To that end, Hill goes over the details of all the timing beams, distances between cones, track surface, shutdown area, even the affect of the sun’s glare on the starting tree. He emphasizes the importance of doing a burnout and staging the car “exactly the same every time” and says his goal is to make us “drive like a computer.” By that I think he means to be consistent and so attentive to details that nothing is left to chance, but it’s tempered by the need “to be prepared for anything, because anything can happen at any time.”

Hill uses this special two-seater Super Comp car to give neophytes the drag racing experience, either in a ride-and-drive program like I went through, or strictly as a passenger ride.

Truer words were never spoken. In a demonstration run just a few moments later, and in his first pass in a Pro Stocker since the spring, Hill launches the T-Bird into a huge wheelstand after the wheelie bars were set too high and he has to feather the throttle to bring the front end back to earth gently enough to not even scrape the oil pan. It’s a darn good driving job regardless of who’s in the seat, and though I know he isn’t too happy with the wheelie bar mistake, I suspect it’s a real confidence booster when making a comeback from illness.

I’d be remiss in my reporting here if I didn’t mention the fiery disposition Hill is somewhat infamous for during his teaching sessions. Stories abound of a red-faced Hill berating some hapless student for not sufficiently respecting the school’s equipment, not following instructions, or simply not “getting it” fast enough. Hill assures us repeatedly, however, that he’s mellowed with age and “won’t be getting on the chip,” but we do see flashes of that ill temperament at times. He briefly gives one student a hard time for not shaving that morning. “Look like a professional driver,” he grouses.

To be fair, though, Hill’s criticism never comes without reason and I think an overriding concern for safety first is at the root of most of his tirades. As long as you learn from them—and you can learn—it’ll work out in the end. Tough love, I think it’s called.

Regardless, the time finally comes for my first trip down a dragstrip. (Well, I have been in a couple of media races before in Crown Vics borrowed from the local Ford dealership, but that hardly counts.) To get acquainted with the sensation, my first pass will be as a passenger in Hill’s specially-built, two-seater dragster with him driving up front while I’m strapped in behind with a dummy steering wheel and pedals to play along with.

I’m assigned a racing jacket, gloves, neckbrace, and helmet. Hill explains he’ll be in contact via radio for this and every one of my solo attempts and I ask the question that gets at least one rookie nailed every time: “Can you hear me, too?” He answers my question with a question: “Now why do you think you have anything to say that I want to hear?!” I was afraid of that.

At most, it’s only about 70 degrees out, but with my new uniform on, as well as being the first time I’m tightly confined by a five-point harness, I’m already feeling the heat. I can only imagine what it’s like to wear a full Funny Car driver’s suit under the sun at Phoenix, or Atlanta, or St Louis in the summer. Already I’m gaining a little of that empathy.

Anyway, after engine start and a few last-minute instructions, we idle up to the water box and before I know it Hill hits the throttle and I hold my breath. He does the burnout and the ride smoothes out just the way it does when a horse begins to gallop. Then he lets off the gas, the tires re-assert their grip, and that smooth gallop reverts to a bucking, violent stop. There’s a little more insight.

We edge forward and I watch the pre-staged light come on, then the staged light; I hear and feel the RPMs come up, yellow, green, and we’re off! I feel the way I did the first time I ever rode in a speedboat as a kid: excited, but just a little scared. No, not really scared, but certainly aware of doing something a little more dangerous than the norm, something most people wouldn’t be doing that day.

And then it’s over. Hill is on the brakes and we’re heading for the turnoff. I find out later we covered the eighth in 5.81 seconds at about 121 mph, but it seemed much quicker to me. I mean, I’ve watched a lot of eighth-mile runs and think I have a pretty decent sense of how long a 5.8-second pass takes. No doubt it’s quick, but when you’re on the starting line watching a car drive away at that speed it feels like plenty of time over that distance. In the car, however, time feels compressed.

But that’s exactly what Hill spoke about during our sit-down session. “I’ll make your brain work faster,” he promised. “You’ll be able to take in more and think about it as if it’s in slow motion. It’s all about focus. When you get in that car you’ve got to know where you’re going.”