As I approached Pennsylvania's Poconos International Raceway for day two of the International Motor Press Association's annual "IMPA Days" event, I noticed that there weren't any skull-and-crossbones flags flying or any dour, stovepipe-hatted men dressed in black with tape measures, waiting to size me up for my final going-away party.

	Ted Crow, Post-Gazette Click illustration to view larger version.

I took the absence of both as good signs. This, after all, was track day, and in an hour or so, I would be hitting the track at speeds up to 100 mph, in brand- new cars of my choice.

As I approached the gate, I had flashbacks about some of my adventurous turns behind the wheel in my salad days as a cub reporter. I had a couple of memorable crack-ups in company cars, prompting my editor to stick me with the nickname "Crash."

But that was a good while ago. This day, I'm waiting with a large group of other journalists for my final instructions and helpful hints.

"If you see the black flag, it means the driving session has stopped. If it's pointed at you -- guess what -- it's you! That means you're done," our instructor told us.

"If you see the yellow flag, it means something's happened. And the more agitated the worker is waving it, the more serious the incident -- a spin, a collision, or whatever," he added.

Gulp!

"If you see a red-and-yellow striped flag, it means parts of a car, a woodchuck or whatever is on the surface of the track. If you don't pay attention, you'll be into the wall," the instructor said.

Double gulp!

Before I jumped aboard my ride, a 2005 Toyota Scion tC, I decided not to take any chances.

Having been a ministerial student in my "other life," I offered prayers in several languages. I also crossed myself for good measure, never mind that I'm a card-carrying Methodist.

I eased my little four-wheeled baby out to the starting line. Glancing in my rear view mirror, what should be behind me but a 2004 BMW M3, piloted by a journalist who, at the moment, looked suspiciously like Snidely Whiplash, the cartoon villain and nemesis of Dudley Do-Right, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police do-gooder in "Adventures of Bullwinkle and Rocky." He rubbed his hands together with a wicked sneer on his face.

I'm going to get creamed, I thought. But then I remembered that there are staggered starts, giving everybody a chance to get out of harm's way before anybody else takes off. I breathed a sigh of relief.

But not for long. I saw the driver ahead of me thunder off in a hail of smoke and noise. And then I saw the grinning track worker's arm drop.

It's my turn! I'm off! Lord, have mercy!

Every nerve ending in my body is on high alert. I dropped the hammer and my little Scion let out with a blood-curdling roar out of proportion to its diminutive size. I felt the tires bite down for traction, and much to its credit, the car never went out of control.

Lesson 1: Other drivers will likely disagree, but a small car, at least for me, feels much more as though it's under my control than something with more mass. Besides, I reason, if I get into trouble, it's a heck of a lot easier to set things right, particularly if the steering has quick responses the way the Scion does.

But with only 30 seconds or so behind the wheel, there was no sign that my Scion had any problem at all. I settled back and began to enjoy the ride a bit.

By now I saw the crest of the road, and a curve came up about a split second later. I threw myself into the corner and hurtled down a straight for about a half a minute before the next curve loomed ahead. But this little baby didn't let up, just grabbing onto the surface as if its life depended on it.

Eventually, I headed for the steeply banked straightaway -- and here's where every Walter Mitty fantasy you've ever had about driving at top speed comes into play.

Surprisingly, this car had plenty to work with, and I hit 90 to 100 mph in no time, with enough time to spare before I saw the orange pylons, telling me I had to brake to handle a series of very quick S curves leading to the end of my lap.

I waited to see if my Scion would lift any of its tires off the road as my hands spun that steering wheel in a fury of fast, lightning-quick moves, the sound of screeching tires and a lusty exhaust pipe in my ears. But not to worry. The car was perfect.

Ah, the end of my first lap. I thrust a fist into the air, and laugh to myself, adrenaline charging through my body and the hairs still on end on the back of my neck. "Now, what in the heck was I worried about? It's cool. It's all good!" I think.

My subsequent laps in such cars as the Mercedes C55 AMG, Cadillac XLR convertible and Audi TT roadster went on to prove that there's no substitute for sheer, raw horsepower. Each of them tore into the racetrack like a champ, with a finely balanced suspension and awesome handling that most owners will never get a chance to experience in daily life.

In spite of all the fun and games of these track events, there really are things that you learn about the car that you can't learn anywhere else. The true mettle of components, such as brakes and steering, seating comfort and support under high-speed conditions and the suspension, really show up -- or not -- in these kinds of driving conditions.

And as for the high speeds you reach, there's a bit of method to that too. There are lots of times when you're on the highway when you need a sudden burst of responsiveness for a few seconds to get out of harm's way safely. Anybody's whose car has hesitated too long can tell you what that is like. Wouldn't you want to know if your car had an engine that met those conditions? I think so.

But as I left the racetrack for the day, I breathed a final sigh of relief and tucked my Walter Mitty fantasies safely away for another year.