There's history in every space. Sixty kilometers north of Adelaide on a flat, distant plot of land lies a former Royal Australian Air Force base. Transformed between April of 1961, and October of that year, where it held the Australian Grand Prix.
Since then, that plot of land has been known as Mallala Motorsport Park, or raceway, or other such monikers.
Those of you who follow my blog know that I like to drive cars. In particular, I like to drive my car. I've done that for almost five years now.
As an anniversary present, fittingly, for five years, 
This beast, known as a "V8 Racecar", here in Australia is a vehicle equipped with an eight cylinder, six litre engine, that makes an angry growl when you step on its toe.
My experience commenced with an hour drive out to the racetrack, and this was enjoyable, given that the speed limit was 110km/h most of the way there.
Upon arrival, I filled out a form in the chilly morning wind, which tore heat from my body much as the solar wind tears atmosphere from planets. After agreeing that if I died, it wasn't their fault, I was told about my options to give them more money. None of these options included funeral insurance.
I politely declined to part ways with extra money.
A quick physics lesson later, about braking forces and to trust the professional driver who would be jabbering into our helmets, and we went to put on race suits.
I've lost weight recently, but as a result of this, my time in the gym has helped, and not helped. My shoulders could not fit into the first race suit I was given. I do not have the physique of a race car driver.
It was then time to proceed to pit lane, and equip helmets to try and keep the contents of my skull within, in the event of a catastrophe. Wearing a racing helmet for the first time, is a little bit like putting safety googles on in a lab. Except, instead of working with a liquid you could wash out of your eyes, you'd end up with a neat tin that would capture the various fluids spilling from your skull should anything go wrong.
At least, that's how I imagine a catastrophe in a race car might end.
I left the pit lane. I gingerly accelerated towards the first corner, getting my bearings of an unfamiliar vehicle. It steered as expected. It accelerated tremendously compared to my very own vehicle, probably a third as powerful.
Then I looked down at the speedometer and realised it wasn't working. I quickly looked back up to the road, which was whizzing by at difficult to comprehend speeds, due to no real frame of reference. I focused.
I drove my laps, and the sensation of acceleration (and the constant fear of death) was pretty exhilarating. I enjoyed accelerating in a straight line. I did not enjoy going around sharp corners at the pedestrian speeds that I did.
Even at these pedestrian speeds the inertia and feelings of "there are forces here my torso can't control" made it a heart pumping experience. The roar of the engine, the urgency of gear changes, and the sensation of speed isn't translated well into the video.
A short break later, it was time for the professional to show me how it was done. My fastest lap time was a staggering two minutes, two seconds and twelve tenths of a second. The professional did it in closer to One minute and twenty seconds, exceeding the speeds that I had managed by an enormous margin.
There were a few lessons learned from this experience shooting around a track in a race car. The first of these was: "This isn't as much fun as I thought it would be." The second was "I don't see why people spend enormous amounts of money on vehicles like this only to drive them on the road."
It has made me reflect upon the crypto catch phrase of "when lambo?" and disregard this statement. For me, racing around in the real world isn't an experience that I need to have again - video games will do me just fine, as there is no risk of immediate death.
All up, an enjoyable experience - and an interesting way to spend a Saturday Morning.
If you've read this far, the first portion of the video is me driving. The second part is the professional, and the third part is a side by side comparison. Spoiler alert: I seem to drive like a grandmother. That's not a bad thing, it means I might live a longer life on the road than some other people.
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