Racing fans likely have heard about the penalties NASCAR levied on the Hendrick Motorsports team of driver Jimmie Johnson and crew chief Chad Knaus, stemming from a car brought to the Daytona 500. Supposedly—despite the insistence from Hendrick that the car had passed inspection in 2011 with no issues—the covers for the C-pillars were too rounded to suit NASCAR. The powers that be suspended Knaus and car chief Ron Malec for six races, and docked Johnson 25 points, which meant the driver left Daytona deep in the hole.
The upshot from this event: NASCAR not only discourages innovation, it will punish you for it. That means even for something as minor and obvious as C-pillar covers that had already been run in past races without penalty or incident. NASCAR is not alone. Yes, IndyCar does have three engine suppliers this year, which makes it something slightly less than a spec series, but teams still run the same chassis, body, and tires—and therefore no real innovation is allowed. In Grand-Am, the success of the series is based on a tightly controlled rules package that allows teams to remain competitive with the same basic cars for a long time (this isn’t really a bad thing). Even in Formula 1, the packages are both rules- and budget-based to the point where major in-season changes are rare. This is why, even before the 2012 season starts, Ferrari has been pegged as a backmarker team that may not win a single race. Ferrari!
There is one, and only one, major exception in big-time North American auto racing that not only allows, but encourages, innovation: the American Le Mans Series, which kicks off its season at the 60th annual 12 Hours of Sebring this weekend. The ALMS has many problems, but as a feeder for the ACO (L’Automobile Club de l’Ouest), which sanctions the 24 Hours of Le Mans, Sebring is the place to go to see what’s new in motorsports.
No other series in the U.S. would or will embrace diesels and hybrids and multiple tire suppliers and the like. A prime example is the oddball DeltaWing, which takes its first public laps in a demonstration at Sebring, and will compete—not for points, but it will run in anger—at Le Mans. The DeltaWing, already dismissed by IndyCar as a possible car of the future, would be a minor footnote in racing history without ALMS support. At this point, it’s a major footnote, but it will get its own chapter very soon. One reason: Scott Atherton, head of the ALMS, told me that he is dedicated to finding a class in which the DeltaWing can race next year if Highcroft Racing, the team running it, is so inclined. I suspect it will be.
Which is why Sebring might be, in the long term, the most important sports-car race in America. The people who run the 24 Hours of Daytona would disagree, and they might have an argument within the confines of the U.S.A. But outside the U.S., Sebring is the race that people pay attention to given its status as tuneup for the 24 Hours of Le Mans, which no one denies is the king of all endurance races. Though Sebring’s race lasts half as long as that of Le Mans, its track is twice as bumpy; many opine that if a car, team, and the drivers can survive Sebring, they can survive Le Mans.
Sebring means tight, competitive racing; it also mean lots of new technologies, not all of which will work. It’s exciting, and it’s important. That’s a compelling combination.
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