"So how fast do these things go?" I asked.

“The record is 228mph set by Rusty Wallace.”

"And who is running this day?“ I enquired.

"This is called the Rusty Wallace Racing Experience."

Point taken I thought.

The expectation was set, my nerves jangled, deep down I knew there would be a limit to the power generated in these “race-day” cars used by the public and given it would be my foot pressing on that big accelerator pedal, there was, realistically, no risk of me getting anywhere near those dizzying 230mph speeds.

However, this did not stop my imagination running wild. The pictures in my head ranged from news clips regarding NASCAR crashes to scenes from Days of Thunder with me as Tom Cruise!

In anticipation of an adrenalin fuelled day I got an early night before descending onto Rockingham Race Track, an event courtesy of Car Dealer Magazine. I felt like I was heading into the unknown.

After initially signing in and acquainting myself with the guests we had invited along, the imposing figure of Blair DuPree sat us all down for our safety briefing, with a quick run through of what the day entailed.

As we left this meeting, it suddenly hit me. I’d be strapped in, on my own, behind the wheel of a 200+mph Chevrolet sports car. I would have no outside help or interference from anyone, save for an earpiece that would occasionally spit out advice that I could, if I so desired, ignore completely.

How brave do I want to be?

The walk down the tunnel seemed to take an age. Time slowed and all those thoughts of Tom Cruise returned for a brief moment in time. The walk through the tunnel and out onto the track acted as both a symbolic and literal transition from spectator to driver as I continued my long walk, away from the safety of the grandstand, under the tarmac and up into the pit-stop area, towards the fire spitting dragon that was ready to eat me up if I lost my head.

The imposing smell of burnt rubber and petrol hit me within seconds of appearing from the nuclear bunker style underground passage, which will for years have been the birth place of nerves and apprehension from members of the public making that same long walk.

As we began to don the all-in-one fireproof overalls, the roar of the engines were overbearing; the screaming sound of tires cut into your ears as the cars took the oval corners at speeds which were hard to comprehend.

And then it was suddenly my turn to hop in through the window of the number 8 Red Budweiser car. I looked on, in complete awe at the monster in front of me, covered as it was in the recognisable advertising logos so iconically associated to NASCAR racing.

“Remember to get the speed up as fast as possible and get straight into 4th gear” is what I kept telling myself, as I took on the role of Sergeant Major, barking orders to myself in my head.

After an initial stutter, and managing to avoid a potential stall of the gears, my speed was up and I dropped straight into 4th as we had been instructed. I was away!

“That’s it driver, increase speed, increase speed”  I was told via my earpiece as I got halfway through my first lap.

The power and sound of the engine were like nothing I had ever experienced before, and as I began to relax into my new found role of “fastest man on 4 wheels”. My confidence increased.

“On this lap we are going to keep a racing line exit and go up as close against the wall as you can,” was the order as my "earpiece expert" was following my every turn from the roof of the pit lanes.

I was now 2 laps and 50% into my temporary career as a NASCAR driver, and I felt it was time to start increasing the speed both along the straights and as I exited the corners.

As I approached the final lap, I was encouraged to “give it everything it’s got”, so I pushed my foot to the floor, with the g-force gently pushing my forehead back.

My final lap began as I launched myself into the first bend. I tried to take on board all previous advice I had received. My foot remained down to the ground for as long as my heart could take it, before slamming on the break as I entered the second corner at my highest speed to that point.

The constant encouragement via my earpiece allowed me the confidence to aggressively increase my track speed, until I finally reached the bitter-sweet moment of flying past the chequered flag and across the finish line.

As my heart raced and I let out a slight sigh of relief that it was over, and that I had survived, I felt this could well be the birth of my love for speed.

It may not be the last time I moonlight as a young, British, Cole Trickle. 

Daniel Godden, Account Executive -  Dealer Groups & Car Supermarkets