There is nothing more to tell about that trip because nothing could possibly be more incredible than those few hot laps that Denny gave to me. Until that moment I thought that I loved racing. I intellectualized that I would enjoy being in a race car. Until that moment I didn’t know. How could anyone know until he sits in a car at race speed and takes turns at the limits of adhesion, brakes a hair from lockup, the engine begging for the redline?
I wonder if athletes whose sport revolves around speed identify with this description of intoxicating speed?
