherwise force an early exit from the session.

I typically add two gallons of E85 before topping off with 91-octane after the second session. While not a laboratory-exact mix, it consistently lands me near my target E25 blend. I monitor the content in real-time via the Hondata app and my PTR flex fuel sensor. I strictly cap my ethanol content at E30 to avoid overtaxing the stock HPFP and injectors. This setup, paired with a Phearable Stage 3 OTS tune, has proven flawlessly reliable for over four years of track use.

John joined us today, driving a bone-stock Integra Type S borrowed from his brother; if you look closely, you can still see a child’s booster seat in the back. The only modifications were a set of 25mm wheel spacers all around and a fresh flush of ATE Type 200 brake fluid. Swapping to a high-temp fluid is an absolute necessity for the track; it’s the bare minimum required to ensure the pedal stays firm when the OEM fluid would otherwise begin to boil.

We’re talking showroom-floor spec across the board: 30,000-mile tires, original brake pads, and factory-fill Honda oil. To top it off, the car is a lease. John was truly pushing the ‘daily driver’ philosophy to its limit, showcasing exactly what these cars are capable of in their purest, untouched form.

Even on a completely stock setup, tire pressures are critical and can drastically dictate track performance. It’s essential to monitor hot pressures immediately after coming off the track. This provides the most accurate data, revealing the actual PSI levels the tires are maintaining under load. Without this real-time monitoring, you’re essentially guessing at the car’s true handling balance.

Despite struggling through the first two sessions to fully disable the stability and traction control, John finally mastered the ‘pedal dance’, which, interestingly, is different than on my FK8. On these newer platforms, a simple long button press isn’t enough to kill the VSA and brake vectoring; it requires a specific sequence of inputs to truly unlock the car. Once fully unshackled, he managed a very respectable 2:04 lap time. Achieving that in a bone-stock car is a massive testament to both the factory capability of this chassis and John’s skill behind the wheel.

Surprisingly, there were no overheating issues either. The car even had the stock rain guard still bolted to the underside of the hood vent, a piece notorious for restricting airflow and trapping heat in the engine bay. Seeing the car maintain safe operating temperatures while fully ‘shrouded’ is a testament to the cooling improvements Acura made on this newer chassis. Of course, it’s worth noting that the cool winter air played a role; with ambient temps staying below 60°F, the cooling system had a much easier time shedding the thermal load.

Below is proof it’s completely stock!

To my surprise, the stock pads held up without any major fade. This was likely because the high-mileage factory tires acted as a natural bottleneck; since they had less grip, John had to brake earlier, which prevented the aggressive late-braking that usually cooks OEM pads. Essentially, the tires would give up before the brakes did, with the ABS stepping in sooner to cap the stress on the system.

However, if he had swapped to an R-compound tire, the story would have been different. That extra grip would allow for much higher braking forces, likely overwhelming the stock pads and making a track-focused compound a necessity. It also helps that the DE5 has much better integrated brake cooling than the FK8. John is a seasoned driver, so if he couldn’t find the breaking point of the stock pads on a 60°F day, most people would be fine, provided they stay on the factory rubber. He did mention the pedal started to feel a bit spongy as the afternoon warmed up, a clear sign the pads were finally starting to feel the heat.

As you can see, the outer shoulders are definitely feeling the weight of factory alignment with hardly any negative camber.

Marlon was also out with us in his 2023 BRZ, a car we’ve done a fair amount of work on (check the blog for those write-ups). Just a few days prior to the event, we installed a Perrin adjustable rear sway bar to complement the Eibach front bar we put in a while back. After the front install, the car developed a bit too much understeer. Rather than reverting to stock, we opted to pair it with an adjustable rear bar. This setup allows us to dial out the push at the front while fine-tuning the rear to ensure the car stays balanced without becoming tail-happy. (Yes, the ginormous wing also doesn’t help the understeer either.)

Unfortunately, during the sway bar install, I noticed his rear pads were critically worn, nearly grinding metal-on-metal. This was a major red flag for a car with under 3,000 miles and only a handful of track days. When I asked Marlon if he’d been fully disabling the VSA, he thought he had. As it turns out, he was only doing a single button press, which leaves the most intrusive ‘nannies’ active in the background. On the BRZ, the system uses the rear brakes to manage stability and prevent the car from spining; if you don’t perform the full ‘pedal dance’ or the specific long-hold sequence to completely unshackle the car, the computer will effectively cook the rear pads while trying to ‘save’ you mid-corner.

I could tell immediately that he hadn’t been fully disabling the electronics. The excessive wear on the rear pads was a dead giveaway that the car’s stability control was still active, grabbing the rear brakes to prevent the car from rotating or spinning out. This is a notorious issue in the FK8/FL5/DE5 community as well, which is why I was able to spot the red flag so easily. When the ‘nannies’ are left on, the car essentially uses the rear brakes as a safety anchor, which incinerates the pads in just a few sessions.

All of this meant that Marlon rolled into the event with a new rear sway bar and the newfound knowledge of how to truly ‘unshackle’ the car. Unfortunately, it was a rough day. Because he had spent the last few years tailoring his driving style to the car’s electronic interventions, his muscle memory was now working against him.

To make matters more difficult, the larger rear sway bar significantly shifted the car’s handling dynamics. He was facing two major obstacles at once: he had to unlearn his old habits while simultaneously adjusting to a much more eager and rotatable rear end. Without the ‘nannies’ there to catch him, he spun out six times in his first session. It was a discouraging blow, but a massive wake-up call on the difference between driving the car and letting the car drive you.

Despite the early setbacks, Marlon spent the rest of the day successfully relearning the car’s new handling characteristics. By the final sessions, he was back to driving aggressively and finding his rhythm. While he didn’t set a new PB, he was encouraged to find himself back in the 2:04s, this time with the aids fully disabled. Matching his previous best without the ‘nannies’ as a safety net is a huge step forward; it proves his pace is now coming from pure driver input rather than electronic intervention.

It’s important to note that Marlon wasn’t using the aids as a crutch on purpose; he genuinely believed they were fully disabled. This is a common trap in modern performance cars, where the technology is so seamless it can make a decent driver look like a professional. While those ‘nannies’ might allow you to shine for a moment, they eventually hit a ceiling. You might look like a hero on the timesheet, but you’ll never truly master the car until you’re the only one making the decisions.

John brought the MVP tool of the day: a portable battery-powered tire pump. This was a lifesaver after our wheel rotations. Since the front and rear tires carry different load requirements, moving them means you have to immediately adjust the PSIs to match their new positions. Having a cordless inflator right there in the paddock is a massive convenience compared to hunting for a mounted air station, or worse, trying to use a good old-fashioned bike pump.

Pat was also out with us today. He had originally signed up to drive his 1990 Civic hatchback, which is still rocking a bone-stock D16 motor. Apologies for the grainy photos, I had to pull these from our Discord chat, and since Pat is still daily driving an iPhone 9 or 10, there isn’t much resolution to work with. But you get the idea: a classic lightweight hatch in its purest form.

I don’t have any photos of the hatch from that morning, remember, I hadn’t even pulled my camera out until the day was half way over. That’s why I’m sharing these ‘reference’ shots of the car, just so you have an idea of what the car looked like.

I love his liscense plate!

This is currently his daily (hence the normal parking structure photos)

Below is a picture from when he went to Chuckwalla las year and managed a 2:05.74 on the CW layout.

Here’s a good one from his house! Where you can see all his track toys in one photo.

However, just a few laps into his first session, the D16 developed a terminal rod knock. Refusing to let his entry fee go to waste, Pat slowly limped the hatchback home, swapped it for his Porsche, and hauled back to the track. It’s not every day you see a driver ‘sub out’ a budget commuter for a P-car mid-event, but it saved his day and gave us all a good laugh.

Pat picked up this 1969 912 nearly two years ago and has been deep in the weeds with it ever since. It’s a bit of a hybrid, essentially a 912 chassis with a full 911 engine and drivetrain swap. Honestly, my gut reaction is to hate it; to me, it’s just a glorified Volkswagen Beetle.

That said, I can appreciate the raw, visceral emotion and that pure analog feel it delivers on track. There’s no denying the soul in that air-cooled sound. But even with all that character, I just can’t get behind the vintage Porsche thing. Unless it’s a modern water-cooled model, I’m out. But it makes him happy, and at the end of the day, I guess that’s the only metric that matters.

The legendary ‘Donkey Bop’ mantra from Pat’s early Honda days is still going strong. To be honest, I still don’t fully grasp the meaning, even after his explanations. It’s a bit of ‘OG’ lore from a tight-knit circle of guys who used to track together years ago. Apparently, if you say, ‘Don’t Give Up’ fast enough, it morphs into ‘Donkey Bop.’ I’m probably butchering the explanation, but it’s one of those ‘if you know, you know’ pieces of track history that Pat carries with him.

He’s running this funky external controller to manage the fuel injection. I’m not even going to pretend I understand the black magic behind this rudimentary tuning tool.

He even runs the tuning cable out the rear quarter glass and straight into the engine bay. I suppose it’s a ‘Porsche thing’, to me, it looks like a total mess, but I guess that’s just part of the vintage experience.

With my own sessions wrapped up for the day and the stress finally done, I had nothing left to do but pick up the camera. I managed to catch a few shots of his final run in the afternoon.

And capture an iPhone video flyby.

Here he is, pulling back in from that last session with a massive grin. Honestly, I think he was having more fun than any of us. He was just soaking in the raw experience: that pure, mechanical symphony unencumbered by catalytic converters or emissions restrictions. It was motorsport in its most primal form, no data logs, no nannies, just the right sounds and all the right feels.

Here’s John capturing a picture of the joy.

Even Pat’s cousin, Nick was smiling.

We were all curious just how much heat that air-cooled engine was packing after a full 20-minute flyer. He had absolutely thrashed it, and we expected it to be scorching under the lid. In a car with no radiator to shed the thermal load, those post-session temperatures are always a bit of a mystery.

The deck lid wasn’t hot.

Surprisingly, there was no heat haze shimmering off the decklid, no glowing headers, and not a single wisp of smoke. For an air-cooled engine that had just been thrashed for twenty minutes, it was remarkably composed, defying our expectations.

But just because the decklid was cool didn’t mean the exhaust pipes followed suit. RIP to Nick’s hand, he found out the hard way that while the engine was composed, the exhaust was still very much in ‘track mode.’ Guess some things are better left un-prodded! LOL!

Pat usually rocks his trusty racing shoes, but apparently the Porsche aura demanded a wardrobe change. He showed up in some proper European leather boots, because if you’re going to ‘sub out’ a budget hatch for a P-car, you might as well look the part. I guess some cars just require a different dress code.

This is what a happy Porsche owner looks like. He managed a 2:15.xx lap, but the times were irrelevant; the car isn’t a ‘track weapon’ and wasn’t built to be quick by modern standards. It’s a machine for a man approaching midlife crisis age with three children, finally ‘graduating’ from his Honda days.

As you can see, the car is running a set of Vredestein Sprint Classics (185/70/15). Pat clarified they aren’t actual bias-plies, but they’re designed to mimic that tall, skinny vintage profile while maintaining modern radial reliability. However, with a 2017 date code, these tires are pushing nine years old. To be fair to Pat, he’d never normally run a nine-year-old tire on track and already has a new set on his shopping list. But since the Porsche was only the ’emergency backup’ after the Civic’s engine gave up, he had to make do with the rubber he had. For today, it was all about the aesthetic and the analog experience, not the leaderboard.

Because the car was so slow, I don’t think lap times were even on the radar, with a car like that, what’s the point? He was out there quite literally living his best life, turning laps and grinning from ear to ear at the pure flat-six symphony. He actually ended up off-track twice (mostly due to that lack of overall grip), but it didn’t dampen his spirit in the slightest. He was there for the sensory experience, not the lap times.

In 2026, showroom-floor capability has reached a point where everyone is obsessed with chasing sub-two-minute laps, often going broke to reach a number that technology has made increasingly accessible. These highly capable cars can provide a false sense of mastery, masking the driver’s actual skill and overshadowing the real reason we hit the track.

Watching Pat out there really put things into perspective. It should be about the pure joy of driving, pushing toward no limits except your own and the available grip of your tires. While a fast lap is satisfying, automotive and tire technology are evolving so rapidly that ‘sub-two ready’ will soon be the baseline for everyone. When that happens, the time on the stopwatch becomes secondary. The real value is in the journey and the emotional experience, something Pat seemed to understand better than any of us.

I think Pat has the right approach. Whether it’s a 1990 Civic hatchback with a humble D16 or a vintage Porsche that’s slow as hell, just enjoy it. We shouldn’t be so bound to lap times and performance figures; that’s not what being an enthusiast is truly about. At the end of the day, it should be about the soul of the drive and the community we build around it, not just the numbers on a timesheet.

I usually cap off the day by rounding everyone up for a golden hour photoshoot, but today, the group was on a different frequency. Everyone seemed to be drifting onto their own wavelength, so it felt right to just pull toward the end of the pits by myself. Sometimes the best way to process the day is in that quiet, fading light without the pressure of coordinating a group shot.

I was still on cloud nine. It was reinvigorating to realize that after three years away, I still had the skill to jump back in and secure a PB. However, I often struggle to delineate between chasing a lap time to validate myself, and this blog, versus simply enjoying the hobby for what it used to be.

It’s a constant battle to stay relevant in a landscape filled with ‘keyboard warriors’ who build their brands on hate and misinformation. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to sift through fact and fiction online when so many people regurgitate generalizations they don’t actually understand. They blindly follow clout and popular figures, further perpetuating technical myths just because a ‘reputable’ name said it. In an era where misinformation is the currency of popularity, defending your own knowledge can feel like a full-time job. Sometimes, you just have to shut out the noise and let the driving speak for itself.

As I mentioned, modern technology has made ‘cheater cars’ (such as mine) the showroom standard. Many enthusiasts go into massive debt chasing a specific lap time, but a single Time Attack-style flyer doesn’t translate to real-world consistency or wheel-to-wheel racing skill. Beyond the ego, what does a fast lap even mean? The niche for track enthusiasts is so small that even with a following, you likely won’t generate enough views to quit your day job. That’s the social media Catch-22: we’re all chasing the dream of monetizing our passions, only to realize the reality of that profit is often a mirage. Sometimes, it’s better to just drive and not worry about who thinks you’re cool.

I gotta admit, I’m slightly embarrassed that I had that tacky blue “burnt” exhaust tip for as long as I did. If you really think about it, it doesn’t even make sense, how could the very tip be vividly blue while everything upstream is just golden (or unchanged)? Real heat discoloration from hard driving doesn’t work that way; it builds gradually along the whole system, especially on titanium.

This just screamed “wannabe”, like I was trying to fake race pedigree without the actual abuse to earn it. Quite frankly, it’s sad I let it go on for as long as I did.

And don’t even get me started on the fact that Tomei USA is whack and only Tomei japan remains original.

While they share a name, Tomei Japan and Tomei USA are now completely unrelated. The original Japanese powerhouse, founded in 1968, officially cut ties with the USA branch in 2019 after their licensing agreement expired. Since then, Tomei Japan has distanced itself entirely, stating they don’t design, build, or warranty anything from the USA side. The real giveaway is the quality and origin: Tomei Japan still manufactures in-house, while Tomei USA parts, often marked with a ‘T’ prefix, are produced overseas (the bad overseas). If you’re looking for the original heritage and engineering, Japan is the only one still carrying the torch.

It was incredible to be back on track, but truthfully, I don’t know when the next opportunity will arise. This felt like a proper send-off, a final hurrah to cement the fact that I still possess the driver skill, even in a ‘cheater car.’ It’s a solid benchmark to leave behind; a personal bar I’ve set at this track that I can always reference with my buddies. If this was the last session for a while, I’m glad it was one worth remembering.

This car truly is magical; I’m impressed every time I’m behind the wheel. From the rigidity of the chassis to the precision of the steering and the relentless power delivery, it’s a masterclass in engineering.

I’ll always be nostalgic for the ‘Golden Era’, the light, analog feel of a B-series engine in a double-wishbone chassis. Part of me is even becoming a bit bitter toward new tech that’s seemingly turning every driver into a Lewis Hamilton with the push of a button. But there’s no denying that this same technology has elevated entry-level performance to an incredible level. We’re now driving cars that, in terms of sheer capability, resemble a Ferrari more than the economy cars they’re based on.

Lastly, I want to touch on why I couldn’t best my earlier time. During the third session, right after my PB session, the car became twitchy and unpredictable. I initially blamed the tires, but the drive home on the freeway revealed the true culprit. Under acceleration, the car would pull hard in one direction, then jerk the opposite way the moment I lifted.

This behavior points to a dynamic alignment shift. While on the drive home I was mentally cycling through the possibilities: an alignment slip from jumping the curbs too hard (the bus stop is brutal here), an excessively worn or delaminating tire, broken or torn engine mount, or even a loose subframe/suspension bolt. Any of these would allow the suspension geometry to physically ‘wander’ under load. I even worried about the factory helical LSD, but given their reliability, a mechanical suspension failure is far more likely. It’s a frustrating end to the day, but it explains why the car felt so ‘off’ during those final two sessions.

By the time I reached my exit, the car’s behavior had moved from annoying to genuinely concerning. I remember thinking I might actually lose control on the freeway with how violently it was fighting the steering wheel. But once I finally pulled into my garage, I just shut it down and walked away. I was completely spent, and after the high of the day, the last thing I had the stomach for was a diagnostic session in a garage. Whatever was broken was just going to have to wait.

A few days later, I dug deeper but couldn’t find a single obvious red flag. I even swapped the wheels out to see if it was a tire issue, and in a moment of questionable judgment, I decided the best way to diagnose the twitchiness was a run up a mountain road (to Mt Charleston), complete with ice on the shoulder. The problem was still there, and modulating the throttle mid-corner was absolutely terrifying.

I eventually narrowed it down to the front lower control arm bolts where they meet the subframe. I’m running RV6 solid compliance bushings and their spherical LCA bushings, and I started to fear the sphericals had simply ‘coned out’ or developed play, which is common with low-quality spherical/heim joints. While spherical bearings are a consumable item, RV6 is the gold standard; they supply the TCR race teams worldwide. I didn’t want to believe they were toast after only 5,000 miles, but as a friend pointed out, I’m in the 5% of owners who truly punish this chassis. The math for track miles vs. street miles is never in your favor.

I jacked the car up, gripped the front wheels, and prepared for my worst fears to come true. There was a distinct, audible movement where the lower control arms meet the subframe. That was it, I thought, the spherical bearings were shot, and I was about to reach for my phone to order a new set. But as the voice of reason, my friend suggested I put a wrench on the bolts first.

Unbelievably, they were barely finger-tight, like, could-spin-with-fingers loose.

The loose hardware was allowing the control arms to physically shift under load, effectively turning the car into something with unintended active toe. On the straights, torque would pull both wheels into a symmetrical toe-out mess. Under braking, it shifted to toe-in. But the real terror was mid-corner: any throttle modulation triggered a sudden, asymmetric toe snap that completely wrecked the car’s balance, snap oversteer/understeer roulette causing all sorts of emergency steering inputs.

It wasn’t a part failure at all. It was 100% a installation failure, the bolts weren’t torqued properly from the get-go. It’s possible I forgot (or skimped) on torquing them down when I installed them years back. Either way, human error, not the RV6 bits letting me down.

After retightening and torquing them, they’re rock-solid tight now, no more twitchy, unpredictable handling, and going forward, I’ll be double-checking them every oil change. Lesson learned the hard way.

Thankfully, nothing was actually wrong, I just needed to retighten them. Deep down, I knew there was no way an RV6 part would fail like that. One reason I think I under-torqued them during install is that both the driver and passenger sides were equally loose. That hints I probably just snugged them initially but failed to properly torque either one.

Thank you all so much for taking the time to read my blog post.

I know this isn’t my usual format for track-day recaps, and honestly, I’m embarrassed it’s taken me four months to get this one out. Where does the time even go?

I pour a lot of heart and soul into these because I love being vulnerable, sharing the thoughts most of us have but are too afraid or embarrassed to admit out loud. I also take real pride in keeping things factual and accurate. That combination, raw honesty plus careful crafting, means I rewrite endlessly, which is exactly why posts like this take so long to see the light of day.

Either way, I’m genuinely happy I finally got this one finished for you all. As I mentioned earlier, the day went so well that I had to document it properly. I like having the proof: in a few years, when I can’t remember my own lap times, I can look back here. It’s sort of like “posting for posterity”, so I can remember I used to be quick… or laugh at how slow I was in 20 years, when every stock off the showroom floor car runs 1:50s and tire tech has advanced so far that we’re all daily-driving on what used to be full-race rubber like Advan A052s. I’ll probably shake my head and think, “I can’t believe we thought that was fast back then.”

This event, and the one Madison and I spectated in November, has finally let me start blending my motorsport passion back into life without sacrificing being a great dad. It’s shown me I can still have my hobby and still love my daughter fully, no compromises required. It makes me smile every time she spots a car with any kind of spoiler (OEM or aftermarket) and yells, “Look, Daddy, racecar!”

I can clearly see now that I can live in both worlds; I just have to make sure neither one completely takes over. While it’s reignited my desire to do more track days, it’s still a ways off… It’s already pushing 99°F in Las Vegas, and as you all know, FK8s suffer badly in summer heat, so I’m realistically looking at October before I can even think about heading to the track again.

I hope you truly enjoyed this post, because it carries a lot of meaning for me. My friends and I are all hitting that age where some are quietly fading from motorsports, not out of disinterest, but because kids, families, wives, and responsibilities pile up. It’s hard to keep the dream alive when all you do is dream about it. Cars will always own a big piece of my heart, and I never want to let that go. But for some of us, the convictions we once held so fiercely naturally soften with time and age. It’s a tough pill to swallow, inevitable, but still tough.

As always, I would love your feedback! Let me know if you feel the same way or if I’m just making excuses for why I don’t make it to the track that often. Please feel free to comment below, DM me on Instagram @Functiontheory, or send me an email at Billy@Functiontheory.com. I value the feedback and love to hear different perspectives.

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