If you’re a racing or automotive enthusiast, you’ve probably heard of the Pikes Peak International Hill Climb (PPIHC). You’ve probably seen the late Ken Block’s famous moment at ‘Evo Corner’, and you’ve likely heard about the multitude of professional racing outfits that have taken their chances on the perilous ascent to the Pikes Peak summit for the past 100 years or so. The PPIHC holds a rich history to say the least, filled with conquerors, failures, and countless forgotten or untold stories in between.
What you might not know is that the Pikes Peak International Hill Climb isn’t limited to just big-budget race teams. Experienced drivers can participate in it as well – if their entry is accepted and they can muster the funds, time, and will.
So what happens when a privateer sets out not only to participate in the PPIHC but also to win it? What does it take? What does that person have to sacrifice? Where does one even start? Well, in this multi-part series, you’re going to get a pretty damn good idea.
I’ve had the pleasure of knowing Tyler as a racer and friend for almost four years now. I filmed his second year at PPIHC back in 2024, which was a wild and inspiring story in itself (insert vid). However, his background in racing, career at Pikes Peak, and passion for BMW started long before we met at New Jersey Motorsports Park.
What started as working on his parents’ BMW (he S52-swapped it) and racing legendary cars as a kid has snowballed into a passion-driven business under the entity: Tyspeed. Ty’s passion for motorsport has certainly been an entertaining story to watch.
In 2024, Ty scraped together a racing effort 10 days before Pikes Peak and won the event’s ‘No Holding Back’ award despite insurmountable odds. Most people would call it a success and move on, but not Tyler. In his mind, he and his team still had a lot to prove.
After a year of recuperation and reassessment, I received a phone call from Ty in January of 2025. “Wazzaaap,” I joked. “Pack your bags, brother, we’re going to Colorado,” he replied. I didn’t need much persuasion.
A few weeks later, we found ourselves at Winslow BMW, around 1,700 miles from Tyspeed’s HQ in Jackson, New Jersey. This is no ordinary dealership, but one driven by passion with deep roots in the Pikes Peak scene; supporting notable BMW racers like Rhys Millen, James Clay, and Matt Mullins, to name a few. It’s an impressive experience, with many of the employees even having close working relationships with the event itself.
That being said, this wasn’t just a house tour. Gregg, Winslow’s General Manager and genuinely awesome guy, had just handed Tyler the keys to his brand new ‘stripper spec’ G87 M2. Every performance option you can tick, with no extras. This car was built and delivered to do one thing: race.
Like kids in a candy store, we took the car out for its first drive. Still in disbelief, it felt right to make one last pitstop before our trip back home…
Tyler pulled off at Crystal Creek to get a good look at what he would be up against. The two opponents stared back at each other like two gunslingers prepared to draw. On one side, a snow-covered mountain top standing tall at 14,115 ft. On the other hand, a homebrewed mechanic from New Jersey. Pikes Peak’s shadow towered over us, cementing its scale as the sun hid behind it. Who was the favorite? Only Vegas knows.
Behind us was the distant city and the vast void of snow-covered plains below. It was cold and icy, with the thin air’s silence only interrupted by the swaying trees. It was ominous, but if all went to plan, we would be standing in this very spot in six months. “Well, there she is,” Tyler said. We paid our respects, tipped our caps, and began our 1700-mile journey back across the country.
Morale was high. Albeit, if you have a pulse, this would be an exciting time for anyone. Ideas were bouncing off the windows. The build stages, how we’d shoot it, Ty’s livery plans, the reveal; it was an awesome day. Later on, I took the helm for the nighttime driving shift to Indianapolis. The day’s photography stops had slowed us down, so we decided to do one more leg past St. Louis before calling it.
The road was pitch black; I couldn’t see much of anything past the G87’s headlights. Soon thereafter, a flicker of red lights appeared in the distance. We slowed down. The lights formed an organized line, and our worries were realized. The road was blocked.
A tractor-trailer had gone off the road, slamming into a bridge embankment, and had burst into flames. The fire trucks and ambulances screamed past us as we stepped out of the M2. Red and orange lit up the sky, engulfing the bridge above. It was bad, and with authorities already arrived and a ditch impeding any turnaround, there wasn’t much we could do. We were stuck. So we put the S58 to rest and went to sleep.
About four hours later, we awoke to a plethora of cold starts and horns beeping. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the start of the Daytona 500. The road had been cleared. We were pretty disheveled, but our journey continued.
Unfortunately, we never learned what happened to the driver of the tractor-trailer or if he even survived. Looking back, it was certainly a stark reminder of how quickly things can change when behind the wheel. Unbeknownst to us, a reminder that would become much more relevant in the future…
After another 800 miles, numerous bags of Wiley Wallaby’s, and about seven coffees later, we finally rolled into Tyler’s driveway. It was no Cannonball Run, but in about two days, we made it home in one piece. From there, I hopped on a flight back to Boston, but for Ty, the real work was only about to begin…
Stay tuned.
