Oil raced through late Utah Jazz owner Larry Miller's veins, engines revved in his ears

This is the fifth of an eight-part series on "Driven: An Autobiography" about the life of Larry H. Miller written by Deseret News columnist Doug Robinson in collaboration with Miller. Each begins with Robinson's personal observations and experiences from the project, followed by an excerpt from the book. "Driven" is available at Deseret Book.

I think Larry was a little disappointed that I didn't share his love of cars. "You don't have any oil in your blood, do you?" he said to me once. Several times, he said he wanted to take me out to his racetrack and let me drive around the track. We never got around to doing it because of Larry's health. This is an excerpt from a chapter about Miller's lifelong love of cars, which culminated with Larry building a world-class motor sports park — where Larry has the distinction of making the first crash.

There's this smell you get when you race cars. It's a combination of super-heated brakes and oil and high-octane fuel. That smell is intoxicating to me. I breathe it in the way others take in perfume. It might sound strange to those who don't have 10W30 oil coursing through their veins, the way I do, but I love smelling that smell and hearing the sounds that come with it out there on the racetrack. The sound of an engine when it revs up is music to my ears. It's like the purring of a cat.

Much of my personal and professional life has involved cars. I have repaired cars. I have managed auto parts departments and dealerships. I have raced cars on the street and on the track. I own car dealerships, and collect vintage sports cars, and I built a motor speedway and a race car museum and assembled a racing team.

I like to get in a car and go for a drive after work or on Sunday after church as a way to unwind. One of my favorite things to do is take Gail or one of my kids or grandkids for a drive in one of my Cobras with "Hey, Little Cobra," playing full blast on the radio. It is a good way to visit with loved ones and to see the scenery while also feeding my passion for automobiles. I like to drive up one of the canyons early on a Saturday morning and drive fast — sometimes 100 miles per hour through the mountains. Gail worries; she'll say: "You're going to get hurt."

I have a deserved reputation as a frugal man, but Gail laughs at that because she knows my frugality falters when it comes to Cobras. I own 15 of them, which is the largest private collection in the world. Only 1,011 of them were ever made. I paid as much as $4 million for one of them and none is worth less than $250,000. I had to outbid movie maker George Lucas to buy one of the Cobras. I know the serial numbers of all 15 of them the same way parents know the names of their children. I used to keep five of them in my garage at home. I have files and history books for each of the cars.