I am so absofuckinglutely tired. I drink a few cups of coffee, find out what exactly i need to do. Turns out me and my dad are basically running the starting line which means going up to every car that goes on the track, pressing down on the hood, making sure they closed their door and trunk properly. Nothing better then rolling up onto some dude's $150,000 Porsche, push down on the logo, pull on the door and then push down on their trunk.
Finally, after a good lunch, i get to ride in one of these amazingly fucked up cars. I get in a car with a friend of my dad's. We're going 90pmh in what seems like a few feet from the starting line and go into this sick turn. We don't slow down.
My jaw literally drops, not like “my jaw drops”, my jaw litterally opens as i prepare my body and soul for death as i see we're going 120 mph down the straightaway. We take several 90 degree turns at sickening speeds. The beautiful woman driving, giggling the whole time, as im thrown from one side of the seat to the other, still strapped into the harness. We get out. I propose to her.
I literally didn't think women could drive like that. The whole world was a different shade of blue.
I took more pics, more people went out driving and then we had a final “lets all have beer” session. Before that my dad throws me the keys to his 911. His 1997, last of the air cooled porsches, the car that's sat in the garage. Like phosphorescent desert buttons , singing one familiar song…
I get it up to around 100 on the straightaway, not breaking until i see the breaking cones. He tells me to break. I'm like “yeah i know”. Another straightaway. More gas. Then breaking, breaking, gas, breaking, turning, gasing, gasing, breaking, GASING, saying “come on, let me do one more lap” GASING, BREAKING, GASING, BREAKING, TURNING, GASING.
I want a Porsche.
I still think the best part of the day was when he asked me to grab him another beer before we left, but not to open it. I run back, grab a handful of beers and get in the car.
I like beer.