Columnist Ron Kantowski: Ride with Andretti couldn’t end fast enough

Monday, June 6, 2005 | 9:35 a.m.

Ron Kantowski is a Las Vegas Sun sports writer. Reach him at ron@lasvegassun.com or (702) 259-4088.

For more information on the Mario Andretti Racing School, click on andrettiracing.com or call 315-6300.

Until Sunday, I thought the ride of a lifetime was doing the "Big Shot" atop the Stratosphere Tower on an empty stomach.

But that was before I climbed behind the wheel with Mario Andretti.

Actually, I wriggled into the seat directly behind the auto racing legend, who took a specially designed two-seat Mario Andretti Driving School Indy car for a Sunday afternoon drive at Las Vegas Motor Speedway.

At 65, Andretti is almost old enough to be my father. But this was not my father's, or your father's -- unless your old man has a last name such as Foyt or Petty or Unser -- Sunday afternoon drive.

As a kid who grew up around the Indy 500, I vaguely remember doing a report on the first of many books written about Andretti titled "What's It Like Out There?"

On Sunday afternoon, he showed me.

After getting strapped into the cockpit, I said a silent prayer that Mario stayed at a Holiday Inn Express on Saturday night and had taken his cholesterol medicine. Then the low-slung Indy car, built to Indy Racing League specifications with the exception of the engine -- its 600 horsepower Chevy is about 100 ponies shy of the Hondas and Toyotas that powered most of the field at last week's 500 -- jerked forward and began to roll.

A few seconds before, Patty Reid, Andretti's longtime publicist, had stuck her head into the cockpit and showed him my business card. "He likes to know when he's got a writer in the back," she would say later.

In other words, he wants to be sure to scare the side pods off the writer in back.

It didn't take long as Mario was assessed two stop-and-go penalties by race control for exceeding the pit road speed limit.

By the time we hit the gently curved warm-up lane that feeds into the track at the exit of Turn 2, the G's were kicking in. I felt like Gus Grissom aboard Gemini 3. The centrifugal forces were amazing. By Turn 3, my neck muscles were being stretched like a rubber band around the Sunday newspaper.

Speaking of Turn 3, by then Mario was "on it," like Tom Carnegie, the longtime public address announcer at Indianapolis Motor Speedway, says during Indy 500 qualification runs. Andretti hugged the racing line through before the car started to drift toward the wall ever so slightly. To him, anyway. To me, it seemed like we were headed straight for it at the speed of light.

Just about the time I was thinking I was glad I had kissed my wife goodbye and told her that I loved her, Andretti lifted his heavy right foot off the accelerator. Whew! We glided around the corner as if riding in a giant slot car and took the green flag for my flying lap. At least, Mario took the green flag. At 180 mph, all I saw as we passed under the starter's stand was a brief blur of green that looked like a bad Leroy Neiman painting.

Ripping down the straightaway, some of the "dirty air" coming off Mario's helmet got under mine and nearly tore it off my head. I'm sure if there had been an in-car camera, my features would have looked like Jim Carrey's in "The Mask."

Heading into Turn 1, I hoped Mario's car might be set up a little better for that end of the track than it was the other one, like the analysts say on TV. It wasn't. He had to lift again to keep my remains from being splattered on the Crown Royal billboard.

Afterward, Andretti seemed amused that I noticed he had lifted. He said the crew had made a tire pressure adjustment about three riders before me and "went the wrong way" on the setup.

So we would have to settle for the outside of Row One instead of pole position.

We negotiated the backstretch in a heartbeat, and it was at this point I began to think I might actually survive -- unless one of A.J. Foyt's relatives pulled out in front of us.

This is lunacy, I thought, as Mario cruised through 3 and 4 a second time and I let out a scream of sheer delight/terror. How can anybody do this for three hours with 32 other cars on the track at the same time?

And just like that (or a little faster), I spotted a black and white blur out of the corner of my eye. The checkered flag. I had survived one lap of Las Vegas Motor Speedway. Just 199 more and we might be back on the lead lap with Dan Wheldon, who won last week's Indy 500 in a car fielded by Mario's son, Michael.

Needless to say, I've got a whole new respect for the guys who drive these road rockets for a living.

And Danica Patrick? You go, girl! I swear I will never insult another woman driver for as long as I live.

After my heart slowed to 100-yard dash speed, I asked Andretti, who in 2000 was named Driver of the Century by "Racer" magazine, if he enjoyed driving guys like me around the track at what for him is pace car speed.

"Oh yeah, I love it," he said after dozens of others who paid for the thrill had taken their turn. "This is something I understand. This is my cup of tea."

Cup of tea? Did he say cup of tea? Hey Mario, next time keep your pinkie on the wheel.

One thing about the ride I forgot to mention is that after you are strapped in, they attach a steering wheel and a little statue of St. Christopher, the patron saint of automobile drivers. "What's this for?" I thought.

A few seconds later, Mario Andretti, the driver of the century, the 1969 Indy 500, 1967 Daytona 500 and 1978 Formula One world driving champion, steered the special two-seat Indy car to within a couple of feet of the wall, then dove into Turn 1 like a SCUBA diver on Red Bull.

It was then I found out what the faux steering wheel was for.

Holding on.