The starting grid is full of heavy hitters. Dekon Monzas, Greenwood Corvettes, Porsche 935s. High-power, high-dollar vintage race cars, the fastest of their era. I’m right in the middle of the pack in a 1981 BMW M1 Group 4 car, right behind Zak Brown, CEO of McLaren Racing. Opportunities to go up against the head of one of the world’s great race teams don’t come along often, no matter the venue.
The Peter Gregg class at the 2024 Monterey Motorsports Reunion hosts cars built from 1973 to 1981 that raced in IMSA GT, GTX, AAGT, GTU, and FIA. It’s a wide spread of years, cars, power outputs, and, frankly, driver skill levels. The Monterey Reunion, while a ton of fun, is also not quite what I’d consider a "real" race. Sure, there are cars going wheel-to-wheel on track, but the emphasis from the officials all weekend is that we’re there to have fun, not to add history to these cars (or erase it entirely). Off-track excursions or any contact would not be overlooked.
Of all the classes over the Monterey weekend, though, this is one of the raciest and one of the most-anticipated. These cars represent the golden age of sports car racing. No matter their age, people seem to gravitate towards this class’s entrants. I know I always have. This year, BMW asked me to race its 1981 M1, a gorgeous example of the model in the classic tricolor M livery. Being a 1981 race car, there are massive fender flares and a honking rear wing. It’s a deeply serious car.
It’s also distinct in a different league in terms of power for this class. Sure, the M1 has around 450 horsepower, but cars like the turbocharged 935s have 200 or so more. The drivers of the faster ones in our class are also deeply experienced with their cars, whereas the first time I even sat in the M1 was just before the first practice.
That session was a disaster. I couldn’t get comfortable in the car before going out. I’m a little over six feet tall, and that means the M1’s cockpit was cramped, which made it hard to heel-toe. I also couldn’t see out the back of the cockpit, my own fault for not adjusting the mirrors properly. I spent much of that session letting people pass, ending up extremely low on the time sheets, concerned that I was going to drive around in last place.
Qualifying, though, that was better. I could see, which was good, and was able to get down to a competitive time. The M1, which was initially intimidating, became friendly. Eager to slide and work with me. Unlike many cars of the era, the M1 feels distinctly modern in many ways.
Its gearbox has defined gates, its steering is feelsome and glorious, and that straight-six just won’t stop revving—while also running bias ply slicks. I qualified the M1 14th out of 28, firmly in the middle of the grid for race one. And I’d line up right behind McLaren Racing CEO Zak Brown.
Brown, for those who don’t know, is an avid historic racer with a fleet of enviable cars. This year, his 1978 BMW 320i Turbo Group 5 would be his ride. These cars were essentially bombs, massively quick in a straight line with the engine on boost, but also an invisible timer ticking down until something would go wrong in the engine bay.
Before getting to the grid for the race, I tell the team my goal for this race is to just finish. To preserve the equipment. To do a good job in a car worth more than my life and enjoy the experience. But with the helmet on, my real goal is to get a top 10. And most importantly, to get in front of that 320i. How else will I be a fourth-tier reserve driver for Arrow McLaren in IndyCar?
"Before getting to the grid for the race, I tell the team my goal for this race is to just finish... But with the helmet on, my real goal is to get a top 10."
The start goes well enough, I pass the 3.0 CSL that started alongside and otherwise take it very conservatively. If it were my car, or, frankly, a different event, my process might have been different, but I was in no position to take risks. Another car, a Nissan Z, seemingly has a mechanical failure before turn four, so without much work I’m already up two spots. As the fresh tires the team put on before this session come up to temp, I realize the M1 is faster than it was in qualifying. I see Zak, who was far more aggressive at the start, up the road. I have a shot.
By lap two, I’m on him. The red mist that occasionally inhabits the brain of anyone who drives on track comes roaring to the fore. I realize that I’m not just a little bit faster than qualifying, but a lot. Seconds quicker. I have to get by, not just because it was my goal, but because that CSL I already passed is back on my tail.
Zak is nothing if not a racer, and he excels at making that 320i extremely wide, anticipating where I’m going to try for a pass and making sure he’s placed so I can’t take advantage. Sure, not being able to pass is frustrating, but in my helmet, I’m grinning. I’d be happy to sit in last place with the M1, to be fair, just listening to that straight-six hit 8,000 rpm over and over is enough.
I start trying moves. To the inside after the corkscrew. No room. Outside of turn three. Bad line. Crossover from the outside to the inside after turn four. Not enough momentum. Inside up the hill to the Corkscrew. His turbo power was too much. Finally, I get a real chance on the front straight.
My exit on the final turn is better and I get alongside before his turbos light up. There’s a real shot at getting by. We enter the blind crest of turn one nearly side-by-side, but I’m losing ground to the turbo power. I lift and cede the corner. I could stay in it, I could force the issue, but to what end? There are more laps. I’ll get another chance.
The next lap, that chance comes in the same place. My entry onto the front straight is even better than the lap before, Zak seemingly misses a shift and gets a worse entry. I pounce. We’re once again door-to-door through one, but this time I’m ahead and I stay ahead until turn two. From there on, I didn’t see Zak again. That first lap ahead was a full three seconds quicker than any time I turned until that point in the weekend, the new tires and sudden confidence in myself and the car take over.
That pass, with some attrition, puts me in eighth place at the line. A fantastic result considering every car in front of me has around 200 more horsepower and drivers with more than a few sessions in their cars.
I pull back to the team’s tent, stoked on how well the race went. The team is happy the car came back in one piece. I go over to Zak’s garage to tell him how much fun that was. We shake hands, he thanks me for racing him clean, and jokes that he didn’t make it easy for me. He sure didn’t.
This is the sort of moment that can only happen at a place like Monterey. The sort of moment where the boss of an acclaimed race team running his immaculate Group 5 BMW is an equal to me, a moron in a borrowed M1. I wish for more moments like that.
