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"         As with all irrational passions, car exuberance has bestowed an immutable truth upon the enthusiast: If only I could get behind the wheel I&amp;#039;d show Takuma Sato a thing or two.   Well, now you have your chance to learn why that isn&amp;#039;t so. Takuma Sato&amp;#039;s 2002 Jordan \u2014 and Eddie Irvine&amp;#039;s 2000 Jaguar \u2014 are available for fun drives courtesy of euro-speed. Yes, these actual Formula 1 chassis rent for approximately $3600 per four laps at either Anderstorp in Sweden or the Hungaroring near Budapest, Hungry. See for scheduling; we highly recommend the Hungaroring for its length and layout.   I got my chance because aftermarket braking specialist Baer Brakes and its manufacturing partner Roulands wanted to showcase their brake pads and some eyeball-popping F1 action. So we hammered down to the Hungaroring for a 12-lap warm-up in some well-worn Formula Opel-Lotus spec cars followed by the Jag Formula 1 car.   For an old sedan race-car driver who had never sat in a formula car, would the pinnacle of the race-car world prove a terrifying precipice? A teetering edge of exploding horsepower and sketchy traction? Or is the modern F1 car still just a car, albeit a quick one?   Well, The Formula One Experience, as put on by eurospeed, proved an aptly named quick glimpse behind the curtain. To keep costs sub-stratospheric and would-be F1 pilots out of the guardrail, they&amp;#039;ve re-engined the Jordan and Jaguar with 3.0-liter Judd V-8s and added sequential stick shifts to the once paddle-shift cars. Paddles meant too many downshifts when upshifts were desired, says eurospeed principal Peter Soenderbaek. &amp;quot;Believe me, the sequential shifter is right for these cars,&amp;quot; he intones earnestly while screening photos of our mounts mangled against the Hungaroring barriers. Then he slid a damage waiver across the briefing table for all to sign.   I opted for the Jaguar and its slightly roomier cockpit. Luckily the mind-numbing options of the modern F1 steering wheel are of no bother in this sample drive. This is a get in-and-grin event, and as Peter points out, the 11 of us driving won&amp;#039;t have our FIA Super Licenses at the end of the day anyway.   But first you must get in. At 6 ft. 2 in. tall and a middle-aged 240 lb., my first F1 thoughts recalled liposuction. Not necessary \u2014 barely \u2014 I can now report, but the importance of the smallest possible shoes is real.   Slithering into the cockpit presented the first F1 moment. As your feet slide down the cockpit floor, they are unexpectedly forced skyward by the Jag&amp;#039;s upwardly curved nose. Then it&amp;#039;s a deep elbow bend, seemingly onto the ground, to find yourself between those two deliciously fat front tires and behind the yoke-type steering wheel. As eurospeed thoughtfully provides a pair of umbrella girls to better the charade, the beckoning view down pit lane, miniscule steering wheel in hand, the big tires at the flank and thigh-high peripherals combine to form a deeply satisfying sense of anticipation.   Starting is done with a push from the mechanics and popping the clutch in 2nd gear. First gear has been disconnected because the F1 car &amp;quot;is a horny lion&amp;quot; in bottom gear according to Peter. Pace driver Johan Rajamaki \u2014 who owns all the F1 cars, by the way \u2014 cruised past in his 1989 Benetton and the crew pushed me off. A quick lift of the pleasantly weighted clutch, and far behind the Judd snarled, answering the throttle with frenetic, but thankfully low-volume intensity. Earplugs are not necessary. A few quick lurches and the Jag got moving fast enough to accelerate in 2nd. I explored the long throttle pedal travel and the rush came instantly, flooding the consciousness to near capacity. Even detuned to around three pounds per horsepower, the Jag leaps through the gears, your mind flailing behind like the red rag on the end of a load. But there&amp;#039;s always just enough computing power remaining to pull the gear selector, and I flicked the lever back, then again and again like a lab rat that&amp;#039;s found the reward. Even without the nuclear power hit of a front-line F1 engine, the Judd delivers intoxicating thrust.   Beat about the head and shoulders by Peter to never accelerate until the front wheels are straight, I wasted more than a lap before discovering the Jag was a pussycat with no hidden mean streak. Then it was the straightforward but ultimately impossible task to push into the blur zone where vision tunnels to a gray ribbon, the g-loads intrude and the high-wire balancing act of managing the tire&amp;#039;s grip are all there is.   With no windshield or pillars blocking the way, the details visible in the slow corners were drawn with laser clarity. In fact, it slowly dawned that I was missing the apexes by yards simply because I was not used to such intimacy with the road. Thus emboldened to move in sooner and closer, the Hungaroring gained some very helpful width.   Muscling the steering was more challenging and my biceps and shoulders tired in three laps. Yet the precision and stability of the chassis were overwhelming. The Jaguar was much easier to guide than the nervous little Opel-Lotus, including the obligatory sliding up and over the chicane&amp;#039;s angled entrance curb.   While the Jag&amp;#039;s brakes were superb, they never approached operating temperature in a day full of our wanker driving. From an estimated 165 mph into Turn 1, I could easily brake at the 125-meter mark, but had to remember to nearly stab the brakes to get the most out of them. Try that in a sedan and you&amp;#039;ll end up backward in the weeds, but such is the downforce and stability of the F1 car that assertiveness is rewarded.   So now I&amp;#039;ve a great cocktail party story, but no illusions and yes, respect for Takuma-san. The modern F1 car is super easy to drive up to eight-tenths, but beyond that it takes skill and physical conditioning no amateur can muster. But it certainly is thrilling to try. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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