Bruce Apar’s Blog

Northern Westchester Hospital Grand Prix racer Bruce Apar, whom nobody’s mistaking for a NASCAR dad, let alone a NASCAR driver.

Never again will I entertain the notion that NASCAR drivers are something other than athletes. After a few laps around the track at Grand Prix New York in Mount Kisco — in full racing regalia (pictured above) that had me and about 30 other other thrill-seekers head socked, helmeted and jumpsuited head to toe — I was, as they say in Yiddish, shvitzing. My hair may as well have been under a shower head.

The next day, I sensed slight, dull aches in my right arm and back. But, man, was it ever worth it. The go-karts, built in France and considered the best of breed, according to Grand Prix partner and marketing VP Nat Mundy, can get up to 30 mph, but my top speed, according to the personalized stat sheet we were handed every each of three heats, was about 23 mph.

While negotiating the turns, including two consecutive hairpins, and literally looking over my shoulder to see who was on my tail, I was locked in, gripping the steering wheel with a competitive zeal that surprised me.

This event, on the morning of Saturday, March 8, was part of the Grand Prix Ball fundraiser for Northern Westchester Hospital. While the major-league players each had to pony up $1000 each, going to a great cause of course — the daVinci Robotic Surgery Program — hospital marketing VP Carin Grossman kindly invited me to experience the racing competition. Such are the perks of the working press — or the playing press, in cases like this.

However, there was the proviso that should I qualify for the semi-finals, which took place as part of the evening’s cocktail reception, I could not compete, and for a very good reason. The paying customers may not appreciate being edged out of a semi-final slot by a freeloader. Nobody needn’t have worried a second about that possibility.

In my three heats, each an endurance test of five to six minutes and 10 or so laps, I struck laughter in the hearts of the other competitors by placing 7 of 10, 9 of 11, and 10 of 11. How’s that for progress? So take that, Stirling Moss ! (am I showing my age?).

The smarter drivers — a group that emphatically did not include me — learned well the lesson served up in the orientation session by Grand Prix racing director Ari Gatoff: you are not racing against the other drivers, or even racing for the fastest heat time. Every driver’s fastest lap in each heat is used to determine your ranking.

So why, then, was I trying so insistently in the first heat to pass other drivers in my futile attempt to stay at the front of the pack? Good question.

Another faux pas I made was thinking that cutting corners was a smart strategy. Wrong again. It feels good doing it, as your rear wheels skid around the turns and do a neat little slide step sideways. The truth, though, is that such moves are too clever by half because they cut precious fractional seconds off your lap time.

By the third heat, I kinda sorta figured that out, and started to take wider turns, but the ideal turning strategy is somewhere in between the two extremes I experimented with.

To be continued …