I was born to love you

Her tires squealed on the first turn as I attempted turn one too fast. Yet her fantastically taut body and wonderfully weighed springs kept me fairly close to the racing line. As I put back the throttle on the exit and veered my way back exactly on the racing line, a silver Porsche made her way through. Not a good start to my hour on the track.

Following turn one, was a straight that allowed the Porsche some more breathing space. Yet, I knew nothing was lost as I floored her and her lightweight engine sprung to life. On a turn that was coming up I could see the Porsche was readying for a braking stint and an occupied a good line on the clean side of the track. I oversped the last turn, would I do it again?

I had driven her for far too long and I knew she would not fail. Turns were here battlefields and her chassis vibrations convinced me to let go, allow her to take control.

As we both approached the turn, I allowed him to brake first. I saw a series of red lights come to life in front me signaling my brain to react soon. The Porsche began her turn while I continued on sufficiently braking much later and turning in much faster.

She was stretched. I knew it. Yet no squeal. Yet no complaints. As the body roll began to die out fast I knew I had all four wheels back on maximum traction when I floored her again not letting the revs settle. Comfortably and much too embarrassingly I caught up and over took the Porsche.

And so it went on, for the next hour. My hands were shot and my brain throbbed but turn after turn I would take back my disadvantage of a slow straight line speed. Till the last lap I never lost sight of the Porsche and nor did she of me.

Later in the garage, as we both started taking off race tires and put on street tires for the ride home, my closest friend walked over from his Porsche and said with an acknowledging nod “She is good.”

“I know.” I replied. We shook on it.

After all, she was a lotus. She was my lotus. She was born to turn.