Race the Track

Watching over his shoulder, he has said it a hundred times: “You gotta race the track.” It’s not about the other car. It’s about what this car can do at this moment.

I said it to him today. After taking it easy the whole way down the mountain, we came to the first red light. Clutch engaged. First gear. Green.

Go.

Man, does it go. My little red car. The one with the LS swap and manual transmission. Out of a GTO. Sounds nothing like a BMW. Drives like a machine.

The other guys don’t stand a chance, but the next red light is too close to really make a difference. I look to my left: the same Dodge that’s been beside me since the exit after the canyon.

Go.

Smoked him. Again.

Red light. Go.

Again.

He probably thinks I’m crazy. Someone is probably shaking their head at the “waste of gas” that is each take off, as I put the pedal to the floor. Shift once. Twice. Red light.

Go.

But I am not racing them. Sure, it’s nice to see them fade into the rear view every time (and I mean every. single. time. Except one – Thanks, Logan!) But I am not racing you.

I am racing the track.

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