If the Skid Marks Fit, You Must Commit.(Column)

I was gunning down the longest straightaway in the middle of the pack. Door handle to door handle, bumper to bumper. Laced together tight-too tight. No room to maneuver. I moved my left foot over and let it hover above the brake pedal just in case. Just then, a freeze-frame. Then another. A couple of rows ahead, the side of a Chevy, now the front, now the other side, spinning across our path in slo-mo.

Huh? Dust and a sickening haze of tire smoke as the rest of us went for the brakes and scattered. Missed it! It could have been one of the worst moments in my years of club ...

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