Greg Shaffer on his adrenaline-chasing ways
Greg Shaffer knows how to make an entrance.
At Spotswood Country Club—celebrating its 100th year—he arrives in all black, a new pair of Jordan golf shoes flashing bright pink underneath. He smiles and shrugs as he says, “I’m not afraid to wear a little pink.”
He’s easy to talk to and well-known enough that several people stop mid-sentence to say hello as we cross the parking lot. Greg answers each in the same way: unhurried, present. “I’m not serious unless I need to be,” he says. Hearing that from a 16-year sports car racer, you have to believe it.
Greg grew up at Massanutten, where his dad moved the family so his boys could enjoy skiing, golf, tennis, and space to roam. As a teenager, he worked as a cart boy in the summers and handed out ski poles in the winter. Because of his age, they couldn’t pay him, so they gave him a golf pass instead. That trade stuck.
His first car, a 1973 BMW Bavaria, did too, sparking a lifelong passion for European performance cars.
Competition found Greg early, but it never hardened him. If anything, it gave him a lane.
“I’d rather win a race than a golf tournament,” he says. “No question.”
In his more than 100 races over the years, from Daytona and Watkins Glen to Toronto GP, he’s survived brutal wrecks and rolls. “It’s not if—it’s when,” he says. “I need to feel the adrenaline. Whether it’s racing, wakeboarding, skiing, or golf.” But Greg’s no mindless adrenaline junkie; he craves balance and control.
“I have a fear of large roller coasters,” he admits, laughing. “There, you’re not in control. My wife and kids give me a hard time about it.”
On the golf course, Greg’s balance shows up a little differently. He rides a GolfBoard, surfing the fairways more than walking them. Cool, calm, and collected, just like his personality.
Greg’s life path wasn’t quite as straight as his golf swing. He spent one semester at Radford before returning home for a tough conversation with his parents; he wanted to figure things out on his own. He promised he wouldn’t ask for money again and, to this day, he hasn’t.
Back in Harrisonburg, Greg opened a shop selling skis, snowboards, golf gear, and skateboards. He would go on to race, instruct, and open Mid Atlantic Motorwerkes. Eventually, his partner, Aaron Ludwig, started Jack Brown’s Beer & Burger Joint. The two are still close, more like brothers than former business partners.
Greg’s foray into racing came in the form of a gift from his then-girlfriend, now wife, Annie: two days of track instruction. By the end of the second day, he was asked to join the team. That invitation turned into a career, and eventually a business built around something deeper than cars.
“It’s more than a transaction,” he says. “It’s trust.”
People come to Greg because he’s been there and, as such, he understands how it feels to truly care.
Family rests at the center of Greg’s world. He has two daughters (Rennie and Claire), both of whom have the swing, but so far have gravitated to tennis over golf. His wife Annie, a fitness expert, has run marathons and oversees a wellness center. Soon, the two will be empty nesters.
“Family’s everything,” he says. And I can tell he means it.
As we progress through the course, Greg calls himself “an unfair ten.” He’s probably higher, but he’s better than he lets on. Solid and steady, he chips a birdie along the way.
After nine holes, we stop by his shop, admiring the scattered frames of cars in various stages of repair. Racing photos adorn the walls, along with a custom helmet from Montreal. None of it feels flashy; it feels lived in. Today, Greg still chases his old favorite combo of adrenaline and control, whether he’s skiing black diamonds with his girls, dialing in a car, or catching that one clean swing, never afraid to make an entrance, and always putting family first.