For 10 glorious minutes late Saturday afternoon, I had Talladega Superspeedway all to myself.

Really.

The legendary NASCAR track was all mine — well, mine and my instructor with the Dale Jarrett Racing Adventure, a brave soul named Mike who was riding shotgun in a No. 99 Ford Fusion painted in Office Depot colors and once raced in NASCAR’s Cup circuit by my bicycling cohort Carl Edwards of Columbia, Mo.

Twas fitting that the St. Louis guy got the Edwards ride, and a bonus that I ended up being the last driver of DJRA’s Saturday afternoon session.

That meant it was me, my new best friend Mike and Edwards’ old 99 on the Superspeedway with nary a car in sight — a good thing considering I was behind the wheel and (nominally) in control of the 3,400 pound, 500-plus horsepower beast careening across the four lanes of Talladega asphalt.

So I had a lot of clean air, as they say in NASCAR, and I needed (used) every bit of it. I may be the only person capable of driving the only racecar on the track but still going three-wide, if you get my drift.

Self-deprecation aside, turning laps at Talladega behind the wheel of an actual NASCAR might be the ultimate thrill ride for an adrenaline junkie, and perhaps the ultimate fantasy sporting experience, too.

Staring down a fastball from 73-year-old Bob Gibson at a baseball fantasy camp probably would be the closest thing to it, but at DJRA and similar racing experiences, it’s all on you — a point driven home when you willfully sign your life away at registration and take full responsibility “for any injury, including death,” you may experience on the track that day.

DJRA touts a 100 percent safety record, with no injuries since the publicly traded company opened for business in 1998, and I picked a terrible time to remember that little nugget of information — in Turns 1 and 2 on my third lap …

WHAT IF I’M THE FIRST?!?!?

I blame this intrusive negative thought on the fact I wasn’t thinking clearly on account of 90 percent of my brain being squeezed from my head and skooshed into my be-hind by the G-forces generated at 150 miles per hour on a turn that banks at 33-degrees. That, and I was SCARED OUT OF MY MIND!

I’m not quite sure how to describe exactly what that feels like, I mean, being scared spitless while going a buck 50 through a 33-degree corner that rises about 2 1/2 stories from bottom to top … basically, it’s nuts.

The G-forces smashing me into the seat and the car into the pavement on the high-banked corners turned my stomach inside out on the very first lap. The sudden queasiness was quite unexpected and made me wonder what in the Sam Hill I was doing skittering around Talladega at excessive speed WITH NO REAL TRAINING WHATSOEVER. But being as I had five laps to go and no way to get out - they nearly needed the Jaws of Life to wedge my 6-foot-4, 2*#-pound frame into the car - I figured I should sit back and enjoy the ride.

Which I did, immensely, thanks to my wife and son who bought the Dale Jarrett Racing Adventure and gave it to me last Christmas, and thanks to Mike for helping me survive to talk about it.

Mike’s expertise came into play on each lap, primarily when I was blinded by the late afternoon sun through Turns 3 and 4. Yes, I was blinded by the light, I kid you not. I LITERALLY COULD NOT SEE THE ROAD. Thankfully, Iron(stomach) Mike had my back, as well as his left hand on the steering wheel to help me steer through the curve and keep me from killing myself and hisself, too. (The instrutors’ helmet have sun visors; the drivers’ do not … at least not on this day.)

Mike and his cohorts at DJRA are top-notch, professional and friendly. With up to nine cars on the track at a time, they do a magnificient job of choreographing the movements of the cars while keeping everyone safe. The instructors/co-pilots use a rearview mirror (drivers don’t have one), spotters and radio communication to orchestrate the passing, which is always on the bottom lanes of the track. Hand signals are used to communicate instructions to drivers, whether to speed up or slow down, move up the track or down.

The instructors also might be a bit crazy — “certifiable” is the term Mike joked about later – to ride shotgun at ridiculous speeds with schlubs like me. Literally, they’re letting people come in off the street, giving them a little verbal instruction and, within a couple of minutes of firing up the engine, letting them drive an old NASCAR at wicked fast.

But while DJRA’s cars were used in NASCAR Cup races, the engines are no longer up to Cup standards as far as speeds go. On its website, DJRA touts itself as the “world’s fastest racing school” with top speeds of “170 MPH+,” which would have qualified you at the bottom of the field in the NASCAR Truck Series and the ARCA Series races at ‘Dega in October. Not Cup speed or Nationwide speed, but not shabby by any means.

My top speed was around about 160 … OK, 158.18, and I wouldn’t have come close to qualifying for either of the aforementioned ’Dega races. But that was plenty fast for me, though maybe not fast enough for Mike, who implored me to speed up as I instinctively let off the gas heading into the sunfield of Turns 3 and 4. Note to self: IDIOT! NEVER LET OFF THE GAS AT TALLADEGA!!!

Next time, I’ll know better. And next time, maybe the sun won’t blind me in Turns 3 and 4. And next time, maybe I’ll be fast enough to post a qualifying speed.

But if the track isn’t all mine, if there’s any traffic … I’m confident my instructor/guardian angel will keep me from causing The Big One, or in DJRA’s case, The First One.

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