I pushed the start button on our GPS data recorder and mashed the throttle wide open. I heard my two captives fall back in their seats as the Jeep clawed into the wet pavement. Even at an altitude where the lack of oxygen reduces engine output, the 420-horsepower Hemi V-8 leapt off the starting line, chirping the tires. Knowing the stability and traction-control systems would refuse to allow the kind of high-speed sideways driving that would no doubt ensue, we'd already removed a certain pink fuse from the Jeep's brain to disconnect those buzz-kill functions as well as ABS.
The first few corners probed the tires' grip, which turned out to be quite a lot--over 0.80 g on wet pavement. Only after crossing into the dirt did the Jeep really begin its dance with the mountain. The steering was accurate and quick, and the sideways drifts came naturally. I could feel the all-wheel drive shifting power around as the tires hunted for traction. This was unlike any Jeep I'd ever driven--it felt more like a V-8-powered Mitsubishi Evo IX. The throttle response was still generous despite the altitude, but the transmission delayed its shifts the higher we climbed. I was warned about this possibility as brake and transmission fluids boil without the pressure exerted on them at lower altitudes. Luckily, there isn't much braking required on the way up the Hill.
I was beginning to feel comfortable when the Jeep crested a blind brow and the sunrise hit me straight between the eyes. I instinctively raised my right hand to shade the sunlight, but it was no use. I'd lost track of the road, remembered the cliff to my left, with a right-hander approaching. I had to slow down from about 50 mph to a crawl before I got my bearings back. I knew that would cost me time. Then, everything changed. I was no longer concerned with the well being of my Jeep and its occupants. "Once you run up the Hill, you'll want to do it again," warned our consulting veteran and PPIHC race director, Phil Leyton. "You'll be back." I'd caught the bug.
Between mile-markers 16 and 17, there's a left corner aptly named Bottomless Pit for its 1600-foot sheer drop. I heard somebody from the back seat report its imminent arrival, but from the look of it, I could tell that if I held the Jeep against the rock face to the left side long enough to straighten the corner, I could slide past the Pit without ever pointing directly at it. Like a charm, we zoomed past with a few feet of cushion to spare. Only later did I learn my passengers weren't quite as confident about that maneuver as I was. There may have only been a couple miles to go, but it was all new to me.