Pressing the accelerator as hard as I’ve been used to doing in Daytona, including the time I kicked Alec’s ass, produces an alarmingly loud vrrrrOOOOOOOOMMM.
The rear-view mirror is just big enough to notice my bad hair day in, but not big enough to fix it in.
I seem to have gone all these 23 years without noticing my short, weak left leg.
While walking through the circuit ground in order to get to the service counter of the driving school, do not take any known rules of traffic for granted. I was reminded today, while concentrating more intently on mastering turns than not mowing pedestrians down, of my realization when I learnt skiing that I wouldn’t want to be downslope from me. At least they put an extra brake pedal on the instructor’s side of the car.
Note to self: When rollin’ along in my 5 point o, with my ragtop down so my hair can blow, releasing the clutch too abruptly will produce the required jerky car-bouncy effect. Good to remember.