And for those without earplugs, it's loud.

As thousands of people pile in for one of the biggest events in San Jose's history, Los Gatos entrepreneur and resident Mark Ishikawa is not worried about how good his seats are. He's not even worried about who he's going to root for.

The driver of the open wheel car, Toyota Atlantic C2 No. 71, is thinking about his racing machine, the track and winning.

It's July 31, and the longtime race car driver--he was recruited almost 20 years ago when his former boss saw him zipping out of a driveway--is competing in the Toyota Atlantic Series, a support race to the Champ Car World Series, at the Taylor Woodrow Grand Prix of San José. A rookie to professional racing--he was previously racing in strictly club competitions--Ishikawa spent hours and thousands of dollars on his car.

Unlike those attending the race, Ishikawa is not there to drink beer and be a spectator. In fact, he doesn't drink and definitely doesn't watch racing (he thinks it's boring).

He is there to race.

Four days before the event, Ishikawa and his crew arrive at the downtown San Jose site with their trailer, car and plenty of tools and tires.

They slave over the car, trying to anticipate what it will need to run the track.

They scheme, talk about each turn, each straightaway.

And, they joke.

After all, the five person core crew, plus the other crew members who are flown in by Ishikawa depending upon the location of the event, love to race.

After each practice and qualifying round on July 29 and 30, they would again work on the car, go over turns, and scheme.

"How could we go faster? What should we change?" the crew asks.

With the 1.4-mile maiden voyage track, there is a lot that can go wrong, and a lot that could change.

The track

Going into the race, Ishikawa is hopeful. It's going to be anyone's race. A new track gives nobody the home track advantage.

But what could have been a good thing turned out to be bad.

"The track was a nightmare," Ishikawa says.

Besides the rough roads and narrow track, Ishikawa has a problem to deal with he never experienced before--light rail tracks ran through the middle.

"I've never seen this before," he says.

Every time Ishikawa goes over the tracks, he becomes airborne.

But if that were the only problem with the track, he would be in good shape. After the first qualifying round on Friday, officials decide to change the track.

They add a chicane, making it harder for the cars to pass each other on a narrow turn. Plus, they add concrete to parts of the track to make it smoother, including over the tracks.

However, instead of the track becoming ribbon smooth, or even smoother, there are clouds of smoke every time Ishikawa passes.

Although the track still has some tweaking to do before next year, Ishikawa plans on returning.

After all, it is in his hometown.

"I've had a lot of family, friends and customers stopping by," Ishikawa says.

One fan who stops by is Mike Jyman, who met Ishikawa in Long Beach almost a year ago.

"I noticed in the program he was from Los Gatos," Jyman says.

After reading the program and finding out Ishikawa shared his hometown, he decides to stop by and say hello.

And, since the race is much closer to his home, he decides to come by and support a fellow Los Gatan in San Jose.

Race day

About an hour before the race, Ishikawa suits up in his hot, flameproof suit.

He does his pre-race stretches, then hops in the car.

With his car attached, a cart pulls him to a ramp where he will then be pulled on the track. While he waits, team manager Evelyn Espinosa feeds him two lime flavored Altoids. Ishikawa says it calms his nerves.

Start your engines. Every half of second, Ishikawa revs his engine.

Vroom. Vroom. Vroom.

Crowds are cheering. The announcer introduces each racer.

At 11:15 a.m., a push from three of his crew members sends him off. Ishikawa, who placed 20th in qualifying, is in a surprisingly strategic position.

"You either want to be in the front or in the very back. If you get in the middle, you're stuck," says Dave Rich, an engineer for the crew.

As Ishikawa pulls away from the pit, his crew dissipates. Some stand behind the computer, which updates the times, scores and locations of the other drivers. Ishikawa's mom, Mimi, sits on the cart that pulled the car in, watching the Jumbotron. Stan Clayton, chief operating engineer, paces on the grass between the pit and the racetrack, arms stiff, and never smiling.

Espinosa watches, switching from the Jumbotron to the computer screen.

It's the first lap. Ishikawa gets caught behind another racer, forcing him to nip the car ahead of him.

For the moment, it doesn't matter. Ishikawa speaks with the crew over a headset, and he tells them the car is running OK.

Clayton is relieved. After all, they're all there to win.

He pushes Ishikawa on.

Going at his fastest 137 mph, the No. 71 carbon fiber vehicle zips by.

As he takes the track faster, Ishikawa starts to feel something going wrong with his car. Sure, the nose is damaged, but that would only force him to lose up to two seconds on his time.

But it's vibrating.

Clayton runs toward the right of the pit, where the Jumbotron is overhead at a near 90-degree turn. He gets a good look at the car.

The front suspension, called the wishbone, is damaged. Like a hanger, the more it bends, the more likely it will snap.

Coming off of one of his fastest laps, one minute and six seconds, Ishikawa starts to slow down. One minute, 35 seconds. Up to two minutes.

With another 18 laps to go, Ishikawa has to call it quits.

When he pulls in, the nose looks like part of it has been attacked with a chain saw, and the wishbone--snapped, right in half.

Unlike the Champ Cars, the Toyota Atlantic championship series cannot pit. Once they come in, more than likely the race is over for them. While they can come in on red flags, when a crash has to be cleared from the track, they can only do minimal work, like check the tire pressure and temperature.

Once Ishikawa comes in on the 27th lap, it's over.

But he's still playful and optimistic.

"So, can I just duct tape it," he jokes with the official.

No way.

With a few pats on the back after he gets out of the car, Ishikawa is obviously disappointed. His forced smile and shaking head tells that he wished the race would have gone differently.

But, as Ishikawa's chief engineer put it, they go into these races anticipating some setbacks.

"You expect to be wounded. It's not just school children cueing up for the bathroom. It's a race," Clayton says.

As the other cars whiz by, Ishikawa and his team are not concerned with who is going to win.

Sure, they may have had some racers they were rooting for, such as Justin Sofio, but their main concern was diagnosing what was wrong with the car, and how they were going to fix it.

Because Ishikawa drove the car for as long as he thought he could, he at least was able to eke out a 16th-place finish. If he had called it a day just two laps earlier, he would have allowed Daryl Leiski to pull in ahead of him.

But, 18 laps ahead of him, was Katherine Legge, the only female Toyota Atlantic racer, who went on to finish first in the San José Grand Prix.

Just because one race is over doesn't mean Ishikawa is done. Besides prepping for next week's club race at Laguna Seca, the CEO will also be cranking out 16-hour days at his office, complete with board meetings.

Bay TSP

After owning about six other successful companies, and selling five of them, the San Francisco native decided to give it another go round in 1999. So he and business partner Espinosa--who is also Ishikawa's team manager--opened Bay TSP is 1999.

Together, they created one of the world's leading Internet anti-piracy companies.

The company employs 55 people as they work to fight the bad guys--those who steal copyrighted music, pictures and software.

With recruiting some crew members from Bay TSP, they get to see him on and off the race track.

On many levels, Ishikawa is the same as all the other racers. He, as they say, has a need for speed.

"Race car drivers need to go fast. It's not just a want," Rich says.

He also has a knack for anticipating the next move, just like all racers.

"These guys have the incredible ability to anticipate what's going to happen. These guys are able to make a decision and act," Rich says.

But what separates these drivers, many in their 20s, from Ishikawa is not defined by age--it's money.

Unlike many of the younger drivers, Ishikawa sponsors the expensive hobby. Many of the other drivers, however, either have a big name company forking out the dough, or it comes from a rich family member.

"Most of these drivers go to Daddy and ask for a check," Ishikawa says.

But Ishikawa, who has now recruited about six Bay TSP employees to work as crew members on the racing team, doesn't just have money for the sport--he has mechanical skills.

While many of the drivers rely on their crew to work on their car, Ishikawa is one of the first ones to plow through his car and start working on it.

"I'm a pilot as well. If something is vibrating, I can make my own assessment as to why it's happening. As a pilot, I have to know what makes it tick," Ishikawa says.

Although Ishikawa had an action-packed weekend, he didn't let it get in the way of his job. The night of the race, he went home and prepared for work.

And he spent about 16 hours at the office on Monday so that he could get his work done--in time for a club race in Laguna Seca this weekend.