My foot is planted on the right pedal as the serpentine ribbon of road descending out of the Angeles National Forest gradually becomes straighter and less steep. I complete the upshift to fourth gear, and then back off the throttle a bit. I haven’t looked at the speedo yet; my eyes have been scanning as far down the road as I can see, and now I’m hoping desperately that the oncoming car is not a California Highway Patrolman. The speed limit on this particular stretch is 55 miles per hour, and I must be doing at least 85. Convinced that the car ahead poses no threat to my driver’s license, I brave a glance at the instrument cluster to discover I’m doing more than twice the speed limit. Damn, this thing builds speed deceptively fast!
Not one to tempt fate, I move the shifter to sixth gear and lift off the gas entirely until the needle is floating over the number 60 on the speed gauge. I know better than to drive like an ass on public roads, and by now I’m just a matter of miles from Willow Springs Raceway. If I just play it safe for a few more minutes I’ll have the opportunity to open this thing up in a more appropriate environment...
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