I was idling behind a truck on the highway, holding my breath. 0450 in the morning. I was trying to beat the traffic. I pulled out from behind and eased into the throttle. The boost gauge twisted up from 20 pounds of vaccum to zero. The car was already eating up the distance.
I wasn’t half into the throttle.
My foot hit the floor. Briefly. The methanol light flickered in my peripheral. Red. Green. Go.
I was hard on the brakes. The passing “effort” had lured me into the throttle. The next thing I knew, I was desperate to avoid slamming into the ass end of a Kia.
When the light goes red, it tells me “License and registration.”
When the light goes green, “Lay down on the ground, and put your hands behind your head!”
It takes all of my willpower not to do that on a weekday morning, on my way to work. The car is monstrous. I have driven some fast cars. In naturally aspirated cars, you roll into the throttle and the power comes on.
In this thing, I ease in and the power edges up . . . millimeters into the pedal . . . and I’m moving. If I goose it, there is a brief pause, followed by Hellacious wheelspin. The back end breaks free. I have to have both hands on the wheel.
There is no “texting while driving’. If I am in the car, I am not paying attention to anything but the orientation of the front and rear end. It requires all of my attention.
I backed out of it and settled into the center lane. A Corvette passed me.
I took a deep breath.
“I am the best me I can be . . . I am centered . . . Don’t die . . . “