The Hewland has all six gears up from neutral, unlike a motorcycle's sequential gearbox, which typically places neutral between first and second gear. To reach neutral and reverse on the FB2, there is a lockout release handle on the lower left side of the dash bulkhead. Shift down to first, then pull the handle and press the shifter forward and the car shows an "N" on the gear indicator. Do it again, and you get an "R."
While many motorcycle-powered racers feel cobbled together, the BMW really only has two details that betray compromise. One, the alternator runs off a belt from the right-side axle hub on the side of the gearbox; two, per standard motorcycle practice, the BMW powerplant employs a gear reduction starter geared to the crankshaft. If you spin the car and fail to disengage the clutch, when the engine spins backwards it will rev the starter to turbine-engine rpm. At such speeds, the starter is likely to disintegrate, spewing bits into the oil sump and requiring an engine rebuild, so the plan is to stomp the clutch with perhaps a bit more dispatch than normal if the car rotates beyond the perpendicular.
There is no cockpit adjuster for the front and rear sway bars, so drivers must make their decision on those before starting the session. Switches include a panel of four rockers on the upper left side of the dash which control main power, fuel pump, starter and rain light.
I flicked the other three switches, and the FB2 growled to life. Throttle response was quick, suggesting a light flywheel, and it was easy to find the clutch's friction point and burble down the pit lane toward pit out. As the revs rose toward the engine's 9000-rpm redline, the growl swelled to a roar, giving the little car with the transplanted 1.2-liter motorcycle engine a suitable race-car soundtrack. The character of the exhaust note almost recalled the company's boxer twins more than an inline four.
The engine wasn't chugging along making low-rev tractor sounds like my Formula Ford, but neither did it produce the shriek of the Japanese superbike-powered racers like the Formula Hayabusa nor the howl of the first-gen Toyota MR2-powered Formula Atlantic cars.
A tug on the sequential shifter produced the "clunk" familiar to motorcyclists when you toe a bike into gear, and the wheel-mounted LED glowed "1" to tell me I'd found first gear. On my first try, the clutch friction point felt high, and the Sachs single-disc clutch grabbed abruptly as the FB2 pulled out of the pit box. In every start thereafter, I found the friction point and pulled smartly away.
Gearing is quite low to suit the small engine's low torque and high redline, and even when cruising the pit lane at partial throttle, I had the car in third gear at pit out. The team suggested I stay out until my lap times stabilized as I tried to learn the circuit and car. The grip was astounding as the Michelin radials warmed up, steering effort was moderate and brake effort was surprisingly high though effective.
I never really challenged the brakes all day as part of my "no crash" strategy. Braking late is helpful for passing but doesn't improve lap times that much, and it presents an excellent opportunity to throw the car into the nearest gravel trap, so I never really pressed the issue. The high pedal effort also discouraged really deep braking, because pressing hard can mask feedback on the verge of lockup. The pads are a spec compound, used in all the series worldwide, and the crew told me they are easy to glaze if they aren't bedded-in correctly. The pads are the one component I'd change on the car, given the chance.
After 10 or so laps whose times dropped a second each time around, I recorded back to back laps within .05 sec. of each other and headed to the pit lane. The crew crowded around to check tire temperatures, inspecting them for the "graining" that is the bane of racers at Mid-Ohio since the track grooved the pavement in many of the turns. Then they plugged in the laptop to download a complete digital dissertation on how not to drive Mid-Ohio. The coaches crowded alongside, telling me to turn in earlier for turn 11 and carry more speed into the carousel turn. I complained about persistent low-speed understeer, and they nodded, agreeing to lower the front ride height a touch.
Thus briefed and adjusted, I headed back out and nearly failed to get through the first couple turns. The added front grip had reduced the understeer, but it had increased steering effort seemingly exponentially. The fat Michelins stuck to the track like Velcro(r) on flypaper, and turning them required an authoritative effort.
Through the rest of the morning session, and then again in the afternoon, I'd stopped periodically for adjustments and advice, dropping lap times from the laughable to the merely uncompetitive. By the end of the day, I was a few seconds off the times set by the fastest young drivers and by the test driver in the same car, but I could see my way to still better times thanks to the FB2's fantastic, confidence-inspiring handling.