This is the fifth of an eight-part series on "Driven: An Autobiography" about the life of Larry H. Miller written by Deseret News columnist Doug Robinson in collaboration with Miller. Each begins with Robinson's personal observations and experiences from the project, followed by an excerpt from the book. "Driven" is available at Deseret Book.
I think Larry was a little disappointed that I didn't share his love of cars. "You don't have any oil in your blood, do you?" he said to me once. Several times, he said he wanted to take me out to his racetrack and let me drive around the track. We never got around to doing it because of Larry's health. This is an excerpt from a chapter about Miller's lifelong love of cars, which culminated with Larry building a world-class motor sports park — where Larry has the distinction of making the first crash.
There's this smell you get when you race cars. It's a combination of super-heated brakes and oil and high-octane fuel. That smell is intoxicating to me. I breathe it in the way others take in perfume. It might sound strange to those who don't have 10W30 oil coursing through their veins, the way I do, but I love smelling that smell and hearing the sounds that come with it out there on the racetrack. The sound of an engine when it revs up is music to my ears. It's like the purring of a cat.
Much of my personal and professional life has involved cars. I have repaired cars. I have managed auto parts departments and dealerships. I have raced cars on the street and on the track. I own car dealerships, and collect vintage sports cars, and I built a motor speedway and a race car museum and assembled a racing team.
I like to get in a car and go for a drive after work or on Sunday after church as a way to unwind. One of my favorite things to do is take Gail or one of my kids or grandkids for a drive in one of my Cobras with "Hey, Little Cobra," playing full blast on the radio. It is a good way to visit with loved ones and to see the scenery while also feeding my passion for automobiles. I like to drive up one of the canyons early on a Saturday morning and drive fast — sometimes 100 miles per hour through the mountains. Gail worries; she'll say: "You're going to get hurt."
I have a deserved reputation as a frugal man, but Gail laughs at that because she knows my frugality falters when it comes to Cobras. I own 15 of them, which is the largest private collection in the world. Only 1,011 of them were ever made. I paid as much as $4 million for one of them and none is worth less than $250,000. I had to outbid movie maker George Lucas to buy one of the Cobras. I know the serial numbers of all 15 of them the same way parents know the names of their children. I used to keep five of them in my garage at home. I have files and history books for each of the cars.
I bought my first car when I was 17. It cost $20. It was a two-tone metallic green 1952 Oldsmobile Rocket 88, with a 303 engine. I was forced to learn about cars thanks to that Rocket 88. It was a great car for a teenager, but it had one problem. When the engine was warmed up, it wouldn't start. I couldn't diagnose the problem, and because of this I took an auto mechanics class from Mr. Wynn at West High. After that, I continued to dabble with the workings of a car and I learned how to build engines.
It wasn't just the twisting of nuts and bolts. You can't spend that much time with something and not develop an affinity for it and that certainly describes what could be considered my love affair with cars.
Eventually, my love of autos led me into racing and the construction of Miller Motorsports Park in Tooele. The original plan was to build a fun little club track where we could take our GT 40s and Cobras and drive ourselves silly and not worry about speeding tickets or hurting someone. Our original budget was $7 million. Well, the budget quickly went a little past $7 million — to $100 million.
The first year I went out there a few times and drove myself silly. It's good R&R for me. About five years ago I took John Stockton out there. We drove the Cobra — I think it was 3032. I drove it first, and then I let John drive. I should tell you that the passenger and driver sit in basically a box with their feet up on a thin aluminum wall that separates them from the engine. That wall gets very hot. Well, that day John drove for quite a while and when I removed my shoes later that day I discovered my feet were bloody. I had burned my toes on that aluminum wall — I actually melted my shoes — and hadn't realized it because one of the symptoms of diabetes is loss of feeling in the feet. I had to have the ends of three toes cut off. They were so damaged that they would never heal. Eventually, the bone became infected and the first joint of three small toes had to be amputated.
I have the dubious distinction of committing the first crash on the track, and it was a doozy, something straight out of Dukes of Hazzard. I drove my Lexus out to the track one Sunday evening, accompanied by Gail and (grandson) Zane. No one was there that day, but the track was still being poured and there were a few large dirt berms across the track so that trucks could cross to the infield without harming the track surface. I wanted to see if drivers would be able to feel the seams in the track, so I decided to drive the Lexus on it.
After checking to make sure my passengers were wearing their seat belts, I asked Gail to watch the speedometer and tell me when I reached 110 miles per hour because my eyesight is poor. Remember those berms? Well, I didn't. I had reached 100 miles per hour when Zane says from the back seat, "BUMP!" We hit one of the berms and went airborne. We flew over the berm and landed 20 feet past it. Parts were flying off. The airbags deployed. I knew I had to keep the car steady when we landed or we'd roll. At that speed we could have died instantly.
Gail said later that she was thinking that this must be what it feels like to die; it happens in an instant, but it doesn't hurt. Finally, I managed to stop the car. It was still running and I didn't dare shut it off. I told Zane to get out of the car and collect all the parts that had flown off. I drove the car to the Lexus dealer the next day, but it was declared DOA — totaled.
Next installment: Miller wrestled with his bright mind.
Meet the writer
Deseret News columnist Doug Robinson, who collaborated with Larry Miller in writing "Driven," will be at the Deseret Book flagship store, 45 W. South Temple, to sign the book and answer questions, Friday, 5-8 p.m.
e-mail: drob@desnews.com