Philippa Stevenson: Starring on racetrack instead of in road toll

I'm not sure of the exact moment that I became a convert to car racing.

Was it as I hurtled down the back straight at 180km/h staring ahead at a fence?

Or very possibly the moment I realised the competent driver beside me was gently braking, changing down gears and taking us around the tight corner, the fence now safely to our right?

It may have been neither moment but for a thrill I can recommend both. There's nothing like a near-death experience, albeit a remote one, and emerging safely from it to brighten the day.

My day was Tuesday. Already a brilliant one as we travelled from Hamilton to Taupo - the sky cloudless and bluest of blue, the bright sun warming the woollies you needed for the chill of the shade; snow-capped Mt Ruapehu glistening white and towering over an unruffled Lake Taupo.

The breathtaking scenery was a bonus. We turned our backs on it to head to the Taupo Car Club's racing circuit just out of town past an industrial area and other large-scale sports arenas.

We were here to take delivery of a birthday gift - several laps in a racecar for him, both driving and being driven, with me as official photographer to record the momentous, fun or hair-raising occasion, whichever it turned out to be. The driver-teacher was Dave Slater, silver-haired and attired in a red, one-piece, quilted suit that suggested professionalism.

A calm manner and a pre-drive tutorial conducted with the help of marker pens and a whiteboard confirmed it.

Actually, this was the point I was converted to car racing. Not by thundering cars, squealing tyres, speed and living to tell the tale - all great (if you blank your mind to the alarming rate at which precious fossil fuels are being burned). No, the moment I really thought motorsports had something to offer Joe and Jill (especially Joe) Public was when I twigged Slater's lesson was a defensive driving course disguised as testosterone-filled fun. I've done a defensive driving course and it started just the same way - the emphasis on good tyres accurately inflated because it is only a few square centimetres of rubber that stands between you and slipping and sliding into gravel, fences or oncoming cars.

Then the bit on how and when to brake, squeezing the brake gently, not locking up the wheels, finding you've only got control when the tyres are turning, not when they are sliding.

The lesson was all about how to drive well and safely on the road, said Slater, adding cheerily "you can just go faster on the track."

Slater's offered driver training at Taupo, Pukekohe and Manfeild through his NZ Motor Racing School for 15 years. He's had a competition driving licence since 1960, is the category manager for NZ V8 touring cars, a former Holden works driver and is credited with being a major force behind the development of HQ racing in this country.

When I tell him I found my defensive driving course informative and a lot of fun (I got in a few laps of Pukekohe raceway, after all) but I hadn't been able to convince the men in my family, especially, to do one, he nods in understanding.

"There are two things you can't tell a man," he says. "That's he a lousy lover or a lousy driver."

So, yes, his ride and drive experiences - often gifts but sometimes initiated by people wanting to improve either their on-road or on-track driving - can double as advanced driver training.

He laments that so few of us do anything to improve our driving skills after we've mastered the up-hill start and three-point turn for the drivers licence.

And, yes, he's more fearful on the road than the track.

"You have an awareness. I'm watching how other people approach me [on the road].

"You see what someone is doing and you are not 100 per cent sure this person is doing the right thing so you pre-empt what others are doing and take precautions. You look ahead, you drive defensively."

Slater doubts speed is the worst culprit in accidents. If a driver is concentrating and aware of the conditions, speed is not necessarily the enemy. Inattention is.

After the race-cum-road driving lesson the birthday boy gets behind the wheel of the nippy Honda Integra which "develops" 285hp. I'm told this is grunty. It is noisy.

Under Slater's direction, and with every lap, BB's driving looks more confident, his braking and gear changes smoother, speed faster. When they stop to swap seats the grin is huge.

Slater's laps go like a hot knife through butter.

Then, oh joy, I am waved into the passenger seat, buckled in like a toddler and spun like candyfloss.

The G force is with us.

Be a good idea if a few more of us starred on the racetrack rather than in the road stats.