I don’t understand it.
Almost everytime I roll the car quietly back into the garage at home, exhaust on quiet mode whilst I gingerly feather the throttle, why do I crawl back into my house peering over my shoulder convinced I’ve just murdered an innocent family?
I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. Actually that’s not entirely true. But I digress, let me explain.
I get into the car rarely – not as often as I like. There are a number of reasons for this. The car has 7000 miles and I really don’t cherish getting that to 5 figures. I also have a 5k mileage limit on the car (insurance). Not the end of the world as I’m sure I can extend but I got a killer deal.
But the main reason is simply one of self preservation, because everytime I hop into this view:
..I turn into a complete monster. And here’s where all logic falls apart as I simply do not know if it’s me or the car? Everytime I start the GT3 up, I casually drive down my road promising I’m only going out for a gentle drive, but within 5 minutes I’ve downshifted 18 gears, whilst successfully switching on LOUD Mode, PDK Sport, stability and traction control off. Meanwhile, my face becomes the grimace so beautifully expressed by Tim Curry in Legend, I start to collect scalps and the angry glances of other road users in equal measure whilst my brain is screaming ‘Sweet jesus lord mary mother of God, PLEASE change gear now!’ as I rank up the needle past 8,900 RPM.
And herein lies my issue. Am I possessed when in the driving seat of the GT3, or am I just a bad human being? The adrenaline takes over, all I see are chevrons and rev limits and the pure feeling of exhilaration. I promise my lord, it’s out of my control. I suspect it’s like alcohol and drugs, everything within moderation. And that’s the thing, I rarely drink (almost never get drunk) and I don’t do drugs nor do I smoke.
I feel an almost inconceivably strong power in the car that seeps into my soul and forces me to be a hooligan. I’m not saying I’m dangerous, but I’m taking liberties. The race seat is absolutely perfect in shape, riveting you into position so that every single road nuance is felt in the base of your spine and ass. The steering and throttle position are recognised as equally spot on – I step into my BMW and only then do I notice slightly offset pedals. The rear view mirror shows a roll-cage. I’m not even going to mention the fire extinguisher and harnesses.
So I’m going to blame the car. How can I possibly be expected to behave when the GT3 is positively encouraging, nay, goading me into breaking laptimes on the A406? Clearly I’m a victim of influence and suggestion?
But then I suspect if I gave the car to my wife, she’d be a little terrified of all these signs of no-compromise brutality. She would drive it like a scaredy cat.
Now I’m arguing with myself. I’ll just admit that I have the GT3 in my blood and I can’t but help drive it like it’s meant to be driven. I just have to figure out if there’s a way to not feel so guilty at the end of every drive :)