I drove a supercar today. It was awesome.
The gang gifted me an experience for my b'day a good few months ago (thank YOU! you know who you are!), and it was only now that I got around to redeeming it. While there was an array of machines to choose from, I went with the conventional - a bright electric blue Lambo. Why not eh?
As I write this, I can physically taste the coppery testosterone that resulted from three laps of one of the best experiences I've had in recent times.
It was awesome.
Got there and got fear-closed into buying insurance (£25 for 4 mins is a bit steep, especially as I later discovered they have safety brakes too! hmph!) but the £5K excess if I clipped someone's bumper was enough to make me sign on the dotted line without much of a protest.
Then the waiting. A guy drive you around in a Range Rover so you can see the track prior to getting on it, and then more waiting. And the moment of truth.
I settled into the bucket seat of my purring Italian wildcat:
Lamborghini Gallardo. 5.2L V10 engine. 6 speed single touch electrohydrolic manual transmission.
And what do I do? I get my wrist slapped in the first 10 seconds. "Mate, you're on a race track. You don't need to indicate to get outta the pit lane!". Whoops. Bad habits die hard.
Anyway, lap 1 - decent; just getting to grips with it all. Realising that the car actually does make a sharp left even if you're at 110mph. Nice!
Lap 2 - confidence well high. I get asked to floor it. I gently tap it. 'FLOOR IT!', he says. And oh BOY do I floor it. The velocity literally makes me lose all sense of gravity and I am buried deep into the back of my seat. S-WEET! Lap 2 over in a jiffy.
Lap 3 - My confidence is sky high. Using all of the track, the car is now an extension of my very existence. Brake, Floor. Floor. Floor. Brake. Brake? Hang on a second? A loser in an Ariel Atom is creeping slowly ahead of me. WTF! What a sad end as I have to pull into the pit lane. Oh well..!
My score (dunno what the matrix is): 85/100. Comment: 'Good smooth drive' - read: first timer. didn't really push the limit, but hey, did alright and didn't kill anyone.
Then a high speed lap in the back seat of a modified ford with a rather bored driver.
Now the dangerous bit - getting back into MY Ford and having to drive back home. Roads. With people. And rules. Shyte!
The closest that this experience has ever come to is a stint at the go-karting track last year.. must be done again!
The whole thing was a bit orgasmic, but in a very teenage-boy-buys-sex-in-amsterdam kinda way. It was regulated, incredible, and ended too soon. But still left me beaming.
Needless to say, the reflection is simple - No I don't want a £45 picture of me in the car, I want one o' dose!
There's only two kinds of smell in this world:
The smell of burning rubber. And the smell of failure. Make your choice.