I could feel the acrid smoke in my nostrils, not to mention the sharp pressure of the molded plastic as I was forced against it in various ways. Yet there was an even greater pressure, and like most greater pressures it had nothing to do with physical discomfort. With a squeel of angry tires and a glare of fierce ecstasy I set my sights on my archnemesis and rival–whomever was directly in front of me. Bank hard around the turn, don’t brake too hard, hit the gas, but not too soon…compensate for the powerslide…there!

At about $20 a pop, I’m guaranteed to stay free of an addiction; that and the fear of succumbing to the awful fate of perhaps someday wanting a #3 on my car, err truck…

Alas, the incredible psychological pressure to win was nearly too much. But I am der ubermensch: I mastered the pressure and sacrificed it in the hot flames of loss. In a heat of eight, I came in dead last.