What a Rush

Photographs by John B. Carnett Don "the Snake" Prudhomme's dragster (above) was in first place in NHRA top fuel point standings at press time. Photographs by John B. Carnett

View Photo Gallery

The violence of the launch was astonishing. Vibration short-circuited my senses, and the acceleration clouted my helmet back against the car's roll cage. For 200 feet, I couldn't tell where I was. I'm not used to feeling fear while in a car–I've cornered 185-mph Ferraris at top speed–but this dragster scared me. After a couple of runs, they told me, I'd get used to it: The car would go straight for 200 feet until I could see.


For some idea of what it's like to drive a Top Fuel dragster, take that experience and multiply by 10. My learner car was a 700-plus-horsepower McKinney Super Comp gas dragster from the Frank Hawley Drag Racing School in Gainesville, Florida-plenty fast, with more than Nascar-level horsepower. But it was a go-kart compared with the 6,000-plus horsepower, nitro-fueled dragsters raced by the pros. In the quarter-mile, a Top Fuel "rail" dragster has reached 332.18 mph (the record, set in 2001 by Kenny Bernstein), covering the distance in 4.477 seconds. Moving that fast requires a shotgun marriage of brute power and precarious, finicky mechanical engineering, performed over one of the briefest timed events in competitive sport. Downforce, G-force, parasitic drag, and assorted other manifestations of the violence of this sport must be overcome. A rail's purposely flexible chromaloy frame is designed to bow upward in the middle like a saw on the track, as carbon fiber and magnesium wings push the front and rear of the car down. The super-soft dragster tires, inflated to just 6 psi, wrinkle elastically at launch, slingshot forward, then, disfigured by centrifugal force, balloon zanily in the heat of the run.


The fastest car-to-car sport in the world, drag racing is also one of the purest expressions of mechanical prowess. Unlike tech-obsessed Formula 1, however, drag racing has never gone fancy. In the fully crowd-accessible paddock, where the air wrenches squeal and the nitromethane fumes flow, fans stand five deep, watching crewmen work on the cars after each run. It's like viewing open-heart surgery at speed: a full teardown and rebuild of the supercharged 500-cubic-inch V8-new pistons, heads, belts, and whatever else is required-in 45 minutes. Aside from the lightning-fast crews, though, the pit atmosphere is easy. Close your eyes and the party atmosphere of 1950s drag racing returns: flathead Ford V8s and skinny tires, Saturday-night bravado, the guy with the pack of Luckies rolled up in his sleeve. Same now as it ever was: Get from here to there in a straight line fastest, making as much noise and smoke as possible.