MsoNormal">The chassis should've died at Road Atlanta

It should have been put to rest.

The same tenacity that helped us overcome failure also made us stubborn. We were stubborn to a fault. Sleepless nights leading into race events, endless financial torture, blown engines and transmissions pushed well beyond recommended limits. We'd put too much into the Tan Car to let it end. Nothing tells us when to quit, not even a concrete wall.

December 5^th, 2025. NASA southeast was hosting Michelin Raceway Road Atlanta, our last event for the year. It was time to push our 4-cylinder to the top. With a handful of aerodynamic package changes, we were ready for battle.

The "Tan Car" had always struggled with braking. We knew this going into our attempt at the Road Atlanta Miata record. Saturday morning's first session proved to be less than ideal as it was a little cold and there was still morning dew present on the tarmac. Collectively we chose to forgo this session and place a couple more eggs in the second session basket. The decision to wait proved to be ideal as lap times on track saw improvement approaching our second session.

It was time. With the car warmed up and tire warmers off we headed to the pit mentally and mechanically ready. Missing the first session meant we had to grid in the rear. Within a couple minutes the double yellow was signaled. It was time to hit the track. We passed cars under double yellow that would give us the pointby. We moved through the pack quickly.

In front of us was Alex Gallardo in his ls3 powered 350z.

He was no slouch as a driver and the car was fairly quick around the track. The difference in power to weight meant that passing him would be quick work in the straight. With the warmup lap coming to an end, all the drivers climbed under Road Altanta's bridge in preparation to rip down the front straight. Our car hit 161mph before the braking zone before, RED FLAG!!! The turn one flagger was vigorously waving. Heavy brakes and all drivers stopped. This was anything but ideal. The engine and brakes were now hot from the rapid 160+mph acceleration followed by a complete stop. Air stagnant and engine bay cooking we waited. After a few minutes, we were back at it. We quickly passed Alex as he was courteous enough to let us by without a fight.

The double yellow was out for a second warmup lap before we would see a green flag again to start the session timing. After making the climb under the bridge once more, it was finally go time. We were able hit the same speed down the front straight. 161mph. The car felt incredible. Our new front aero package was truly a dream to drive. Into turn 1 we had a predictive lap time of 1:24.1xx locked in. We took turn 2 with max speed up the hill of 129mph before slowing for the turn 3 jump. Our pace was perfectly on track to break the record. As we approached the uphill esses we hit a MPH personal best of 128 before slowing for turn 5. Still on pace and accelerating toward turn 6, disaster. A C5 Corvette was already on a slowed lap. His position and pace was certainly going to impede the turn 6 apex.

With frustration, we completed the pass. The result, 0.8 seconds added to our lap time. What a bummer. Now on pace for a 1:25 dead, we hoped to pick up some time on the back straight. Foot to the floor on the accelerator pedal we crossed our fingers. 173mph down the back straight into approaching the braking zone.
With the brake pedal to the floor, it was now time to wait. 1600psi is where our brake pressure sensors stop reading. Through the data logs our driver initiated the brakes at 1400psi and finished the last half of the braking action at a maxed out sensor reading of 1600psi.

The brake pedal was matted a full 6.6second (the MOTUL sign for those familiar) aproaching the braking zone at 10a, the rotors were glowing red and well past their thermal capacity. Fortunately this max effort also paid dividends 1:23.8XX into 10a. As luck would have it, the lack of run off meant perfect (lucky) trailbraking. We rolled into the throttle and accelerated on the limit of traction. Traction that disappeared instantly. Gravel and debris on the track from a car that went into the beach from the missed braking zone (reason for red flag). There was nothing. We lifted the throttle and steered through the slide like we always do. Nothing changed the trajectory. Lift, steer, partial power, WALL. OUCH.

With the car now sporting a broken wheel, shattered lower shock mount, bent upper control arm, broken lower control arm, bent inner tie rod and potentially twisted frame, this would be the end of our event. We were so close.

Bruised, beaten, and twisted, the chassis needed serious revitalization if it was ever going to do another lap around the track.

This meant a trip to Wally's Auto Collision in Savannah, Georgia with hopes of a miracle.

God willing, the chassis could be straightened for one last opportunity to push the platform to its absolute limit. To build something faster, wider, stronger. The MX-5RR.

With the events that transpired at Road Atlanta and the time spent in the braking zone we knew we needed to make a change. If we were going to seriously compete at Pikes Peak (or any high-speed track), we needed to be able to efficiently pull the pace down. That meant bigger brakes and bigger brakes meant bigger wheels. The addition of a larger diameter wheels meant the firewall was suddenly in the way. Rather than cutting deeper into the chassis than we were comfortable with, we lengthened the wheelbase. That single decision opened the door to redesigning the suspension, moving the pick-up points, fabricating custom control arms, and relocating the steering rack and steering shaft.

All of this demanded a body that was wider, more aerodynamic, and lighter than the Tan Car had ever worn, one made entirely of carbon fiber. That was the plan, right up until the calendar caught us. We simply didn't have enough time to build it. The requirements hadn't changed, only the material had. The body still had to clear the new suspension, wrap around the larger wheels, cut through the air, and be as light as possible. So, what was the logical answer? 3D-print the whole thing.

We had the ideas. What we didn't have was the funding. We couldn't even afford wheels and tires at this competitive level. We already had sponsors on board (Borg Warner, Turbosmart, FLF, Go Lithium, etc…), and they helped us push the boundaries of the platform—but for this caliber of build we needed more. So, we built our first sponsorship deck and started sending it to everyone we wanted to partner with: Vibrant, Apex, Alcon, anyone with the caliber of product we needed who would also believe in the project. Then all we could do was keep building the car and hope someone answered.

Then it happened.

Vibrant Performance replied.

Suddenly, parts we'd only hoped we could afford were on their way to the shop.

It wasn't just the parts. It was validation. Someone outside our shop believed this crazy idea had a chance. Suddenly, big names were jumping on board: Alcon, Apex, TrackDayTire.

Looking back now, it feels impossible to overstate what that support meant to us. To everyone at Vibrant Performance, Apex, Alcon, and Track Day Tire, thank you. You didn't just send us parts. You believed in a group of guys with an ambitious idea and no guarantee it would work. We carried that belief with us through every setback that followed.

With the right people on board, the impossible didn't feel quite so impossible anymore. We had the right people behind us. Now we just needed a running car.

The decision was made. We were building a fully 3D-printed body. There was no turning back. To make it happen, we teamed up with Adam Bao of Epsilon+ Aerodynamics to transform our concept into a workable 3D model. Before he could design a single panel, though, we needed one thing: a complete and accurate 3D scan of the repaired chassis.

Scanning the chassis turned out to be far more difficult than we expected. We'd scanned plenty of individual parts with our Shining 3D Einstar, but never an entire bare chassis. The scanner constantly lost its place, stacking roll cage tubes on top of one another and turning the model into digital nonsense. Then there was our laptop, which simply didn't have enough RAM to process the millions of triangles that came with a full-car scan.

The only solution was patience. We had to move slowly enough that the scanner never lost track of where it was, while covering the chassis with hundreds of targeting dots and a homemade scanning spray made from alcohol and baby powder. The baby powder gave the bare chassis enough texture for the scanner to see, while the targeting dots filled in the blanks. Combined with breaking the chassis into multiple scans that we later stitched together, it was enough to produce a usable scan of the Tan Car. Or what was left of it.

All the while, work continued to pile up on the car itself.

After a few weeks of revisions with Epsilon+, we were finally ready to start printing. We ordered five Bambu Lab P2Ss and split every body panel into sections that could be printed simultaneously. The approach wasn't just faster, it was safer. When a print inevitably failed, we only lost a few hours instead of several days. It didn't take long to realize five printers weren't enough. We ordered three more, borrowed another from a team member, and suddenly the front office sounded less like a race shop and more like a factory. We finally had enough machines to keep pace with the calendar.

Adam had us start with the easy prints: the door cuts and airjack covers. Those were simple enough to slice into four pieces and print quickly. Then he sent over the hood.

At 80 inches wide by 65 inches long, it was our first real taste of how complicated large-scale printing could become. We were pulling prints off the machines so quickly that we didn't notice more than half the pieces were missing labels. There was no time to start over. Instead, we were left with a massive, half-labeled puzzle spread across the shop floor.

With a spreadsheet and a new system for labeling it wasn't long before, prints were flowing in and out around the clock, and the front office had become a sea of filament spools and humming printers. The constant electronic buzz faded into the background; whenever one of the printers went silent, we knew we were behind schedule.

Even with the hood, side skirts, and one rear quarter panel finished, it was obvious we weren't going to make the deadline with the printers we had. So we drove to Best Buy, loaded up four more Bambu Lab P2Ss, and kept the machines running 24/7.

With the printers finally able to run on their own for stretches at a time, we shifted our attention back to the chassis. With the engine and transmission removed, we stripped the remaining components and scuffed every surface in preparation for paint. We got the chassis back in 48 hours from the painter, ready for assembly. The time table was tight.

With the 3d printer’s wide open and two guys dedicated to prepping and bonding prints together, it was time to get the chassis back together.

Without delay everything that belonged on the car quickly found its home. The powertrain, drivetrain, brakes and suspension were installed without a hiccup.

After weeks of printing, the shop was filled with boxes of PETG pieces waiting to become body panels. We found that Gloop PETG glue and hot staples were the best way to join everything together. The smaller parts went together quickly: a little sanding, a layer of glue, a few hot staples, and they were done.

The larger panels were another story. The hood alone required several people just to hold everything in place while others glued and stapled, making sure the curvature stayed true and the fitment remained consistent. We even had one person whose only job was keeping the hot stapler loaded so no one else had to stop working.

Once a panel was together, the next job was to trim every hot-staple tang flush with the surface. For weeks, the routine never changed: print, sand, glue, staple, cut. Then do it all over again. Our hands were cut up from peeling off the support structures. The sour smell of glue and melted filament constantly filled the shop. But every completed panel brought the car one step closer to reality. We mocked each one up on the chassis to check fitment, though if we're being honest, it was mostly because we wanted to see what we'd created. The Tan Car was gone. In its place stood something entirely new.

The front splitter quickly became one of our biggest headaches. At just over an inch thick, it required a massive amount of infill. We settled on a 15% gyroid pattern, hoping to strike a balance between strength and weight, then filled every print bed with splitter sections and hit "print."

The pieces came out incredibly solid. Too solid, in fact. Each one was basically a brick. We had built a splitter that could handle just about anything, but it weighed nearly fifty pounds. That wasn't a tradeoff we were willing to make, so we started over, this time dropping the infill to just 4%. The result was nearly as strong, dramatically lighter, and exactly what the car needed.

With the panels assembled, the next challenge was making sure they survived racing without adding unnecessary weight. The body was already much heavier than the carbon-fiber version we'd originally envisioned, so adding thick layers of fiberglass wasn't an option. Instead, we laid a thin layer of 4-ounce fiberglass over the outside and a slightly heavier 10-ounce layer on the inside, just enough to keep the hundreds of PETG puzzle pieces from becoming hundreds of PETG puzzle pieces again.

The splitter required extra reinforcements. It would see more downforce and more abuse, so fiberglass alone wasn't enough. We reinforced it with two layers of Kevlar underneath and two layers of carbon fiber on top.

With the body finally together and some help from Port City Customs, the car wore the Miami Vice livery we'd been carrying around in our heads for months.

Naturally, the next problem wasn't the car, it was the trailer. One of the leaf springs had broken, and after months of searching, we still hadn't found the correct bushing. Once we finally tracked down both the spring and the right bushing, we could pull the trailer out from behind the shop and begin packing for Colorado.

With only a few days before we were scheduled to be on the road, a faulty water pump sent us way behind schedule. We spent days scouring the internet and local shops for a replacement pump. We traced every wire, every possibility, but still, the pump would not work. Three replacement pumps later, and we discovered it was a failed crimp on the ECU side causing erratic behavior.

Pikes Peak loomed over us as our departure date kept slipping further away. While fighting the water pump, we packed nearly the entire shop into the trailer. Then we tried loading the car.

There was one problem.

It was too wide to fit between the wheel wells of the trailer. The solution was to load the car above the wheel wells all together. The aproach angle to make this happen left a lot to be desired using our current ramps as an acceptable angle eneded up being over 13ft long. There wasn't time to track down longer ramps, so we built a makeshift set that was just good enough to get the Miata into the trailer.

By Sunday morning, we had run out of time. If we wanted any chance of making tech inspection on Monday (Georgia-Colorado), we had to leave. We had to leave now. With the last of the shop finally packed, we pulled away at four in the morning.

We made it exactly one stop sign.

The trailer we had used to make Laguna Seca, Pitt Race, and Road Atlanta over the previous months had ZERO TRAILER BRAKES.

With only thirty hours to reach Colorado, slowing down wasn't in our best interest—but neither was driving a forty-foot trailer with no brakes. We limped toward Summit Racing in Macon, Ga. figuring we'd bleed the brakes and be back on the road in no time.

A planned thirty minute stop ended up putting us two hours behind. We were five wheels into the job, soaked with rain by a passing thunderstorm, when we realized the problem wasn't air in the lines. The electric over hydraulic brake pump was dead.

We were back on the road, now two hours behind, driving slow and leaving extra room between us and traffic, praying we could find a replacement pump somewhere in along our route. There was no way we were making it up, or more importantly down Pikes Peak without brakes. That meant avoiding the Appalachian Mountains entirely and taking the longer southern route. We needed every mile of flat road we could get, time penalty or not.

We stopped only long enough to steal 20-30 mins of sleep before getting back on the road. Somewhere during a phone call with one of the PPIHC organizers, we discovered we'd printed the wrong car number on the wrap. As if the ramps and the brake pump weren't enough, we now had to find a Colorado print shop that could have the task finished before race day. Then, finally, something went our way. A trailer repair shop in Denver had the exact pump we needed to fix the trailer. We commisioned a courier service to retrieve and deliver to pump from Denver, Co. to the Pikes Peak Tech Pavilion in Colorado Springs, Co.

Tech ended at 3:00 p.m.

It was 11:00 a.m.

We were still five hours away.

Time to beg for a miracle.

By the grace of God, the gentleman running tech (Thanks Dan) agreed to stay until five. We had no idea what that actually meant. We expected to roll up on two guys staying a couple of hours late. Instead, the entire twenty-plus-person tech crew was still there, standing beside their trailers, tents, and equipment, waiting on us. (We are more greatful for this courtesy than they will ever know)

We arrived at the Broadmoor World Arena parking lot with negative time on our hands. We lowered the trailer door and threw together our makeshift ramps as the entire tech crew watched. We realized the burden we'd placed on everyone who had stayed behind for us. The car, still in pieces, went straight onto the scales.

Somehow...

We finished tech.

...ish.

(breathe)

Once the inspection team packed up and left, we were alone in an empty arena parking lot with nowhere to put a forty-foot double-stacker. So we did the only thing we could, we turned the parking lot into our workshop. The tech sheet wasn't the only list we had to work through. We still had plenty of our own, and race day wasn't waiting.

Everyone needed sleep, even if it was only for a few hours. One team member stayed behind to finish calibrating the engine while the rest of us grabbed what little rest we could. As rookies, we were required to complete all three sections of the mountain. Three days of practice, three sections of the mountain. Fortunately, veteran PPIHC driver Shawn Basset suggested we swap our first mandatory practice day for the optional Friday session, buying us one extra day to finish and test the car.

The Miata still hadn't seen the track since Road Atlanta. We were more than 1,600 miles from home, and the first real test couldn't happen halfway up Pikes Peak. Fortunately competitors were able to test at Pikes Peak International Raceway. This was our one and only chance to make sure we were all systems go for the the mountain. The track had opened its gates to hill climb competitors for practice sessions, but they closed at five. That left us only a few hours to patch the diffuser that was damaged during transport, mount the splitter rods, and finish everything else standing between us and the car's first proper shakedown.

A full day's work later, baking in the Colorado sun in the Broadmoor World Arena parking lot, we packed the shop back into the trailer and headed to PPIR, pulling through the gate with only with little time to spare. If we could get a couple laps before they closed it would be enough to confirm all system operation. Instead, Nate, one of the workers at PPIR, offered to stay late so we could get some real testing in. (Thanks Nate/Kyle)

The body was finally mounted. The wiring was installed with easy access for testing. The de-stroked K22 sat idling behind us ready to be tested at our lowest power setting. 14 PSI roughly 600whp@sea level.

It was finally time to see the monster we'd built stretch its legs. We got four laps.

Four glorious laps.

The brakes were everything we'd hoped for. The suspension was phenomenal. Even with the altitude robbing the engine of power, the car felt exactly like we'd imagined it.

Then the fifth lap came.

Every bit of forward drive disappeared.

The Miata coasted, engine idling, into the pits. Josh assumed the clutch had let go. Nobody said much. We all knew what replacing a clutch meant. Six hours, if everything went perfectly.

We needed to be on Pikes Peak by 3:30 the next morning.

After 20-30 minutes staring at the car and mentally preparing for a clutch job, we gave it a once-over. Luckily, it wasn't the clutch at all. David climbed under the car and noticed the the passenger-side axle had separated from the cup, spilling the bearings everywhere.

For the first time all week, we thought we'd caught a break.

We'd packed a spare axle.

Except the axle, once installed, was too short.

Every time we torqued it into the hub, it popped right back out of the differential.

We tore through the trailer looking for anything that could work as a spacer to simulate a longer axle. Eventually, we found a handful of large washers compliments of Nate. This solution required modification and time.

It was well after midnight when the axle was finally fixed.

We loaded everything back into the trailer, drove to our home base in the arena parking lot, unloaded everything again, and kept working through the tech list with whatever energy we had left.

We forgot about a major issue. (picking up safety equipment from Denver)

Some of our safety gear failed inspection.

Our helmet, out of date.

Shoes, wear mark in heel area rawhide.

Thankfully, Gary at Wine Country Motorsports had everything we needed waiting for us.

Unfortunately, his shop was an hour away in Denver, and we didn't have an hour to spare.

One call to our buddy Guillermo at one in the morning, and he was on the road headed to us with our gear.

Back at the parking lot by 2:00 a.m.

The gates to Pikes Peak opened at 3:30.

We unloaded the car and rushed to finish everything required for practice. Fire suppression connected. Window net installed. Gran Turismo Windshield banner applied. PPIHC patch heat-pressed onto the race suit. Side ducts wrapped. Every job we'd been putting off suddenly had to be finished in less than an hour.

By 3:30M, everything was back in the trailer.

We headed for the mountain.

We were twenty-seven min past the acceptable time table.

That's what they told us at the lower section start line.

The mountain had already been swept. They weren't letting anyone else through to the upper sections.

Twenty-seven minutes.

After everything we'd done to get there...

Twenty-seven minutes.

(We made peace with this. Rules are rules. They exist for a reason. Ken Block missed practice and didn’t get to run the mountain. Who are we do be treated differently? If we get another chance at the mountain, WE WILL BE ON TIME!!!)

The pain was agonizing. If there was a one word summary for how we felt— EMPTY.

Since our trailer was large enough to require an escort back down the mountain, we sat. Not being allowed to unload the car, the Miata sat in the trailer, its tires never touching Pikes Peak pavement.

We were stuck.

Nowhere to go.

Nothing to do.

We sat there for four hours, silent, trying to answer the question nobody wanted to ask.

Do we stay...

Or do we go home?

There was still PPIR.

It wasn't Pikes Peak, but it was something.

We spent the evening turning laps, shooting rollers, and capturing as much content as we could. We hadn't come all this way to leave Colorado with nothing to show for it.

While we were there, Nick S., one of the shop owners at PPIR, told us about a NASA event at High Plains Raceway just over an hour away. Around the same time, Bruno from Vibrant Performance reached out with another opportunity: display the car in the Vibrant booth during Fan Fest on Friday.

We hadn't made it up the mountain.

But maybe Colorado wasn't finished with us yet.

Fan Fest breathed life back into the team.

We spent the days leading up to it finishing all the little details we'd ignored while racing the clock: replacing self-tapping screws with proper hardware, installing sponsor decals, dialing in the rear quarter panels, and making one last attempt to fit the diffuser. The diffuser requiring extra time to be installed, was omitted.

For the first time since leaving Georgia, we weren't trying to beat a deadline.

We were finally able to enjoy the car we'd spent months building.

The reaction was more than we ever expected.

People stopped in their tracks. Kids piled up in a line just for a chance to sit behind the wheel of a fully 3D-printed widebody Miata. Questions never stopped coming. Pictures were taken from every angle.

Somewhere between answering questions and watching kids climb into the driver's seat, it finally hit us.

We hadn't built this car just to chase a mountain.

We'd built something that inspired people.

Somehow, that made the trip feel like more than just a failure.

The Mountain will always be there, waiting. When that time comes, we will be ready. Ready for our next chance to conquer the mountain. We don't quit. Our stubbornness is our superpower.

Learning to Pikes Peak—Everything but the Mountain

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