It's a Gas Gas Gas!

He gives her some coaching advice and promises she'll do great things in the afternoon.

During the lunch break, you walk around, get the full range of drivers.

Peter Sienkiewicz, a 50-something mechanic, is driving a hot red 2005 Ford GT, a 525-horsepower, two-seat machine with the engine in the back. It goes for about $150,000. This is his first Friday at the Track event, and he kept it at a modest 105 mph in the straightaways. Thirty feet away is Greg Keller, a co-worker of Bruning's, who's driving a 1991 Honda CRX that is painted in a lovely shade of primer.

"I only started with the cars last year," says Sienkiewicz. "The Mustang flew by me, the Mini flew by me, and I'm just not worried. It's not just about what your car can do. It's about knowing the track."

Shapiro tries out the skid pad, spinning out, then whipping the car around, remembering to keep her eyes forward, looking where she wants the car to go, what instructors call "ocular driving." She says: "This would be a lot more fun if they handed out martinis."

Confidence bolstered (sans vodka), she's ready to hit the track again.

Wham, she's out into the first turn, Hirtes hanging tight.

"Very nice, much better than the first time around," he's saying, Shapiro taking the car through an easy turn called the Hammer so smoothly, at 40 mph, that it almost makes you long for the wonders of fourth gear.

Then into the tight turns.

Hirtes, wrestling at the wheel: "You're giving me a hard time when I'm trying to help you. I'm trying to help you! Go, go! Gas, a little bit of gas!"

Down the straightaway -- and then it happens. Shapiro drops the car down into the banked turn, the Karussel. She's looking left through the turn, and in so doing, smoothly pulls the car through the banked route. She whips by the cone, then shimmies through the corkscrew. She's doing all the steering. The car pulls up to 55 in the straight.

"Look at you!" Hirtes exults.

A few more turns, another lap, and there's the checkered flag. "Oh my God, I'm done!"

She's pulling into the paddock, slowing, the car lurches, lurches, dies.

Hirtes: "Why are you doing this? You want to annoy me? The clutch, the clutch! It's your left foot! Don't forget to turn the steering wheel!"

Shapiro doesn't care. She pulls halfway into a parking spot and lets the car heave to a rest.

Friday at the Track. She's beaming, and why not? She's a track star.