Sylmar Electric

These are my race stats indicating that of the four drivers on the course, I came in last place.


And this is my membership card to MB2 Raceway in Sylmar, CA, where I and my car-nut co-workers unwind, after a long work week of begging and cajoling others to no real, satisfying end. It's all electric, break-neck acceleration go-karts that seems like cute little fun childrens toys at first glance, but will turn any mild tempered human into a panting, grunting, sweaty, adrenaline-drunk gorilla – My Aunt Belen at the swap meet.

I get schooled each time by my co-workers, never failing to be bottom of the heap. And each time the race is over, my limbs are too rubbery for me to get out of the Kart without the help of a track nurse. He's usually not pretty or hot, just some under earner teen who loves the smell of Pep Boys. My throat is usually parched and I'm ready to throw up from the adrenaline overload. Today was no different.

The place is nestled in a business park, amidst companies that make roller bearings and electronic components. You'd think by the sign that it was a performance parts distributor specializing in lift kits for your favorite jacked up 4 x 4 application. You wouldn't give this place a second look and there are no signs enticing you to spend the afternoon crouched knees to elbows, in a go-kart dragging your low hangers around the glossy concrete.

The inside smells of rubber and solvent and man grime, but the place is clean. Track is indoor, and your stats are beamed onto the wall for everyone to see. This operation has nothing to do with a bunch of Carney Folk who like to boogie down on the vomit comet or sell you styrofoam gliders and funnel cake. This is a hi-tech operation from top to bottom.

The Karts are a multi-stage electric deal, controlled by radio to regulate track speed. Each active kart constantly sends its stats back to a server that then displays each drivers performance as they jack around the smooth track. You are required to wear recycled head socks sprayed with febreeze and a regulation helmet with neck brace, AND, of course, you sign away all rights to sue. The hard cores, like Kuhner, my co-worker bring their own helmets and gloves.

These fuckers go fast. I actually popped my neck in turn three – the widowmaker. I end up driving sideways a lot, which I enjoy, but as all the vets point out, “You're scrubbing speed when you do that. You want your drive wheels to be behind you at all times.” Noted.

14 laps go by in less than 7 minutes, at a cost of only $12.00. The electric screeeem, the well planted stance, the ridiculous handling – this is the way driving should be done. It's nearly impossible for me to get back into my car without scoffing at my own ride, as in, “Really Yirko, you really think you can drive home in that box spring?”

I don't like being last all the time, so I might save my lunch money and practice in secret, watching closely, the skillful ways of this hot shot regular, some racer named Hot Cow.

They say that Angelenos are natural treasure hunters in a vast dirt heap – this is true. MB2 Raceway is a gleaming, screaming treasure awaiting you in the Los Angeles foothills.