I just finished parking near the Quirino Grandstand in Manila when my phone buzzed from Toyota Motor Philippines (TMP) PR manager Sunshine Cabrera sending me rapid Viber messages. “I have news! Punta ka na!,” were her frantic words.
I grabbed my things and ran to the grandstand, where TMP was holding a two-day celebration as part of its 35th birthday, at an event called the Toyota Gazoo Racing Festival. I learned that I was one of three people chosen to ride shotgun with Toyota Motor Corporation chairman Akio Toyoda in his WRC Yaris!
After getting my security wristband, I went straight to Sunshine, who led me to the pit garage where Toyota’s prized GR race cars were being prepped. I saw the WRC Yaris being attended to by Japanese mechanics—only Japanese mechanics—and inspected. This was a pure rally machine—with driver names printed on the side, a big wing that’s taller than the Yaris, flared wheel arches, and chunky Pirelli rubber. I was handed a GR-branded balaclava and a racing helmet. Then I waited for the ride of a lifetime.
The two shotgun riders before me finished, and I approached the idling Toyota WRC Yaris, with the man whose grandfather started Toyota waiting in the driver’s seat.
A beefy rollcage greets you before you enter. I sidled in butt-first, then tucked my legs in. In what is probably the biggest challenge of their career, the Japanese mechanics spent minutes trying to fit me into the multi-point racing seatbelt. I don’t want to think of how much of Toyoda-san’s executive time I wasted. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was enough to buy a Wigo.
I was finally strapped in. I saw a plastic handle near my right hand. I held on, made the sign of the cross, and we were off.
Morizo, as Toyoda-san is known behind the steering wheel, launched the WRC Yaris like a bat out of hell. The exhibition area was a series of cones placed in the middle of the grandstand, with open spaces for Toyotas to do their stuff. Morizo did figures of eight, sliding the WRC Yaris around the cones. Sometimes he would drift a bit close to the barriers, then deftly maneuver the car away at the last minute. I lost my last modicum of propriety and let out a happy yell.
After the ride someone asked me if I felt dizzy, disoriented or scared. No, I thought, not at all. What’s it like to ride a 380hp fire-breathing rally monster with no A/C, minimal insulation, and driven by a master driver? Well, the answer is in the latter. Under Morizo’s masterful control, the race car was a precision instrument, dancing around the grandstand shod in Pirelli shoes. I felt like I was just riding massive waves of torque, while the WRC Yaris literally burned rubber (the smoke entering the cabin made it hard to see sometimes) and swayed from side to side. The Herculean efforts of the Japanese mechanics to strap me in paid off, as my body never moved an inch where it didn’t need to.
Toyota’s chairman is a smooth and calculating driver, a perfect blend of careful movement and waku doki spirit. When future Toyota cars get advanced self-driving features, I hope they create a Morizo mode. At some points I just watched his footwork, how he feathered the throttle with such minute movements but resulted in wide sweeping turns outside.
A fine microcosm for leadership, actually.
Toyoda’s name is in the number one car brand in the Philippines, with market share always hovering around 50%, and ranking 10th in Toyota sales globally. Every year about 10 million Toyotas are produced in factories around the world, from premium Lexus SUVs to affordable subcompacts.
Every time he steps on the figurative gas or brakes in the company that he chairs, the repercussions are felt in the global economy. Throughout his career he has experienced great challenges: electrification, recalls, competitors. But similar to taming a WRC Yaris, all you need is a steady hand on the gearshift, measured dabs on the brakes and gas, and a relentless love for driving.
The ride finished. I was smiling and basking in the afterglow. I wasn’t sure if Morizo could hear me, but I said, “thank you for making good cars.” He gave me a thumbs up. We shook hands.
Driving home tonight I felt a bit more alive, more excited. I enjoyed the drive home more, despite the usual Metro Manila gridlock. Maybe I inhaled more tire dust than I thought, but I felt some of the fun spirit rubbed off on me. Because when you see a company chairman drift a rally car under the hot Philippine sun and still smile afterwards, you realize he’s right: Anything is possible.
