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.
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.