June 4, 2000 - I'll have to admit, when my younger brother, Marshall, announced that he was giving all three of us brothers an early Christmas present of a trip to the Richard Petty Driving Experience in Charlotte, my only concern was could I beat my two younger brothers in the game of speed.  Most men only care about three things in life: sex, money and horsepower. Women control 100% of the sex and 80% of the money. All we have left is the horsepower.Well, for one reason or another, we didn't make it to Charlotte until June 4, 2000.  We were just three of about 30 testosterone-fueled wannabe stock car drivers lusting for a few laps of thunder at Charlotte's Richard Petty Driving Experience.Not so fast.We awoke Sunday morning at our hotel in Charlotte to rain.   Rain meant cancellation and rescheduling - oh no, not again!  But the Lord seemed favorable to our racing fantasy and the clouds parted.  Well, sort of.   The drizzle lifted and the roads looked clear.  We headed off to the Lowe's Motor Speedway - the competitive juices started to flow!My brother, Marshall, could TALK the ears off a donkey when he gets pumped up for competition.  He is unbeatable - just ask him.  Now I could listen to Marshall, or Jeff for that matter, TELL me how fast THEY were going to go, or I could go flirt with 140 mph speeds behind the wheel of my very own, souped-up Pontiac Grand Prix.  My decision?No contest.We arrived at the gate to the glorious sounds of 630-horsepower engines moving around the 1.5 miles of the track.  The race was on!Being a diehard fan of NASCAR and in-particular the Lowe's Motor Speedway, just being inside the track, where just the weekend before - my heroes, Jeff Gordon, Mark Martin, Jeff Burton, and even the Earnhardt's had been walking around and racing in the Coca-Cola 600 - was almost too exciting for me.  I got to tour the Media Center, and the garage.  It was a thrill already.We assembled in the Media center to sign in and get fitted for a fireproof racing suit.  It was really happening.  The staff, all REAL racers and their respective wives/girlfriends, made it even more fun, as they constantly tried to get your adrenaline pumping and keep you hyped up for, as their slogan reads, The Experience of a Lifetime.Time for class.  We all sat in a classroom environment, as the "Pit Boss" welcomed us and gave us the agenda for the day: a 5-minute video, orientation laps in a van, in-car instruction, the driving, and a graduation ceremony.Throughout our 95 mph orientation laps around the track in a passenger van they named Baptist Bus, we were reminded that as long as we followed our instructor, sped up on the backstretch, kept our foot off the brake and stayed three lengths behind the pace car, off the grass (Geoff Bodine and Darryl Waltrip real estate) and outta the wall, we'd be fine!?!   He also insisted on how easy it was - two curves connected by two straight lines.  "If it were difficult, Chad Little wouldn't have a ride." - OUCH! Jimmy Kinchens, my instructor and NASCAR Craftsman Truck Racer, insisted that the school's students haven't suffered so much as a stubbed toe (which I could imagine earning from clambering in and out of the 15-inch opening that serves as a stock car's door).And those skid marks against the right wall?"Bad Karma....Indy cars, not ours."He forgets I watch this stuff every weekend.  And I can't help pausing over Petty's 19-point release form, including the admission that "I will be driving and/or riding in a race car at a high rate of speed on a race track, which is a dangerous thing to do. I understand that I can be injured or killed, EVEN IF I DO EVERYTHING AS I WAS INSTRUCTED TO DO."Sadly, I reflect on young Adam Petty's death just a few short weeks ago, and as I look out on pit road - there sits one of Adam's cars.  But Jimmy's there again to offer the wisdom that when we see a horrible accident on the highway, everyone of us drives to work the next morning.  Believe it or not, that made sense to me at the time.I took my quick in-car tutorial, and it didn't help calm me.  The whole session is about how to get out of the car in an emergency, and how to engage the fire extinguisher - oh brother!Well, I got myself fired back up, and then it happened.   I passed through a gate, over which were the words "THROUGH THIS GATE PASS THE WORLD'S GREATEST DRIVERS."  Well, by gosh I'm ready now!My personal goals have changed, no longer do I want to beat my brothers, now I just want to NOT choke the car off on pit road and to improve my lap times on every lap.My heart thundering louder than the 358-cubic-inch V-8 I was about to throttle, I clawed my way into the bare-bones cockpit -- watching in an adrenaline-addled haze as instructor Brad snapped the steering wheel into place and pointed out the fire extinguisher (?!) and toggle switch to shut off the engine if the oil pressure light came on.But my jitters evaporated the minute I stomped on the accelerator and flew down pit road and through turns 1 & 2 shifting into fourth gear.So there I was, encased in a fireproof racing suit and a welter of restraining belts, careening into a 24-degree turn on the 1.5-mile quad-oval Lowe's Motor Speedway (a.k.a. The Mecca of Motorsports). As the pace car a few lengths ahead of me picked up speed on the backstretch, I got a deep whiff of high-octane fumes, and focused on my instructor's admonition to "trust your car."And then floored it.The five minutes or so I was in the driver's seat seemed like seconds. I was so focused on back of my pace car's bumper, that I vaguely remember that I DIDN'T choke off on pit road, and now I need to focus on my lap times.  Damn! I missed the entry gate to turn 3 - did that screw up my times?  Before I know it, I'm on my last lap and the adrenaline rush and all the emotions overwhelm me as I go through turns 3 & 4 faster than I ever thought a car could go and let out an ecstatic gasp as the G-forces pinned me to my seat, and tears streamed down my cheeks as I took the checkered flag.My instructor waved me back into the pits, where I was met with a chorus of congratulatory cheers and hollers.  I had been the first one on the track, and everybody wanted to know what it was like, and how fast I went.  I couldn't talk.  It was indescribable.  As for my speed, I wouldn't know until everyone had been and we had our graduation exercise.As I sat alone on the pit wall to collect my thoughts, I was still trembling from the rush.  No drug could do this to you, I thought.   And I remember my mom and my wife, Cathy, commenting on never having seen me this excited. Before I realize, I think my excitement has rubbed off on my wife, as she has purchased a $99 three-lap ride with a professional driver at speeds of 165 mph.  My instructor Jimmy Kinchens takes her for a ride in Jeff Gordon's familiar rainbow colored stock car, and as she pulls back in the pits, all you can see glowing through the windshield are the teeth of another extremely satisfied customer.Must be in both our blood -- My brother Jeff is the next to run, and Marshall stands with me in pit road and compares speed.  "I think you were faster," he says.  "At least, I know you were in the early laps."  Again, we had to wait until graduation.Uh-oh!  The skies opened back up. Marshall hadn't been yet.  They moved all the cars to the garage and asked us to go back to the Media center.  Bummer.  It didn't look like Marshall was going to get to run.  It was so bad, they went ahead and held graduation for those who had run.  So enough with the Jeff Gordon grandstanding.  Did I beat my brother Jeff?  We learned that 145.5 mph was the fastest that class was supposed to run, and then they asked where Jeff Barnes was.   I knew from reading about the class they always singled out the fastest.  As luck (and, OK, a bit of skill) would have it, Jeff had posted the quickest lap of of the group with a 145.92 mph top speed -- just a shade faster than my own peak of 144.14 mph.No matter.I still can't imagine anything more thrilling, maybe if I had just not blown that entrance to turn 3, and I'm not ready to trade my trusty pickup for a Monte Carlo.   But I had accomplished my personal goals - so I was swelling with pride.Wait!  The skies are clearing, and there's no rain.   What?  They've asked us to help dry the track?!?Just when I thought my day couldn't get any better, I found myself back on the track.  This time in my own Dodge 2500 Diesel powered 4X4 pickup truck.  I was giddy, as I took my wife on a 15 lap follow the leader ride around the speedway at 70 mph.  We just had to call our friends from the cell phone and tell them what was happening.The track was dry, and racing continued.  Marshall finally ran, but made a self admitted mistake when he didn't get into 4th gear fast enough and they brought him back down pit road.  He got to go again, but never produced the same speed and posted a 135 mph top speed.  He was bummed, but the great staff at Petty wasn't going to let him go home unhappy.  They claimed their big thrill is watching everyone leave with their heads in a cloud.  Marshall gets to return for another ride on another day with a promise of speed.  Hats off to the great staff at Richard Petty Racing Experience, and hats off to you Marshall!  Thanks for one of the greatest afternoons of my life - and here's hoping you top 145.92 on your next visit.   Who knows,   I might go with you.  And we'll walk together through that gate that says, "THROUGH THIS GATE PASS THE WORLD'S GREATEST DRIVERS."The Richard Petty Driving Experience, founded in 1990 by the seven- time Winston Cup champion, is the largest of about 75 amateur racing schools across the USA. It attracts about 100,000 speed demons a year to 15 locations, including such legendary speedways as Atlanta, Charlotte (N.C.) and Daytona.Prices range from an $89.99 deal that lets you ride shotgun for three laps with a professional driver to $2,999 for an intensive two-day program that includes exercises in side-by-side driving and a final duel between student and pro.But the most popular option is my three-hour, $329.99 "Rookie Experience." The abbreviated fantasy camp for lead foots incorporates basic driving lessons ("follow your instructor, unless he makes a hard right"), eight laps behind the wheel of a 630-horsepower machine and a firsthand appreciation for a booming sport that's moved far beyond its Bubba-in-blue-jeans roots.