He pulls away from this relic of racing history and, after a short drive (speeding, weaving) down a North Carolina highway, he wheels into his new workplace: the gleaming complex of Penske-Kranefuss Racing, just north of Charlotte, with its acres of pristine machine shops, cavernous garages and whirring computers. In minutes, we’ve traveled from NASCAR’s past to its present: staggering success fueled by millions of dollars in sponsorship. Peter’s job? Take all that money pouring in and transform it into miles per hour.
Peter’s the crew chief for the No. 12 Mobil 1 car, driven by Jeremy Mayfield, owned by Penske-Kranefuss. He’s head coach for an entire race team–dozens of mechanics and engineers–in its endless struggle to create a faster car. Peter’s mission this week: a win in Sunday’s race at the North Carolina Speedway. He has four days left–to use technology to search for speed.
Wednesday At pit-crew practice, the 12 car skids to a stop on the pavement; seven guys swarm forth with impact wrenches and gas cans; the car squeals off; Peter clicks his watch. In 16 seconds they’ve filled the tank, changed all four tires and adjusted the suspension.
A few years ago this took 25 seconds or more. Nowadays, that time might cost you a lap. What’s changed? For one, the crew. It used to consist of scrawny mechanics. Now they’re buffed specialists in calculated choreography. But it’s also the equipment. Wrenches powered by compressed nitrogen. Jacks that lift up the car in a single pump, instead of five. One pit stop can make or break a race.
Back in the shop, engine tuner Tim Harris’s aim is simple: horsepower and torque. The more, the faster. In a small room with a glassed-in booth, Tim runs each engine unattached to the car, watching computer readouts as he feeds the motor wetter air, thinner air, colder air, revving it up and down for 500 simulated miles, learning how it performs under different conditions. At the track, he lugs his own weather station. A slight change in barometric pressure, humidity or temperature requires an adjustment in the fuel/air mixture. Winning drivers occasionally say they “caught a cloud”: the temperature cool-down from a moment of shade can cause an engine to run faster.
Thursday Down the road from Penske-Kranefuss lies Sabco Racing, home to the No. 40 Coors Light car. Scott Eggleston is its crew chief–Peter’s counterpart. We’re in the lair of the enemy. Eggleston’s putting together shock absorbers.
Shocks are the latest big thing in NASCAR (in the ’80s it was aerodynamics). Once, teams bolted a set on the car and just left them there. Now, they’ll change shocks seven times in a single practice, altering their gas pressure to find the right balance.
The crucial dichotomy of stock-car handling is loose versus tight. Loose (oversteer) means the car will fishtail on corners, the back end swinging out. Tight (understeer) means it’s too hard to turn–the front end isn’t getting enough bite and the car won’t come around. The crew chief and the driver confer after each practice run: Should we use a different right rear shock? Should we put less air pressure in the front right tire? “A good crew chief needs great rapport with the driver,” says Eggleston. He hands me a thick, hardbound journal. Inside, precise notation records the car’s configuration–weight ratios, gear ratios, front-fender widths, spoiler angles, gas pressure in the shocks, etc.–for every single lap the team runs. “This is my life since 1998,” he says.
Next door, Sabco’s head engineer Greg Erwin walks through a hangar full of car chassis. “Ten years ago there were barely any engineers in NASCAR. Now most teams have one. And some have whole engineering groups of eight to 10 guys, specialists in every area–draftsmen, aerodynamicists, Finite Element Method experts…” FEM lets engineers look at each car part as a surface grid to see where it might fail under various stresses. Erwin has used it to stiffen a chassis’s weak point, eliminating the need to adjust shocks and springs.
He’s just returned from the wind tunnel, where he spent two days on a new body type. Aerodynamics are vital. One team goes as far as Ottawa to hide its wind-tunnel tests from other racers. Any edge must be kept a secret. On long courses (“superspeedways” like Daytona), the goal is less resistance, or drag. But on short tracks with brief straightaways, the goal is “downforce”: air pressing the car down for a better grip. At each new track, engineers like Erwin determine an optimal body shape, down to every last millimeter.
Friday Qualifying day. Peter Sospenzo’s team moves to the racetrack, setting up a massive 18-wheeler in the infield of the speedway. This shop-away-from-shop serves as locker room, lounge, toolbox and information center.
The team’s driver, Jeremy Mayfield, holds the first requisite for NASCAR success–a tremendous innate feel for the car at each given moment in the race. Beyond this, the keys are communication (telling the crew chief exactly what’s wrong) and endurance (each turn brings 3 Gs or more, and the car’s interior hits 150 degrees Fahrenheit).
To qualify, cars run a single lap at screaming speed. Fastest lap gets pole position. Mayfield runs early and just nails it–a perfect lap. Mark Martin’s No. 6 car eventually takes the pole, but Mayfield hangs on to the second spot, and hopes for a win are high.
The difference between pole position and not even making the cut? Half a second.
Saturday It’s “happy hour,” the last practice before tomorrow’s race. The team runs a few laps, makes adjustments in the garage and heads out again, several times. Once the session’s over, Peter and Jeremy confer in the truck. Jeremy’s main concern: the shocks felt too stiff, not compressing enough, and the car “went rigid.” They’ll need to adapt, but they’re still convinced their car’s as fast as any out there.
Sunday The crew sets up in the pit area. Everyone’s in Mobil 1 race suits, radio headsets strapped on, custom pit-crew sneakers laced tight. On a special trackside computer, Peter can read top speeds and lap times for every car. A spotter sits high above, radioing positions to the driver: “Slow car ahead. Clear below.” After leading an early lap, Mayfield settles into the pack.
Mayfield’s keeping down tire wear, and his car is getting faster with each pit. During the race, the crew makes the car looser or tighter with various modifications: changing the pressure in certain tires, adding “wedge” (pressure on the springs), putting tape over the grill to change aerodynamics (all in a 16-second stop). By the third pit stop, they’ve got the handling perfect and the car is moving up, taking sixth place and about to pass again. But after a caution flag and a tire change, something’s wrong.
“Goll darn!” says Mayfield over the headset. “It’s tighter than it’s been all day!” He can’t turn the car at top speeds, and he’s dropping back. By the checkered flag, he’s fallen to ninth. The crew packs up, loads the race car on the truck and heads home.
“We just got a bad set of tires at the end,” Peter says later. “It happens.” Even with all the money, the engineers, the wind tunnels and everything, sometimes it comes down to luck. And so Peter starts all over again, preparing for next week’s race.
