The old adage goes fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me.  Nary 3 weeks elapse and Bondurant sales contacts us to come back for another class.  I can't fault them for contacting us, but I have to say that it does seem like a Mr. Potato Head approach.  Overall, while it was entertaining for a day, it was hardly a "free class".  For one, let's call a spade a spade.  A Hellcat is a damned expensive ride, and I am sure that Dodge didn't include something in the MSRP to fund this joint venture with Bondurant.

However, even if we want to say that Dodge lost money on the slot that they funded, it cost us much more.  For starters, my better half went so that meant we footed the $700 additional person entry.  Then we both had two days off work($$), as we flew out from the East coast on Thursday for a Friday SRT Experience.  Besides the cost of the the now second entry and 2 airline tickets ($900), we have a hotel for 2 nights ($300) and a rental car ($125).  When you objectively evaluate the Return-On-Investment, I am confident the math is not in my favor. 

Based on lack of attention to details, lack of constructive feedback and complexity of exercises, I would not recommend Bondurant to my colleagues.  Simply said, there are many other venues which are at a comparable price point ($100 per instruction hour) and the experience is far more polished and well exceeds Bondurant.  One might say that the is a slight of magicians hand, as you will notice it called a SRT Experience (not SRT Training). 

The population of the US is around 330M.  And of that 330M, I can only fathom that less then a fraction of 1% has ever driven onto a closed course.  So, it boggles my mind when Bondurant is provided a group of a auto enthusiasts on a silver platter, how they didn't want to put their best foot forward.   However, getting back to the Mr. Potato Head, it's like their marketing strategy wants to hock their future classes and build a sustainable student base, but the SRT Experience they are actually delivering is a Mr Potato Head with all the appendages in the wrong holes.  Specifically:

• The size of the class (50 students) was far too big effectively utilize our time.  I don’t need to spend ½ my day in your lolly gag area.
• The maintenance of the vehicles (especially tires and windshields) was poor--perhaps even a safety issue.  I wouldn't have a car in my stable with tires with that little (no?) tread.    And I am not sure how you crack so many windshields on a closed course, but at least a handful were cracked so this leads me to believe that nodoby is also sweeping the courses for debris.
• With the minor exception of the skid car, we did not receive any corrections for our specific driving exhibition.  This meant our instructors were more like “Disneyland guides” than professional aficionados.
• The entire staff seems ambivalent. Nobody to receive visitors in the morning, no thought of where the coffee mess should be relative to the time folks want java, nobody really making us feel welcome, nobody making us better drivers.  Just ambivalent.
• The exercises seemed very rudimentary for a closed course. They didn't seem to have a logical skill progression throughout the day. 
• For a $700 experience, it was a bit ridiculous that lunch wasn’t catered by something more than a mobile roach coach with a limited menu.  As with any track, it’s somewhat remote precluding easily getting food off-site. 
• Also odd was that day concluded with nothing more than a handshake and pile of time sensitive certificate for $650 off the next Bondurant class. No signed Bondurant photos, no accomplishment certificate for the man cave.  Even more perplexing was they were even possessive about their Bondurant pens being returned after signing the releases in the morning. No swag bag, no stickers, nada, zip, zilch.
  

Another exercise done, and it’s time to head back to area to our bathroom/gear boutique lolly gag area.  Next up is Lead-and-Follow on using the Vipers on the track.  The exercise kicks off with a brief discussion about how to start the Viper and use the 4 point harness.  While this exercise should have been a hoot, there was no attempt to match anyone by skill/previous experience/ability to drive a manual transmission/want for speed or any other metric.  Literally, cars 1-5 follow car X and cars 6-10 follow car Y.  Lead follow works really well with well match drivers or even one-on-one, however, in this scenario, most folks walked away more frustrated than anything.  The fast drivers were hobbled waiting for the slow drivers, and the slow drivers felt pressure to perform.  I can only assume that this is for our self-preservation, as none of our guides today have instilled confidence in us nor corrected our bad habits. Nonetheless, the 10 mins (4 laps) ended soon enough.

Total Time in the Drivers Seat To Date: 19.7 minutes

Clearly, we have been away too long from the our bathroom/gear boutique lolly gag area, so we quickly return.  Last on the docket is riding shotgun for the “hot laps”.  Each student gets 2 laps as a passenger in the Hellcat.  Don’t get me wrong, it was fun to watch the 7 car, as he had a predilection to drifting the last turn before the pits.  But don't get wrong, it's a flipping hoot to be on either the passengering or spectating part of this event!

Total Time in Drivers Seat To Date: 19.7 minutes

We pile back into the van, and head back to area to our bathroom/gear boutique lolly gag area.  We stagnate here for what seems about the same amount of time we spent with the skid cars.  Finally, we get shepherded out to the next exercise.  Here at least there are enough cars for 2 people per car.  The first exercise we will accelerate from a stop to a stop light which will direct us to either continue straight, or swerve left or right.  The entire exercise is probably a few hundred meters long.

We complete a ½ dozen passes starting at 25MPH then adding 5 MPH each lap culminating at 40MPH.  At the end of the 6th lap, driver and passengers switch.  Each return to the staging area after we are greeted by an instructor, whom does nothing to grade our excellence, failures other than to note the exit speed of the next lap.  We repeat the previous 12 laps with no e-stopping instead of swerving.  Of course, we do spend quite a bit of time idling in staging, and unable to see much of the course.  The point is well illustrated that the car is far more agile in swerving (and in a shorter distance) than attempting to full antilock brake. 

Total Time in the Driver's Seat To Date: 8 minutes

Exercise 3 (Auto Crossing):
With only 2 exercises completed, somehow we find ourselves reconvening in our bathroom/gear boutique lolly gag area.  However, we will be stalemated here for at least 1.5 hrs.  “Lunch” will be a paltry 6 item menu from a roach coach.  And  a very slow roach coach.  In fact, some students begin to wonder if they will be eating during the next exercise.  And for all their patience, they were further degraded when the fries were overcooked to the point you could literally hard enough to knock the table with it.

Nonetheless, the show must go on.  We are off the autocross course.  The instructor demonstrates the different apex as we watch from the far end of the field.  Then he gets his game on and hauls through there.  We load up in the cars, 2 people per car.  Each driver gets four 25 second laps.  The first 2 are warm-up and the last 2 are to determine the best time of day.  Other than signaling go, the instructors, heck, let’s call them guides as this point, have no corrective pointers.  While trial and error problem solving can be a useful learning technique, it is incredible slow to produce any results.  Furthermore, the price point of the SRT Experience and the fact that supposedly experienced instructors stand before me watching my every movement, would lead you to believe that this is odd. Again, time is mostly spent in staging waiting for your turn. It’s even worse, at there aren’t enough cars for all students, so we also need to rotate  to center area so everyone can get a go.  

The lack of maintenance will also pop up again.  Not a single car at this exercise has tires which would pass a reasonable state safety inspection.  It’s not for the tread being below the wear bars, but the outside are without any hint of a tread pattern.  And the condition further draws attention to itself as not a single car is leaving the starting box without exhaling a screech.

Total Time in the Driver's Seat To Date:: 9.7 minutes

The classroom discusses very basic principles of mass transfer and although they have cars in the diagrams you could probably have used any icon from motorcycles or maybe even yaks.  As we depart the museum, we are given one of 4 colored wristbands.  Although we have whittled the participants down to groups of 12-14, the instructor to student ratio isn’t favorable.  However, I suspend my disbelief that for a $100/hr rate, we certainly will get some quality instruction.  However, it’s beginning to look as if  this class will be more “experiences” and less “instruction” based

Soon enough, it’s time for a bio break back in the main building next to the gift shop under the canopy.  Sadly, while I can appreciate the need to allow folks to relax, this is the area we will ultimately spend the most time in throughout the day.  The orange team then loads up in a van to be taken out to the skid pad cars. 
The skid pad cars have a student driver, the instructor (always shotgun), then 2 students in the back seat.  The cars are retrofitted with a $30K which allows the pressure to be manually adjusted from 0 to 100% loading. So, needless to say, everyone is going for a skid today. 

I will echo the sentiment that every new driver program should have this as part of the curriculum.  Its remarkable how pear shaped you can find yourself, but with a bit of perseverance and light throttle and looking where you need to be, the car will follow.  However, I have to say that I also found the centrifugal forces of a complete spin out quite exhilarating.  The instructor was cool as a cucumber during all of our antics, and did it was probably the only time during the day that we did receive any professional corrective guidance.  Each driver receives about 4 mins in the driver’s seat, and a total of 12 mins in the vehicle (8 mins as passengers).

With 14 students and only 2 cars, we spent much more time watching others than participating.  A purist might say that you can learn an awful lot by spectating, and that might be true. 

However, no sooner do we really begin to feast our eyes, one of the tires on the outriggers to the skid car begins to shred.  Then it detonates shortly before the last student completes. It does strike me as odd as the tire doesn't even last for our session.  However, as the story unfolds the SRT Experience only runs on Fridays, with the longer 2 and 4-day classes earlier in the week.  During track days for bikes, most folks only get 3 days.  At the BMW performance center, which I never saw a tire at wear bars, they said they do new skins every 3 days.  Basically, it seems that the SRT Experience are "dirty seconds", sucking every last nickle out of the kit until it fails.  While it’s probably not considered a true ‘safety’ failure at the speeds we are traveling, it’s nonetheless, an indicator of a more systemic approach to Bondurant’s maintenance philosophy.

Total time in the driver's seat to date: 4 minutes

Phoenix is quizzical place, in that the sun spends 3/4ths of the year searing all within her rays.  Yet, this December morning is barely 40 degrees.  We enter the Bondurant facility in the predawn light under the gargantuan entrance tower, yet it is eerily deserted.  Since the half dozen pre-class emails contained not information on where to go once we entered the property, the lack of a real human or any sort of “welcoming navigation” sign causes us to pause.   Undeterred we decide to stop for some obligatory photos and look for people or vehicles in motion.

Having found neither, we decide to mosey another ¼ mile towards a centroid of parked vehicles.  We are greeted by mini herds of all Dodge products.  At first glance, the trims are further separated by wild and bold Bondurant graphics packages.  We meander up to what appears to the main building.  There is a tiny note directing students to the museum next building over.  Bruce and I are ecstatic, because it now gives us a somewhat valid reason to cruise closer to the vehicles lined up by their graphics packages.

Once inside the museum, a dozen nostalgic vehicles line the perimeter.  The center of the room is filled with 50 or so chairs.  There is a person in a back room, but he doesn’t seem to take note of our presence.  As with any good museum, the walls are covered in photos and text.  Bruce and I decide to peruse them, and it turns out a dedication to Bondurant’s rise within the racing industry from Indian motos to cars during the late 1950s/1960s.  There were even some disturbing photos chronically his 1967 crash that forever altered his destiny.  By this time, a few more students have wondered in the museum door, only to realize there is no coffee mess.  They scurry like a rat off a burning ship back to the main building questing for the all mighty java.

A bit past the bottom of the hour and our official start, the museum is now packed with 6 Bondurant employees, and 50 or so SRT Experience enthusiasts.  As with all good training, Bondurant employees hand out the release forms.  As much as Santa checks his list twice, the now signed forms are checked for compliance.  As soon as they have satisfied whatever checklist they have, 5 of the 6 employees scamper off to presumably other morning chores.  The remaining chap will lead us through 30-45mins of discussion before we head outside.

We’ll that is until a student shows up 15 minutes into his spiel. Don’t get me wrong, the previous excursions I had on tracks, I can appreciate the fact they run with the precision of a London train schedule.  Track time is expensive, and so every effort is made to ensure that not a minute of hot laps is wasted. However the lone instructor now stops the larger discussion with the group, to somewhat interrogate the new comer.  But given the lack of signage and direction from staff, it’s really no wonder someone got wayward.  The awkward exchange culminates with the new comer being segregated to the front row seating.  I guess not filling out your release form before sitting a classroom chair has its’ punishment around this place, meaning that we all suffer for the misdoings of one.

But for claiming for being in the training business for nearly a half of century, this guy is certainly not the first late student.  It boggles my mind that there isn’t a better, perhaps more discrete protocol, to handle his tardiness?  Presumably he was on your rooster as unaccounted, so why didn’t someone hang back at the front door to greet him professionally?   However, then I realize how ambivalent and cold the entire experience has been for me so far.

Buried in a sea of Governmental bureaucracy of itty bitty typeface, is a little gem.  The gem in this case is that the procurement of the Hellcat is replete with a paid entry to the SRT Experience at the Bondurant Driving School.  In some ways, we can't believe our luck.  We've never had a bad time on a closed course.  However, it's the dead of summer and Bondurant is located in the Arizona desert.  Nothing to do, but book for a winter get away.  So we do.

On a idle summer afternoon, all is quite on the house front.  We decide to tromp over to the local dealer and see what might on the showroom.  While we were initially encouraged they had a Go-Mango Hellcat Challenger, the dealership for the most part is also enjoying the dog days of summer.  The service department has no intention of working with the sales staff to evaluate the trade, and likewise, the sales staff has no intention of starting (closing ?) on a sale. However, this is mostly par for this dealership.

We hit up the web, and shockingly, there a B5 Blue Hellcat has just arrived fresh off the truck at a dealership 20 miles away.  You might ask why blue is important?  Well much like a Browerbird builds a nest, the first letter in Bruce must be "B" for blue?  A Browerbird will use whatever they find in their surroundings to build an elaborate nest, as they don't use plumage to attract a mate.  The Browerbird will artfully arrange the objects, some preferring a certain color, others preferring a certain shape or object.

As we arrive at the dealership, we approach nothing but a sea of Challengers, intermixed with a handful of Hellcats in about the same ratio you would apply sprinkles to an ice cream sundae.  However, the one we quest is nowhere in sight.  Soon enough after some cordial exchanges, the sales agent varooms from the rear staging area.  It seems the poor Hellcat had been unloaded with a some Mazada's and was relegated to spending last night with them.

The agent gets out of the car, and is sill pulling off the plastic protectors as he is giving a spiel. Soon enough, he tosses Bruce the key for a test drive.  And so the fabled Endowment Effect begins to latch on to Bruce's inner core.  Soon enough, we head out of the safety of the parking lot for the relatively congested divided highway.  A few miles down, and the car does not fail to deliver.  Soon enough, the ride is over.

Back at the dealership, the keys are returned in exchange for the quote, and we cordially depart company. 

The next day is spent prepping the current Challenger for sale.  It was an incredibly quick sale for decent money given she averaged 12K miles per year.  By the start of the next work week, the B5 Blue Hellcat will be ours.

It’s a game that you can never win.  It starts innocently enough though, as follows you, or some might say, haunt you for the next half dozen decades of your life.  To the casual observer, the old MOPAR was unassuming.  It was for the most part not pretty at 50 feet, and certainly an eyesore at 5 feet.  But she existed in an era where muscle cars ruled, and was not slouch if one knew how to dissect a tell tale signs of modifications under the hood.

You were wildly excited to be a passenger in your older brother’s car.  Some might even think of you as a captive audience.  You were younger then, and your 135 lbs 5’10 ft frame would just sink back into the springs of the seat, as your neck whipped backwards.  Forward did the old MOPAR accelerate you leaving a smokey haze of vaporized rubber.  The air wafted and the tarmac had a trail of positrac goodness.   Despite how you promised not to tell mom, you couldn’t contain your excitement about the ride.  However, your inadvertent snitching would limit your future rides to times when it seemed appropriate to antagonize the parental units.  A few years later at sixteen years young, you were never so proud to earn your right of passage and get a drivers’ license.

For the next decade or two, cars come and go.  Buying and driving whatever jalopy finds its’ way into your life.  Some were driven until your squeezed every living drop of oil from their pumps, others came and went based on needs of basic transportation.  As you begin to settle down and put down roots, multiple cars enter your stable at once.  Some are project cars, others serve purposes like haul trucks.  .  Much like you prepare a lobster by putting it in the pot while the water is tepid, then slowly increasing the flame on the bottom of the kettle, you are becoming numb.  Numb to the fact that your procurement costs for vehicles have lept by two orders of magnitude in the decades since your first.  You hadn’t even realized the startling revelation more than to mentally note, you remember when vehicles were more reasonably priced.

You have reached the point in career when more of the years are in the rear view mirror, and only a scantily few stand before you.  The vehicles in your stable have become less and less practical, and more tuned to scratching an eternal itch.  An itch every time you scratch requires more salve in the form of additional horsepower.  You dabble in motorcycles, as even an expensive motorbike is far cheaper than a cage with the same performance.  However, the motorcycles only prove to you that life is fragile, and while you are (mostly) sound of mind and body that fortune can change instantaneously.

While none of the current vehicles is high mileage, nor mechanically a basket case, all are beginning to age out.  Age out in the sense that most were bought a previous decade.  Car shopping begins with random chatter, but nothing lights your fire.  High end European luxury sedans, to station wagons, Pro-toured Fat Fender trucks, and even an errant Land Rover all mull over your conscious thoughts.  None however prove to excite more than the last decision.  Months elapse.  

As the summer solstice approached, the credit union announced a new partnership with a car buying service.  Purportedly, the car buying service would save thousands off all models using a dealer within their network.  After eagerly entering all the minutia details down to the color code of the prospective vehicle, the process seems to instill prowess.  This prowess quickly erodes as all of the offers are for base model vehicles, wrong options and nary one even in the desired color.  The calls and emails received would mostly be considered spam, dealers which haven’t given the slightest thought about the user’s requirements, nor the have the slightest care.  They want to sell you anything they have, and torture you until you understand that fact.  Summer marches on.