In the Passenger Seat: Trust, Terror, and Trail Mix

Celebrating those who ride with us—no matter how bad our apex is.

There’s something sacred about the driver’s seat. It’s where control lives. Where decisions are made in milliseconds. Where speed, grip, and balance all meet in a high-octane harmony (or sometimes, a discordant mess—usually involving curbs and egos).

But just six inches to your right is a seat that deserves its own chapter in every enthusiast’s driving journey: the front passenger seat, better known to many as “shotgun.” It’s the realm of copilots, co-conspirators, human G-force meters, snack handlers, accidental screamers, and “did-you-see-that?!” hype crews. This column is dedicated to those brave souls—the ones who willingly join us for the ride.

A Best Friend and a Grab Handle

Let me start with my best childhood friend. We’ve known each other since we were riding tricycles around our neighborhood, back when your biggest worry was where were we going to get a drink of water or what was for lunch. Through the years we’ve shared laughs, heartbreaks, questionable haircuts, and now… horsepower.

Whenever he climbs into the passenger seat of whatever machine I’m piloting, our conversation effortlessly picks up where we last left off—remembering summer vacations, hikes in the woods, fishing and other adolescent pranks. But somewhere around the third curve, our sentimental reminiscing turns into pure, white-knuckled terror.

See, I love to drive. And my friend… well, let’s just say he enjoys being driven but has a clear threshold for G-forces. I’ve seen him reach across the console for something—anything—to grab hold of. A door handle, the seat bolster, even the air itself, as if summoning an invisible parachute. I try to dial it back, but in those moments, I also can’t help but chuckle (quietly). He says, “a car shouldn’t be able to do that?” Oh, but it can. And it just did.

What’s beautiful about these rides isn’t just the laughs or the playful fear—it’s the trust. He knows I’ve got it under control (mostly). He knows I’ll get us there in one piece. And I know he’ll still grab dinner with me afterward, even if he walks a little stiff-legged to the restaurant.

The Racer Who Wasn’t Ready

Then there’s the other end of the spectrum—the seasoned HPDE driver. A friend who’s turned more laps than most people have had oil changes. He’s a proper driver. Someone who respects the physics, the flow, the feel. Which is exactly why it was so satisfying when I scared the daylights out of him in my McLaren 600LT Spider.

Now, the 600LT doesn’t drive so much as it teleports. It’s light, loud, and absurdly agile. It feels like a go-kart on a Red Bull sugar rush. On one drive through a particularly twisty stretch of mountain road (Hellbender), I could tell my friend was impressed… until he wasn’t. A late apex here, a full-throttle exit there, and I caught that side glance—the look that says, “Okay, this might be more than I signed up for.” A few minutes later, a nervous laugh. Then: “This car’s unreal. It shouldn’t be able to do that.” That phrase again.

A few years later, he has a McLaren Artura in his garage - “you corrupted me,” he said. Mission accomplished.

The Curious Student in the Passenger Seat

Not all copilots are terrified. Some are fascinated. One of my favorite driving partners is the type who asks questions. “Why did you lift just then?” “How did you know that corner tightened?” “What are you doing with your eyes right now?” (Okay, that last one sounds weirder than it is.), “it feels so smooth”.

With these copilots, I become the narrator of my own driving documentary. I speak aloud what I’m doing as I do it—not to brag, but to share the rhythm. “I’m easing off the throttle here to settle the front end. Watch this—see how the nose tucks in without a dab of brake?” These are my internal monologues turned outward. And in that exchange, something special happens: understanding.

We all started somewhere. Sometimes you’re the driver, sometimes the passenger, but we all benefit from curiosity and the willingness to learn. These rides are less about speed and more about connection. Plus, it’s always nice to be asked a question that isn’t “do you have to take this corner that fast?”

Other Front-Seat Personalities

There are more.

There’s The Silent Smiler, who says almost nothing the entire drive but breaks into a grin that wraps around their ears when you hit a perfectly cambered curve. Is it a grin of fear or more likely, they are happy the ride is over. They may have been scared to death, but will never admit it. This person will never give you a thumbs-up, but you’ll hear about the ride from their spouse three weeks later.

There’s The Backup DJ, the one who insists on choosing the soundtrack for the twisties but panics when the road gets interesting. “Turn this up!” becomes “TURN THIS DOWN!” once the G-forces hit 0.9. This person exists, but rarely in my car. Not that I don’t like music, I certainly do, it’s just that when I am driving spirited, I prefer listening to the engine, tires, etc., those queues that help me control the car.

And let’s not forget The Snack Sherpa, whose real value lies in their ability to retrieve trail mix from the back seat without taking out an eye. Or, holding the water bottle some it doesn’t go flying from those sturdy Porsche cup holders (and end up at my feet – that’s bad). These co-pilots may be underrated, but at times essential.

How They See Each Other

It’s fun to think about how these passengers see one another—if they ever met in the same garage.

My childhood best friend might tell the racer, “Dude, you actually asked to be scared?” The racer would probably roll his eyes and say, “Seat time, bro.” The curious student would ask for a ride with both of them, notebook in hand. The silent smiler? Still grinning.

And me? I’d be in the driver’s seat, listening, watching, smiling, and mentally mapping out the next perfect ribbon of road to share with them all.

In the End…

Let’s face it: as much as we love driving solo with nothing but the road ahead and some of our most memorable drives are shared. Whether it’s terrifying your best friend, impressing a fellow driver, or teaching a curious copilot, the passenger seat carries stories—sometimes louder than the engine note itself.

Driving is fun. Driving together? That’s a whole different gear.

So next time you head out, look over at the seat beside you. Whether it’s filled with laughter, questions, fear, or trail mix, it’s the company that often makes the drive more memorable than the destination.

What’s your most memorable copilot moment? Send it my way—I’d love to hear it. Or better yet, bring your favorite passenger on one of our rallies and make a new memory. Just give them a heads-up if there’s a 600LT involved.