something i scribbled while reminiscing...
Light is refracted by the heat rising from the blacktop under the glare of the summer sun. The surface shimmers from the specks of precious metals left behind from the catalytic converters of the thousands of cars that passed over the surface in the past. I can feel the intense heat radiating through the soles of my feet as I walk across this surface, urging me onwards. My silver chariot glimmers on the track; dulled key shivering in my shaking hand as I approach. An undeniable smile crawls across my face, and I lose all sensation but that inexplicable feeling creeping up my spine; a vibrant yet cool energy that spreads through my bloodstream and steadies my hand.
I open the door, savouring the bell that chimes until I’m inside the cabin with the door closed again. The heat is unbearable, so I roll the window down letting in a slight breeze and insert the key into the ignition, click by click. The radio lights up and the speakers pop to life: “…And it looks to be a beautiful sunny day in Buffalo today; starting off in the low 70s and approaching 90 as the day goes on, so if you’re planning to spend the day outside with the family be sure to lay that sunscreen on and keep the dial tuned to 103.3 The Edge!” ‘Excellent,’ I’m thinking. I fold the visor down and prep for launch; gloves strapped on tight; helmet on, rapped twice for luck; harness buckled and pulled tight, bonding me physically with the car.
I jam on the clutch pedal instinctively and give the key a hard twist. The starter chugs for a second and the engine sparks to life. I give it a moment to warm up while I change the CD in the receiver, then pump the accelerator a few times to hear the roar of the engine as the tach’s needle flies to redline in the span of a blink. I move fluidly out of the pit as I’m signaled onto the track, and barely reach the end of third gear before I’m at the first corner, turning in with a downshift as my own private gravity tugs me to the side, trying to tear me from my harness as the soft rubber of the tread-less tires grab hard on the hot asphalt. I fly out of the corner in second gear, opening the throttle wide and get pulled back into the seat as the torque tries to break loose my tires from their grip. The engine screams as I accelerate, but I can’t hear it over the sound of my own roar: my battle cry; my freedom cry.
Light is refracted by the heat rising from the blacktop under the glare of the summer sun. The surface shimmers from the specks of precious metals left behind from the catalytic converters of the thousands of cars that passed over the surface in the past. I can feel the intense heat radiating through the soles of my feet as I walk across this surface, urging me onwards. My silver chariot glimmers on the track; dulled key shivering in my shaking hand as I approach. An undeniable smile crawls across my face, and I lose all sensation but that inexplicable feeling creeping up my spine; a vibrant yet cool energy that spreads through my bloodstream and steadies my hand.
I open the door, savouring the bell that chimes until I’m inside the cabin with the door closed again. The heat is unbearable, so I roll the window down letting in a slight breeze and insert the key into the ignition, click by click. The radio lights up and the speakers pop to life: “…And it looks to be a beautiful sunny day in Buffalo today; starting off in the low 70s and approaching 90 as the day goes on, so if you’re planning to spend the day outside with the family be sure to lay that sunscreen on and keep the dial tuned to 103.3 The Edge!” ‘Excellent,’ I’m thinking. I fold the visor down and prep for launch; gloves strapped on tight; helmet on, rapped twice for luck; harness buckled and pulled tight, bonding me physically with the car.
I jam on the clutch pedal instinctively and give the key a hard twist. The starter chugs for a second and the engine sparks to life. I give it a moment to warm up while I change the CD in the receiver, then pump the accelerator a few times to hear the roar of the engine as the tach’s needle flies to redline in the span of a blink. I move fluidly out of the pit as I’m signaled onto the track, and barely reach the end of third gear before I’m at the first corner, turning in with a downshift as my own private gravity tugs me to the side, trying to tear me from my harness as the soft rubber of the tread-less tires grab hard on the hot asphalt. I fly out of the corner in second gear, opening the throttle wide and get pulled back into the seat as the torque tries to break loose my tires from their grip. The engine screams as I accelerate, but I can’t hear it over the sound of my own roar: my battle cry; my freedom cry.
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