The BAC Mono is basically a Formula 3 car for the road

It was a day I dreaded at the last minute, but not for any expected reason. Driving BAC's single-seat track-day weapon, the Mono, on a course I'd never seen before was child's play compared to the filter through which I'd have to do it. I threw my back out 36 hours prior, with the long muscles in my back clenching up stiff and unyielding like mandolin strings. Merely walking upright required an unsightly posture for which I was both embarrassed and pissed off. There wasn't enough ibuprofen in the world.

But the Mono didn't care, and that's what mattered. Much more race car than road car, the BAC Mono comes from that specialized region of the automotive fringe that seeks the closest thing to an actual thoroughbred professional race car, but for mere enthusiasts who missed the professional racing driver boat and have normal careers as bankers, lawyers, software engineers, or journalists. The demographic for track-day specials like the Mono is nonsensical until you realize that the entire family of car diseases—and the track-day strain of it in particular—cares not for demographics. Cater to the passionate and the passionate will come.

Remove the Mono's carbon fiber bodywork—what little there is of it—and you'll find a thoroughbred racing car more like a Formula 3 car with lights and a horn than any Lotus or Porsche. Road legal in the UK (an oddly permissive state when it comes to low-volume sports cars), here in the US that sort of thing is up to the owner. You register the vehicle as a kit car, with regulations varying by state.

Like a small Formula car, the Mono wedges you in a fixed seat with a removable steering wheel. All the controls (except for brake bias—in a road car!) are on the wheel, along with an LCD display. Despite this, you can barely move your elbows. Forget steering with your shoulders; in the Mono you work your forearms. Coming from driving normal production cars like BMWs, Corvettes, or Porsches on the track, there was a brief re-orientation to a single-seat mindset, something I'm fortunate to have in my deep, dark past. Still, I'm positive the Formula Continental chassis I ran in the 1990s had a bit more hip and elbow room than the Mono.

The Mono's tubular steel chassis is only partially hidden by carbon-fiber body panels in the way bikinis cover certain parts at the beach. The front pushrod suspension is exposed in all its glory, enabling easy adjustments trackside.

Like the best racers, the Mono carefully controls its weight: a mere 1,190 pounds (540kg). With the 260hp (194kW) engine in this example, that equates to 4.5lb (2kg) per hp, better than a new Ferrari 488 GTB. If that's not sufficient, later this year you'll be able to spec a 305hp (227kW) 2.5-liter engine, which means a hefty 3.9lb (1.77kg) per hp.

As it's my first time at Inde Motorsports Ranch outside Tuscon, Arizona, I study the track map and then follow racer Mark Miller of CJ Wilson Racing around the track to get a feeling for the circuit's flow. After about four laps, the Mono is pasted to Mark's tail everywhere around the course except for the long straightaway, the extra horsepower of his McLaren 570S taking no prisoners. But in several corners, he's working the 570 so hard that its old rear tires start chunking, spitting bits of tread off the tires at my face. (Another reason full-face helmets totally rule, kids.)

The world’s most expensive back massage?

Like many a race car, NVH (noise, vibration, and harshness) was far down BAC's priority list. The engine and gearbox are bolted directly to the chassis, which therefore transmits every buzz and vibration straight to that fixed seat. Driving the Mono could have been a great way to spend the day loosening dental fillings. But belted in, the engine buzzing away, the experience becomes surprisingly therapeutic; my back actually felt better after the first session.

This particular Mono's engine, a 260-hp, 2.3-liter Ford Duratec, is peppered with Cosworth-sourced bits like forged connecting rods and pistons. A dry oil sump means the engine is as low in the chassis as possible, also assuring lubrication of the critical engine bits when pulling serious lateral g loads through long sweeping corners. Zero to 60mph takes a mere 2.8 seconds, but acceleration is the least-impressive measure of this car's performance.

Despite this chassis not being the very latest and greatest iteration, under braking it's beyond anything else road-legal I've driven in the recent past. Not only does the Mono pull up straight—sometimes flyweights hunt around at max braking—it does so with absolutely no drama. Even at my clumsiest, I'm barely able to lock a wheel. Heavily trail-brake into a corner, unweighting the inside tire? The car just copes. The brakes feel judicious and progressive, almost supple for a track rat or Formula car. And forget about driver aids like anti-lock brakes or stability control.

While ultimate cornering grip is not optimal with the old and tired tires on the car (and no meaningful aerodynamic downforce), the upside is that it reveals the true balance of the chassis at lower cornering speeds. At first that meant mild understeer, overcome with hard trail-braking and some violent throttle application. But remember that easily adjustable suspension? Miller softened the front dampers, dialing out some understeer.

The Mono reminds me of my old Formula Continental race car, minus any help from the invisible hand we call aero. With only mechanical grip to rely upon, high-speed corners have a certain purity to them, without any of that unnatural feeling of the air pushing the car down onto the track surface.

If all that makes it sound like driving the Mono on track is easy, there are some difficulties, although they're mastered with a modicum of mechanical sympathy and sense:

1. Elbow room. There isn't much. Adapt with your forearms.
2. Pitting in/pitting out. Sometimes, the biggest track car problems aren't actually on the track. The Mono uses a sequential Hewland gearbox, so you cannot skip gears. You must cycle through each gear, even when trundling through the paddock. You can only shut the car down in neutral. Finally, low-speed shifting—through pit lane, paddock, or grocery store parking lot (after all, it is street-legal even if there's not a shred of cargo capacity) really wants clutched shifts. Otherwise, it's very abrupt and not good for the 'box.
3. Situational awareness. There is little auditory cue from the tires when they begin to lose grip. No squealing, no chirping, no singing. That's due partially to the tires themselves, but very lightweight cars sometimes exacerbate this tendency. Eyes up, and watch and feel for chassis rotation.

Taken as a whole, the Mono's macro-view equation might lead you to believe it would be a nervous twitcher at the limit. It's not. It puts a smile on the most jaded face.

Until the bill comes. At about $160,000 (£130,000) without any added options, this is no innocent little Miata rival. In fact, a fair number of actual race cars could be had for less. But, as has been asked for centuries, "What price glory?" Even if in your own head?

That could be priceless.

Listing image by Jim Resnick