Dream Drive: Chasing Pato O’Ward Around the Las Vegas F1 Circuit

Fading warbles of hybrid engines the light whine of straight-cut gears echo back from the casino walls, indicating that FP2 at the 2025 Las Vegas Grand Prix is wrapping up. Lando Norris in the McLaren MCL39 has the overall lead with a 1:33.602 lap time, and an average speed of 148.19 miles an hour over the 3.853-mile road course. Norris neared 230 miles per hour down the Strip, accelerating past Circus Circus and then the Bellagio in a blur, on toward Treasure Island and the Cosmopolitan before slamming on the brakes for a tight left-hander toward the makeshift paddock. Kimi Antonelli and Charles LeClerc were at his heels, but Norris's time stood, in part thanks to a pair of red flags after a manhole cover came loose near Turn 17, an unwelcome reminder of F1’s inaugural outing at Vegas two years prior when a loose maintenance cover punched a hole in Carlos Sainz's Ferrari during practice.

Almost all of the Vegas F1 course follows roads that the public can drive—or stumble down—the rest of the year. I’ve braved a commute down the Strip many times before, but never without traffic, never at race pace, and never beneath the watchful eye of thronging fans. Of course, I don’t expect to hit anywhere near Norris’s pace in the 750S that McLaren loaned me for a quick drive after FP2. Vegas is a notoriously risky circuit, slick and dusty from desert breezes, and tonight, the Thursday of race weekend, I can feel some nerves creep in as I loiter around a temporary McLaren staging area outside the wall at Turn 12.

Light rain keeps threatening, and the temps at 10 pm hover right around 50 degrees Fahrenheit. I know the 750S can handle a hot day, but how about a cold, damp night? I console myself with reminders that driving a McLaren in the wet is appropriately English. Adding to the intimidation factor, I’m chasing Pato O'Ward, last year’s runner-up IndyCar wild man currently reveling in a weekend of hot laps. O'Ward modestly describes himself as "professional benchwarmer" for McLaren’s F1 team. He stands in the pits with us shooting the shit, unconcerned about the weather or the track or the crowds, semi-joking that I need to try to beat his top speed.

"I drove hot laps here last year in the Artura," he said. "This time I get to do it in a 750S. We're hitting 190 in the back stretch. In a road car, 190 miles an hour. That's crazy!"

I make a face, and he turns a bit more serious. We've been on track together before, but nothing can prepare me for a closed-off road circuit.

"It's a street course," he reminds me, "So you've got a nice concrete wall waiting for you if you make a mistake. It's a very easy track to get caught off guard. It invites you to push, but when you overdo it, it definitely wants to spit you out a little bit... I would keep your eyes open."

Soon enough, a few minutes after the hour, it's time to strap up and strap in. McLaren hands me a three-quarter helmet with no HANS device. I put the 750S into Track mode and select manual shifting, then pull out slowly into the glaring bright lights.

My rear tires immediately step out shifting from first to second in a straight line at three-quarter throttle. Thank you, Pirelli, for the wake-up call! My mind ping-pongs back and forth between driving mode and tourist traps. I want to glance at the Bellagio fountains whipping by, the neon lights, and the bystanders flush with the afterglow of casino endorphins and free booze. But even if the straightaway seems straight enough for the car, not so for my vision. A million practice laps and I'd know the route better, or maybe if I enjoyed the Las Vegas revelry more regularly I might be able to check off each casino in passing to keep track of the brake points that are still invisible ahead as the Strip bends slightly to the left.

The tight left-hander comes on quick, and I swing a little wide to sacrifice the first corner in the name of a better line past the pits. Happily there's no transition in the surface grip, not even painted crosswalk stripes to worry about in the moist air. It's nothing like turning left at your average stoplight in a high-strung supercar anyhow, just smooth asphalt with some long-frequency undulations. In an F1 race car, more speed might lead to porpoising. Not for a roadgoing McLaren thrumming at an easy out-lap pace.

Into the chicanes below the Sphere—more distraction factor—and the 750S gets a chance to show off at least a few dance moves, the tires feeling a bit happier despite raindrops starting to dot the windshield with increasing, and frustrating, frequency. I try to take some curb, but the red and white and hearts and spades look pretty substantial from my low-slung bucket seat. Good for helping the 750S rotate? O'Ward would, certainly, but I worry about sliding into the opposite wall.

Onto the straightaway again. I'd like to claim we tapped the 190-mph top speed O’Ward claimed in hot laps, but we didn't, although we certainly bypassed the FIA stipulation that we stay below 80 mph by nearly double. Sorry! Put any two cars on a racetrack and it's a race. Put a fleet of supercars on a road course, and who can blame anybody but the organizers when unavoidable tomfoolery becomes the name of the game.

The gnarliest part of this road course? Not the rain, not the asphalt, not even the specter of hitting walls. But rather the fact that those same walls almost constantly block the driver's view of the corner exit, relegating entry speed and apex points to memory and instinct as much as rational thought. It sounds terrifying—and awesome, in the original sense of the word.

Too soon, the end of the crooked straight again, past the paddock, glance up quick at another pixelated advertisement on the Sphere, then slow down to exit track right back onto the non-racing asphalt of Las Vegas Boulevard. I tell O'Ward my mind only ever half focused on scene and setting. I never noticed a single manhole cover anyway. For him, the driving comes slightly more naturally. Hence a career at the top of IndyCar, and maybe one day, dreams of coming off the bench for some legit F1 fun.

"Man, the view is amazing," he says, eyes alight. "It is so cool to be able to blast down the Strip at top speed. It's badass. I want to race here, I definitely want to race here."

For the rest, an unforgettable experience of a lifetime. But I left with similar daydreams—night dreams, I suppose—wishing desperately for another opportunity to bear down, shove the distraction factor out of mind, rip off one lap at qualifying pace on a dry day with no traffic. Still, even a brief stint onto the impressively manicured tarmac of the Vegas Grand Prix helps to put the action over the rest of race weekend, the level of commitment and courage and skill and jeopardy, into much more serious context. This is a wild track, and driving it is something no fan zone nor grandstand nor television broadcast can hope to match.

You Might Also Like

• Car and Driver’s 10 Best Cars through the Decades

• How to Buy or Lease a New Car

• Lightning Lap Legends: Chevrolet Camaro vs. Ford Mustang!