As usual I am in the navigator's seat. Sitting next to me was K, one of the fastest Formula-1 drivers in Egypt.
Our car got off to a screaming start from the pit, with the wheels spinning in a furious cloud of dust. But the other cars were faster, bigger and more powerful - and raced ahead of us splattering dust and mud on us. It was clear that the situation was desperate, and we will probably end up last if desperate measures are not immediately resorted to.
K's face was grim - he flashed me the inverted V sign - it means this is an emergency. In Racing parlance this sign indicates that the driver assumes total command until the situation is retrieved. The navigator then assumes a passive role until our car once again gets back into a favorable position in the race.
He switched into 3rd and the deep throb of the turbo engines filled the entire cabin with a deafening din. An oil tanker suddenly loomed ahead of us - don't know what these oil tankers are doing on a racing track. K deftly twisted the steering handle and missed the huge truck by a few inches. The truck driver blared his horns belligerently and tried to block our progress - but K is a pro - he jumped over the road divider, and shot ahead of the truck.
We were now screaming ahead and fast closing the gap. The other cars may have more powerful engines, but they cannot match K's driving skills - a classic man vs machine contest. We raced ahead - with K swerving the car rapidly between the other cars with astonishing skills.
Now there was only 1 car ahead of us - a black Ferrari. But the Ferrari was far too ahead of us - so K switched on all cylinders. We were racing so fast that the track was now a mere blur - and the gap between us and the Black Ferrari rapidly reduced, until the Ferrari was only a few inches ahead of us.
And then it happened. The Ferrari suddenly braked.
K hit the brakes, and our car did a cart-wheel as K desperately tried to regain control. The high pitched squeal of tortured brakes accompanied by the acrid smell of burning rubber filled the air, and the car came to a miraculous stop just millimeters from the Black Ferrari.
But the other cars behind had inexperienced drivers - their reaction time was simply too slow, and they rammed into us, one after the other. It was a classic 7 car pile-up on the race-track.
I got out the car to survey the damage. No personal injury for me apart from a minor neck sprain due to the whip-lash action from the collision. But the car was badly damaged.
I let K sort out the arguments with the drivers of the other damaged cars. I hailed a taxi and left the scene. One more routine day on the way to office.
Our car got off to a screaming start from the pit, with the wheels spinning in a furious cloud of dust. But the other cars were faster, bigger and more powerful - and raced ahead of us splattering dust and mud on us. It was clear that the situation was desperate, and we will probably end up last if desperate measures are not immediately resorted to.
K's face was grim - he flashed me the inverted V sign - it means this is an emergency. In Racing parlance this sign indicates that the driver assumes total command until the situation is retrieved. The navigator then assumes a passive role until our car once again gets back into a favorable position in the race.
He switched into 3rd and the deep throb of the turbo engines filled the entire cabin with a deafening din. An oil tanker suddenly loomed ahead of us - don't know what these oil tankers are doing on a racing track. K deftly twisted the steering handle and missed the huge truck by a few inches. The truck driver blared his horns belligerently and tried to block our progress - but K is a pro - he jumped over the road divider, and shot ahead of the truck.
We were now screaming ahead and fast closing the gap. The other cars may have more powerful engines, but they cannot match K's driving skills - a classic man vs machine contest. We raced ahead - with K swerving the car rapidly between the other cars with astonishing skills.
Now there was only 1 car ahead of us - a black Ferrari. But the Ferrari was far too ahead of us - so K switched on all cylinders. We were racing so fast that the track was now a mere blur - and the gap between us and the Black Ferrari rapidly reduced, until the Ferrari was only a few inches ahead of us.
And then it happened. The Ferrari suddenly braked.
K hit the brakes, and our car did a cart-wheel as K desperately tried to regain control. The high pitched squeal of tortured brakes accompanied by the acrid smell of burning rubber filled the air, and the car came to a miraculous stop just millimeters from the Black Ferrari.
But the other cars behind had inexperienced drivers - their reaction time was simply too slow, and they rammed into us, one after the other. It was a classic 7 car pile-up on the race-track.
I got out the car to survey the damage. No personal injury for me apart from a minor neck sprain due to the whip-lash action from the collision. But the car was badly damaged.
I let K sort out the arguments with the drivers of the other damaged cars. I hailed a taxi and left the scene. One more routine day on the way to office.
2 comments:
Phew !! Just what these these men have to go through daily to win a bread or their loved ones !!.
Yes, and we should be thankful for the excitement that this creates
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